Sir Hobs
POPPED CHERRY
[M:0:0:0:]
Posts: 41
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Post by Sir Hobs on May 16, 2012 9:09:06 GMT -5
Name (Nicknames?): Charles 'Chuck' Hendrickson Gender: Male Date of birth [Age]: 25 Born on February 3rd 1987
Appearance: - 6' 3" - Has a constant 5 O'clock shadow on his face - His eyes are a tantalizing bright green -Chestnut brown hair -Very muscular in build -His jaw is slightly square -A full and firm six pack on his gut. -A rather hairy chest -His beard, when he grows it at least, is slightly ginger at the tips. -Large muscular hands -Veins stick out proudly on his arms -Teeth are kept a perfect white at all times - Has amazingly quick reflexes, giving him the advantage in any close quarter situation. -Three old bullet hole scars on the left side of his chest and back. -Right hand shakes often from mental shell shock. -A midnight black M1911 .45, complete with white holster, is strapped to his upper right thigh. -Has a prosthetic left arm from just under his shoulder. -His left hand is powered by mini motors in the plastic, allowing full use of the appendage. On the down side, it's impossible for him to feel any sense of touch, so he can't tell how hard he's gripping something until it breaks. -Prosthetic right leg from just under his knee. -he has a tattoo on his shoulder saying:
101 st Division 12 th Regiment 3 rd Platoon
History: It would be a lie if I said that I was a good man, an integrate and fortunate being. In all reality, I was the complete opposite. There really was no absolute definition to describe my actions in the theatre of war, nor was there really a word for my own personality. The only thing that rather resembled it was one made up word that I had created as a child.
And that was 'Charlzeyish.' Heh, best I could come up with at the time. You know, it is amazing what you think the world is based off as a child. Often Lydia, my very best friend and commodore for life, would usually either look at the jet-black night sky as we stared at the infinite number of stars imagining what future life would be like. Would we ever get married to Mr. and Mrs. Right? Would we ever have kids? Alternatively, even get a job? Though most of the time we would be little hoodlums and torment our friends and parents with ridiculous and childish practical jokes. However, what could we say? We were, after all, kids.
I also remember our training partners, we had been exposed to Pokémon before with our parents and their teams, but never before had we ever experienced the thrill, trepidation and downright horror of choosing our very first Pokémon. My memory is faint of that glorious occasion due to the recent change of events in my line of work. However, I can tell you what I remember. It was a rather dull day. The weather forecast for that week was intense thunderstorms and multiple storm warnings were broadcasted all over the radio and TV networks. I had been planning this day for months now. Thoroughly planning what I would wear, how I would behave, what I would look like and so forth. So when a gale warning was broadcasted, I screamed in my pillow as loud and as aggressively as I could. However, it did not really help with my current predicament. To add to it, I had just been grounded for two whole days for accidentally slipping the 'F-word.' Nevertheless, this was not going to stop me. Hell, Arceus himself could have come down from heaven and ordered me to not go, or else. I would just give him the finger and do it anyway, despite the consequences. Yeah, I was a REAL mischievous kid back in the day. I rarely followed instructions and I always did things my way. Though it usually landed me in deep shit often enough.
So, when a lightning bolt struck the transformer outside of our house, knocking out the lights. I took it as a sign from the legendaries to get out there and get my Pokémon. Regardless of the beating's I would receive.
Grabbing my luminescent orange rain suit and black gum boots, or 'Wellington’s' as they were more commonly referred to as, I sneaked out of the house. And made a mad dash towards the Pokémon centre. All I can say for the journey was that I had never been so terrified in my then young life. Everything was different, everything was wet, and everything was nearly unrecognisable. And boy, oh boy did I get hopelessly lost within what seemed like seconds after leaving the premises. The wind howled in my face and water chilled my bones as I just ran in the direction I thought the Centre was. However, after what seemed like eons and eons of searching, I had found little hope and plenty of dead ends. I remember being cold and scared as I sat under a mighty Baobab in full bloom. I did not know much at the time. I did not know I was in grave danger. I was just a kid for heavens sake. I knew nothing of hypothermia or of the dangers of natural lightning rods. All I knew was that I was lost, cold, drenched and terrified. My body wanted to sleep, but my mind fought furiously against it. It told me to get up and get a move on, but the words were not of my own tone. Like an outside body shouting at me, no screaming at me to get up and get inside. Harder and harsher the tone, the more I realised that that was not my mind speaking to me, but an outsider instead. Opening my eyes slightly, I saw a hazy figure, much bigger and scarier than me desperately trying to shake me awake.
"Get up kid! C'mon! Get up!" The voice was faint to me, too faint. Then, everything went black. I do not know how long I was out for. Minutes? Hours? Days? Or Arceus forbid, even years! I just remember felling a pain that I had never felt before. A terrible, terrible cold that ran throuout my system. A pain unimaginable by those unaccustomed to hypothermic shock. I can just remember waking up, looking down at myself as internal systems ran furiously and realising that these clothes were not mine. It all seems so hilarious now that I think about it. Then, it was as if I had been kidnapped. I was petrified. I was on somebody else’s bed, with somebody else’s clothing. A robe of some kind littered with small black dots. I was convinced that I had been abducted from my beautiful and thrown into some hellhole where I recognised not a thing in sight. I tried to get up and run away, but a horrible pain in my right shoulder said otherwise. I remember screaming like a little girl in panic and pain as I clenched the appendage for dear sweet life. Then, out of the blue, came that same tone of voice.
"Oh good!" it said, gleefully, "You're alive! We'd thought you were a goner!" I squirmed back onto the headrest in a bid to run away, but the pain was terrible and the cold prevented much in the way of movement. Shouting in pain once more, this time with tears running down my face, another figure stormed in, but my vision was still blurred. All I saw was a large, muscular silhouette in the doorway. And it spoke with a much more hardened and gruff voice.
"Is he awake Chatot?"
"Yes sir! Ben's awake?"
Wait? Ben? My name was not Ben. It was Charles Hendrickson.
"Why'd ya call him Ben Chatot?" Asked the scary figure
"Dunno. I just like the name Ben. Plus, he has no I.D. Oooh! Can we keep him! Please!"
My eyes widened in shock. Keep me? Like a pet? The idea swirled in my head as my vision became ever more transparent. Like a.... Pet? Over and over again the idea processed through cold synapses and neurons, though for some reason. It just never clicked. I was far too exhausted to think, let alone worry about being kept as a pet.
"Negative Chatot. He has a family to go to. We talked about this remember?"
A long and depressed sigh was heard and I assumed that this 'Chatot' character was indeed depressed.
"Yes sir...." It said depression ripe in its voice.
Then, even more terrifying was that my vision cleared up. And I found myself looking at a Chatot! It was so magnificent and beautiful. Its colours were so much more colourful and vibrant. My god... Was I looking at my very first shiny?
"Shinyshinyshinyshinyshinyshinyshinyshiny..." No other words escaped from my mouth except those as I lifted my shaking hand to touch the magnificent creature. But as I did, a loud squawk and a flutter of feathers erupted and killed the sweet silence.
"Don't you DARE touch me! You miserable cockroach you!" With those words, adrenaline flowed throught my veins as all sense of pain vanished and my body grew stiff as a board in terror. If this thing attacked, I would be as good as dead. But before anything else could happen. A brilliant flash of red light consumed the Pokémon, and seemed to vaporize it immediately. Leaving only a few feathers floating gently down to the tiled floor.
"You okay?" came the distressed voice as the outline of the man rushed to my aid.
"Y-ye-yeah." I stammered, traumatized by the turn of events.
"You'll have to excuse my Chatot; she's very peckish about who gets to touch her." The voice was definitely male, but the age was almost impossible to tell. Though the bass did suggest that he reached puberty long ago.
"It's o-o-okay, n-no harm done." I was still so cold, and the bed was so warm. Without hesitation, I crawled back hastily under the blankets and duvets that layered over the sheets. But boy was it heavy, though for the price of staying warm. Anything was good enough for me at this stage.
"So where ya from kid?" Asked the man in curiosity.
"I-I'm from Ridge Road, in Ardbennie."
"Ardbennie? You certainly got yourself lost kid.
"How long have I been out?"
"Two weeks." From excitement came horror. My trip was not to last more than half an hour. But two weeks! Mom and dad would surely be a hell of a lot more than pissed off.
"WHAT!" I screamed at the top of my voice, "TWO WEEKS! Hominahominahomina!"
Then, just as surprisingly came a roar of laughter as the man clenched his sides at the hilarity of the situation.
"Relax kid," he said reassuringly as he wiped a tear away from his eye, "You've only been out for about two days at most. Do you know where you are?" I shook my head. I honestly had zero idea where I was. All I knew was that everything seemed so white, even the man had a white coat on. "You're at the Trauma centre, across town."
Trauma centre? I had no earthly idea what that was and shook my head again, confusion still ripe on my face.
"The hospital?" He said again, with a slight element of worry on his face and in his tone.
"How'd I end up here?" I asked, expecting to hear that I had to get some insane surgery of some kind.
"Uhm, do you know what hypothermia is?"
"N-no."
"Put simply, you were freezing to death. Some strange soldier brought you in. But before we could ask who he was. He left without a trace. Though I do remember him saying that he was your guardian angel in the SAS."
Wait, why would anyone want to save me? I was a little annoyance and hoodlum. Unworthy of saving, yet even the hardest of the hard found some empathy to save a kid like me. But why?
"What is the SAS?" I asked curiously.
"To be honest, I really don't know.," said the doctor, shaking his head. "I think it's our military's Special Forces unit. But I can't say for certain kid." he said, holding up his hands. "By the way kid, what's your name?"
"Ch-Ch-Charles Hendrickson, sir." An eyebrow raised and a smile twitched suspiciously on the doctor’s face. In addition, his joyful personality was replaced with a cold tone.
"Don't go anywhere kid. I'll be right back."
I was scared at those words and pulled the blanked a little higher. Adrenaline started to flow as my eyes frantically searched for a way out of here. Minutes seemed like hours, before I saw the shadow of the man passing my hospital window with what seemed like a...gun!
My eyes widened and my breathing became erratic as the door opened partly. He was talking to somebody outside, but I could not hear a word they were saying. Tears formed and I began sobbing. I knew I had been a naughty child, but I never thought that I would be killed for it! I threw the blanket over my head in a pitiful attempt to hide and waited for the worst to happen. But I did not hear a bang, or feel any pain. I just heard the doctor playfully saying to stop playing hide and seek. Cautiously and slowly, I slid the blanket off my head. He was sitting by my side holding a picture of me with a missing sign at the top of the page. He also held the gun, but not one of black and metal. But a colourful water pistol.
"You're parents are looking for you. I've already alerted the authorities of your presence here. Your mom and dad should be here shortly too. This was the only thing we found on you, apart from your clothing. Where on earth were you heading?"
It took me a while to calm down but I eventually uttered my destination softly. And he gave a casual "Uh, huh," in bewilderment. "Tell me Charles," At first, I was confused. How did he know my name? Then it suddenly clicked that the missing poster would have all my details on it, "Why were you going to the Pokémon centre during that terrible gale? You DO realise that you could've come out a lot worse than you did, right?"
The thought jingled around in my head for a while. I really should have died there and then. But some strange 'guardian angel' of the SAS came to my aid. Yet the big question still ran through my head. Why did he save me?
I never found out the answer, nor did I ever find the man again. But when I needed him, especially on some near death circumstances. He was always there. Waiting to save me from my immanent doom. And I've never had the chance to thank him for his courageous actions. Perhaps he wasn't an earthly figure. Perhaps he was sent by Arceus himself? The possibilities still run through my head to this day. However, I pray for him every night, without exception.
"N-no. What could've happened?"
The doctor sighed and looked at the floor for a second. Then faintly said, "Don't worry. You'll find out when you're older." At first, I did not understand what he meant. However, years later, when I was about seventeen. I asked the same doctor what had happened that night, and he described it in graphic detail.
According to his story and the side story's I have heard thus far. I was sitting under the baobab tree during the full force of the gale, a sheet of corrugated steel flung towards me, and its destination was my neck. But, whether it be fate, luck or a deity watching over me, an Aggron was taking the time to get fit again and hit him instead. Fortunately, it only scratched his thick armour and knocked him down. Though the sheet imbedded itself in the tree. Three millimetres above my head. If that Aggron didn't run through, I'd be as good as dead. A few hours later, when the weather died down, the strange soldier found me, patched up my cuts and bruises, brought me to hospital. Then left without a trace. I've offered rewards for the man to come forth and identify himself. But he never came. However, a thousand-million impostors came forth to try to claim the money. But all were fakes.
I sighed at the though of what might have happened that night and shook my head in disgust of what could've happened. The doctor on the other hand smiled at me as shouts erupted in the corridor.
"Your parents are here.," he said as he got off his chair to open the door. What came next was completely unexpected. As he opened the door to let in my mom and dad, something pushed it hard and the door slammed against the doctor’s face as blood spurted out of his nose. Before I knew it, two pairs of arms locked around me tightly. Too tightly in fact.
"Mom.... Dad... Crushing me...Can’t breathe!"
Really, my lungs were being crushed and I struggled to breathe. I squirmed violently for a bit before the pressure finally released. A surge of disinfectant filled my nostrils as I gasped for air. The smell was strong, though the slap that hit my face was even stronger.
"Don't you EVER do that again! You hear me!" I stared in shock at my mother as I rubbed my right cheek, which was now turning bright red. She would never slap me, unless it was for a bloody good reason. Well, my little, arm, adventure cross suicide mission certainly clarrified for one of those damn good reasons. Yet before a word was able to leave my mouth, she locked arms around me again, this time with tears to add to the mix. I felt horrible, dreadful, whatever other words you could think of that I cannot. There was just no end to this horrendous feeling.
A day later, they discharged me after passing all my metal and physical tests. I took the water gun with me and analyzed it. I never took it on my journey, but some how it followed me in my travels. I did not how it got there, still do not in fact. All I know is that I use it as my lucky charm. Over the years, this thing has been beaten and bruised, repaired and fixed. Surprisingly, it still works to this day and hour. Probably always, will. It is a memento to what shit can happen if you do not think things through well enough. The thought that I could have died that dreadful night still haunts me, though not as much as a few of my other mishaps.
I remember after a week of being discharged, it was time to start my journey as a pokémon trainer. I was a hell of a nervous, that much I can tell you. I often felt like turning back and leading a life of luxury and relaxation. Maybe get a little overweight and such like. But I was not a quitter, and never will be. So with a my heart in my mouth. I stepped through the old, battered, door. And to my surprise, rows and rows of Pokéballs littered the shelves. However, there were only three types. Charmander, Piplup and Pickachu. They were all very nice yes, but everyone had one. And I liked being different and having the opposite of everyone else. It is what I was famous for Arceus's sake! And as I strolled the isles, an eerie silence was floating in the air. I watched as a billion eyes stared at my every movement. I can tell you this much though. I REALLY wished that I never came.
Fortunately, something stuck out to me eye. The flame was brighter than that of a charmander, but it was slightly smaller than the orange fire type.
"Aye, ye want sumtin' laddy?"
It felt as if I'd jumped several feet into the air when that old, Scottish accent broke the silence and turned to face a rather scrawny, old, dirty sea dog.
"Dem Cyindaquil is on special. Un time anly. Not much left of dem now laddy. Greb it befere it's te late."
Heeding his warning, I rushed over at the speed of light to grab one of the last Pokéballs. But when I stared at it for a second, I realised that it wasn't moving at all. Something wasn't right and I shook it a bit. My suspicions were confirmed. It was LONG since dead. Dropping it to the floor, I picked up another one in hopes that it was alive.
Unfortunately not, I picked up another, and another, and another! Most if not all were dead. I mean jeez like, it came to the point where I was flinging all these damn blasted pokéballs everywhere. I didn't even take the time to shake each one, just looked at it briefly, chucked it and picked up another one.
Ha ha! It was such a blast back then becoming a trainer. You never knew what was going to come your way. And this was just the start.
I became so tuned into looking and throwing that I didn't spot one that was alive. I mean it actually looked at me and waved before I chucked it over my shoulder. But it wasn't the sight of a living thing that made mme turn around. It was a small 'Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Ka-klunk.' That caught my attention. Though it would be bloody hard to find that stupid pokéball now. Finding that would be like searching for a needle in a pile of needles! They all looked exactly alike!
I can tell you right now that I hated myself for doing such a foolish thing. Though in my defence. They were all fucking dead!
What seemed like another four hours, I finally found him. A cute little cyndaquil that was so happy to see another living thing in a pile of dead things. I just had to take him, he was sooooooooo adorable! Also, I wanted to torture some other kid.
The thing I remember most about that day was that evil little shit of a sailor laughing away as I threw pokéball after pokéball on the ground. Probably relishing at my misfortune. Ah well, when you give away pokémon away for a living, I'm sure you have plenty of time to think of ingenious pranks to play in little kids. It's one of the fondest memories I have, or that I can even remember. A couple of years later, we heard reports that the old scallywag had passed on. And I felt genuinely sad. I rather liked the person and his crude sense of humour.
I remember our time together as a team. We very much had a 'capture and release' kind of method. I dunno why, I guess I aspired to be a ranger at that stage. You know, 'save all pokémon from evil' and all that jazz? I also remember one time, when he recently evolved into a typholson, we were fighting a seriously pissed off shiny Charizard. I remember being determined to catch it. I mean who wouldn't? Right? Firstly, it was a bloody Charizard. Secondly, WHO DO YOU KNOW OF THAT HAS CAUGHT A FUCKING SHINY CHARIZARD! Yeah, thought so.
However, we were at a serious disadvantage. We were fighting on a near a cliff and we thought that we had the upper advantage. You know higher levels at stuff like that. Though we didn't take it into account that the poor thing was seriously wounded, and was willing to kill if necessary. In addition, it could fly. I don’t remember much about it. The main stuff I recall is that something went wrong, terribly wrong. And a fun battle turned into a life or death scenario. We lost, and I faintly remember being held by my throat on the edge of the cliff, looking into the hatered inside the Pokémon's eyes, then freefalling.... And that is it. Next thing I remember is the faint beep...beeps...beep sound of the life support machine. I remember, opening my eyes and seeing a fantastic flash of white. It was unimaginable. The sun seemed so much dimmer than this light. For a moment, I thought that I was dead and was on the path to hevan. Where my heart would be weighed against a feather and I would be judged for right of passage.
Beep...beep...beep...
The noise became more audible, the white light slowly dimmed, and other colours came in, creating faint images. I could just see my Typholson panicking about something. It looked like he was screaming about something. Was something wrong? I could not hear anything besides the faint beeping of the life support machine monitoring my heart rate.
Beep...Beep...Beep..Beep..Beep.Beep.Beep.Beep.Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.
Wait, what was that sound? And why was everything suddenly getting darker again? Was I dying? I didn't know, nor understand at the time. All I knew was that shit was hitting the fan. And it was making a damn fine mess for me to clean up.
Then, a terrible pain. A pain so immense it was indescribable, a pain so strong and so violent that I remember my own blood being coughed out of my mouth as my body convulsed. Then more panic, and finally.
Silence.
When I woke up again, I could see my typholson clenching my hand tightly as he rested his head on my bed. I did not know what was happening, or what had already happened. All I knew was that I was in another white building, this time with someone to comfort me.
"Ben?" The words were faint, nearly inaudible but it had some effect, he twitched his ear, moaning slightly. "Ben? Where are we?" The speech was barely louder when it had been at first and it actually hurt to talk, breathe or do anything physical for that matter. But he rolled his head, looking at me with a sleepy eye before rolling his head again. Instantly though, his ears perked up and he looked at me with wide eyes and a gigantic smile on his face before screaming at the top of his lungs.
"TYPHOLSOOOOOOOOON!"
The screech clawed away at my ears, I'd never hear anything as loud as that before, and never wanted to again. But as soon as he screeched, he started giggling, then laughing and then roaring with laughter. I couldn't understand why he was laughing so hard at the time. Had he heard a funny joke or something? I just didn't understand. Before I knew it, a hundred and one doctors and nurses swarmed my bed, probing me with needles, checking stats and vitals and whatever else a doctor does. One of the main things that they asked me was if I remember anything. At the time, I could not remember a thing. It was as if my whole memory had been formatted. And the worrying look on their faces just added to my anxiety.
"You were involved in a terrible.... Accident."
It took a while for the sentence to process in my mind. As another doctor had a stopwatch, timing how long I remained silent before I spoke.
"Accident? What accident?"
"Fifteen seconds doctor." said the man as he scribbled something on his little clipboard.
"You were thrown off a cliff. We found your body a couple hundred meters short of where you fell."
"Wait.... Thrown off?" I asked my voice hoarse and tired.
"Ten seconds doctor."
"Yes, the fall broke every damn bone in your body, but you survived...somehow."
"Wh-what happened?" And how did I end up here?"
"Eleven seconds doctor."
"We don't exactly know what happened. Your friend here has been very unwilling to talk to anyone besides you. As to how you got here. Some strange military man brought you and your typholson in, dropped you off and then left without a trace."
A strange military man? Could it be the same one who saved me all those years ago? The one I got my lucky water gun from? The odds were nearly impossible, but there was always that one in a million chance that it might have been.
"All we can say is that you were very lucky. Do you know how long you have been out for?"
"N-no."
"Eight seconds doctor."
The doctor took a deep breath, as if she were to tell me that some family member had just died a few seconds ago.
"You've been in a coma for nearly a year."
Almost instantly I packed up laughing, it was more of a low giggle though, but the look of seriousness on her face quickly made me stop in my tracks. This was not some joke like last time. She was dead serious.
"No way..." I whispered, "And Ben?"
"Relax." She said softly, holding my hand for extra reassurance. "Your Typholson is a tough old nut. He actually came out better than you did. Much better in fact."
I smiled faintly as I turned my head to face my loyal Pokémon. He truly was a brother I never had. Following me through thick and thin, never giving up on me and always criticizing me. Yeah, that was Benny-boy all right.
"He's not that old," I uttered through my breaths, "he's only two years old now." a couple of giggles escaped my mouth before I began coughing violently. This time though, it really was just coughing. Nothing too serious. Nevertheless, the doctors were on edge and a few of them began pushing buttons on the machines to check if everything remained stable.
"You need to rest now. Get your energy back and we'll begin training as soon as possible." A small, reassuring smile grew across her face. It filled me with confidence as sleepy eyelids descended over me.
I've never slept better in my whole entire life. But a week later, I felt fitter and better than before and it was time to start this 'training' regime. Though I had zero idea what it was about.
Turns out, that it was to train you to walk, run, climb stairs, play with toys, you know the essential things to progress through life. I swear if Ben was not around to help me, I might have just given up there and then. It was super tough. My legs just did not want to work, nor did any part of my body. It took months to get me back to normal. And my brother was there every step of the way.
Six months later, I was finally ready for the outside world. I still struggled on my running, but all other functions were normal. As I walked outside, I smelt my very first breath of fresh, clean, country air. All the rooms in the building had special filters that sterilized the air for ICU and HCU patients. Probably to prevent contamination. I remember making a vow that day just to battle only if necessary. To prevent stupid accidents from happening again. Little did I know of the future that stood ahead of me. Alternatively, I would never have made that stupid vow.
A few months later. I was sitting in a café with a couple of old friends. We were having a blast. Then an emergency report came in. Kanto was at a civil war between the Rockets and the Government. We all went silent as live pictures were broadcasted. We were all horrified at what we saw. Me most of all because that was my homeland. And by fuck if I was just going to let the Rockets take my childhood away from me. Each passing second I became angrier and angrier as we witnessed the brutality and inhumanity of these vile creatures. We all knew who was behind these heinous crimes. An Italian ringleader known as Giovanni.
I slammed my fist on the table, so hard in fact that I cracked it. Without a seconds notice, I grabbed my coat and stormed out the café despite my friends recommendations. I was going to go where few men go. The SAS.
I remember the doctor mentioning that the soldier that brought me in was SAS, and I figured. Hey, why not? If he can save lives, then so can I!
I made way for the nearest drafting station and immediately signed Ben's and well as my name for enrolment into the SAS. One week later, we were shipped out to basics for our intense training regime. I didn't know what to expect. But I knew that I was get into the number one list of men to send in. Come hell or High water.
The first day was actually quite terrifying. We were split from out Pokémon as the training tactics were different for each species. We only had one thing in common. Our drill Sergeants were complete and utter dick heads. Always with the shouting, ramming heads against the wall and shitty foods. A couple of times we have had to resort to drink out own piss to survive. I did not realize it at the time, but they were just giving us the essential foundations to survive in the theatre of war.
We were equipped with either FN FAL seven point six-two millimetre rifles or L85A1 Five point five-six millimetre rifles. Moreover, ordered to never leave basics or anywhere without it. We went everywhere with them, in the toilet, the shower, in the mess. Hell we even took them to bed with us. On one training exercise, we were allowed to take our partners. And I gleefully took Ben. I've never hugged him harder than I did that day. We had been separated for over four months. Three months and twenty-nine days too long. He'd certainly grown bigger and buffer than he was a couple o' months ago. Then again, we'd all had. Our mission that day was to hunt each other down. Instead of using real bullets, we would be using bullet shaped paint-ball rounds as ammunition to show us where we would be hit on real missions using real bullets.
Our proving grounds were a mangrove swamp thirteen klicks outside of CP, or Command Post for short. We were all really excited; we got to duff each other up for the fun of it and not get into shit for it.
I remember that two other teams agreed to help us in the hunt for the 'jock' team. A group of people who really just did not give a flying fuck about our well-being. Like high school bullies.
After about half an hour of searching and reporting casualties and rations at designated RV, or Rendezvous points, we were actually getting pretty agitated and restless. The thought of splitting up and shooting each other senseless sounded like a good idea. Then, in a stroke of luck, we saw something moving about in the bush. We all dispersed to cover points quickly in anticipation of an up coming fire fight. However, the Jock team did not come out. What did though could only be described as a walking skeleton. Seemingly, all at once, we lowered out rifles and stared at this blue, skeletal thing staring at us dead in the face. I was not one for much sympathy, but seeing that Lucario just tore my heart into two pieces. I put my rifle down and raised my hands up into plain sight to show that I was unarmed and thus, not a threat. My mind had to work quickly. I appointed five men to stay and provide cover if the jocks came and another three of us, Ben included, approached the thin, skittish lucario with slow, easy to monitor steps. He was scared, and who was to blame him. We presented food and Ben eased his state of nervousness. The lucario became more trusting of us as he took my rations from my hand and ate them without even hesitating.
"Black jack, this is Cat Shit One. We have a civilian in the grounds. Severely malnourished and dehydrated. Requesting immediate CASE VAC at ERV one, over." I clenched the radio tightly as I waited for a reply of some kind. The seconds passed like minutes as we waited for a reply.
"Cat Shit One, this is Black Jack. Request approved. Abort mission. Over" A quick sigh of relief blasted through as I smiled brightly.
"Copied Black Jack, heading for ERV one. Over and out." Looking at the teams medics, I just gave them a nod and they rushed into action, thrusting IV's into the incredibly sick skeletal dog and preparing stretchers to carry him out on.
Another man ran back to alert the guards of what was happening and to collect our rifles. Just in time too. Someone, not from our team, shouted something in the distance and before we knew it. Bullets began whizzing all over the place. And of course, no one had their weapons with them. The only thing we could do was dive for cover and hope to shit that we were not hit. Fortunately, the guards began drawing the fire as the sprinter ran as fast as he could back to out position. However, before he got to us. A paintball round hit him square in the noggin.
"Fuck!" He screamed out in disgust, "How did i get shot in the fucking head!" It did not matter though, he was still living and breathing and brought us our weapons as he griped and grumbled to himself. Cocking our weapons, we began returning fire. And after no more than five minutes. Silence reigned once again. The enemy had been vanquished. At the end, it was Team A, B, C, D, and E for fifteen kills and team F for one kill, like their high school final exam marks.
We rushed as fast as we could to the Emergency Rendezvous point for extraction and were air lifted back towards CP, leaving the losers behind. Served them right anyway.
I never really left the side of the medic’s tent. Apparently, the Lucario was in serious condition, and the doc did not know if he would make it or not.
"Look, give me two weeks. I'll see what I can do." I thanked him and left. However, it was hard waiting for the results. Too hard in fact. The two weeks waiting just took too damn long for me to be satisfied with the results. Everyday I asked for reports on the Lucario. And everyday I got the same answer. "He's stable. Just relax and come back tomorrow."
Nevertheless, when I got the all clear from the doc, I cautiously entered the tent only to be pounced on by a much healthier blue dog. Its tail wagged furiously as it licked the cameo paint off my face. I squirmed helplessly as I did my best to free myself of the dual types grasp. But to no avail. I could only spit and laugh. After a while of catching my breath. I decided to keep him. As a memento of what can happen in life. Even in the darkest of places, can there be hope. Though seven months later. That would all change.
We passed our training exam with flying colours, our group coming out on top of the scoreboards in nearly everything we did. Mike had just started training as a new member of the team, my team to be exact. He was pushed hard like we were and often gave constructive criticism and suggestions to make him stronger. While he was in the safe zone of the training grounds, our group, known as Cat Shit One, set off for our first missions.
It was hell.
We have never seen a dead body before; even more traumatizing was the fact that I killed the man, whom probably had a family to go back to. The thought still haunts me to this day. However, I found a 'way’ around my own feelings. If they do not shoot me, I do not shoot them. If they shoot at me, I kill them. Simple, easy and quick.
A few months, and more than a hundred missions under our belt later, Mike the Lucario joined our group. And the next day we were heading for the big one.
Celadon City. The base of Operations for the Rocket Regime. And we were going to blow the shit out of it. The following morning, we suited up for a Para drop into Celadon. We were to be inserted at night and were told to kill every Rocket dickhead in sight. A task I was more than ready to fulfil.
The next morning was actually silent. Our usual loud and robust wake up call was surprisingly silent. We were allowed to sleep in and do whatever we wanted that day. I chose to check my weapons, armour and parachute for the up and coming mission. Others slept until noon, wrote love letters to their loved ones, stocked up on booze and generally had a fun day before the dangerous mission ahead of us.
That night the sky was jet black and all the stars came out to shine brightly, as if to give us one last show before we headed in.
The Hercules troop transport sat on the runway, its piston engines humming as we boarded the plane. It would be a while before we came back to serenity like this. As earlier, everyone was silent. Some read the bible or a good book, others listened to music. And a few said final prayers as the aircraft took off. I usually kept my lucky water gun in my right top pocket, but this was the one time that I had left it behind. I was a little nervous about it, sure. However, I did not think much of it. All I was concerned about was the well-being of my men.
We all looked alike. All of us had scary looking guns, war paint, camouflaged uniforms and steel plated Kevlar vests. All the Pokémon looked alike too, except without any weapons. Their training was to hone their move sets to absolute perfection. Not a single mistake or miscalculation could be made. Or else it could be the last one they’d ever make.
The ride was a little bumpy but we eventually managed to reach our target. As we all stood up and strapped on our 'chutes. A horrible explosion rocked the plane, forcing it off course. A SAM had hit the starboard wing and the whole plane was going down.
And fast.
We were one of the lucky few, managing to right ourselves quickly and escape through the gaping mouth of the cargo doorway. Mike and I were the lucky ones, but Ben....
All I remember was landing in the fire fight and seeing my brothers mangled and deceased body on the ground. His 'chute had failed to open and had a one way trip to the ground. Sadness and shock quickly turned to anger and hatred as I just opened fire. Killing asshole after asshole. My Lucario also joined the fight, killing wave after wave of enemy reinforcements. I spied a runner sprinting away and turned to shoot him in the back. Though as I did, I felt a powerful kick hitting my back, flinging me forwards onto the ground. My ears rang intensely as I witnessed in horror as a RPG hit Mike square in his chest. Blowing him up into a million and one pieces. Before I could get up. I felt three hot things strike my chest, forcing me back into the grit. Again, I tried to stand up; this time however, it was not an RPG or bullets that struck me. It was in fact, a mortar shell that rained from above. All I remember is seeing lots of blood. Then, Silence.
Interactions with Pokemon: Charles has actually had a surprising amount of interaction with that of the opposite species, having gained his starter when he was about twelve years of age, that started being a Cyndaquil. Over the years, he battled alone with Ben, his starter, for many years. His idea on having a full fledged team didn't really suit him well. Also it was primarily due to him having a strict 'catch and release' method to his persona. Years and an infinite amount of battles later, at the age of nineteen, he joined the SAS (Special Air Service) to fight against the Rocket Terrorists that took over Celadon. During a training mission, his team found a Lucario, a Lucario that was close to death. He opened his heart and let the bipedal dog join his team. Though six months later, his actions and strategic knowledge of the battlefield would be put to the test, with dire consequences. Personality: Charles has a very interesting character to say the least. At times he can be so blunt about other people, to their faces I might add, about either personality traits or physical ones. The severity of this 'insult' is usually dependant on how openly the defect presents itself. However, if it one that is generally not well known to the public ear, nor do you want it to be, you can definitely trust Charles to keep it that way.
The reason why he is good at keeping secrets is primarily due to his stubbornness. You can do nearly anything you want to him in attempt to make him break, such as steal and hide is arm or leg, or even torture the poor soul until near death. The fact of the matter being is that he just will not ever tell a personal secret or give up in any of his beliefs or decisions. The classic example being the loss of his limbs.
Due to this reason, he is known to have incredibly violent outbreaks for seemingly no reason at all. When in fact, he is just really pissed of at himself for allowing the death of his team and the loss of his limbs. He only knows one way to rid himself of the emotional pain, to inflict it on others.
However, when he is not beating the shit out of something, or someone, he is usually a gentlemen with a good understanding of proper manners. That being said, he is also incredibly clean, to the point of scarily clean. Everything is always looking like it was bought that very day. It is a very good habit to keep in his eyes, though others would beg to differ.
He is also by no means of average intelligence, his mind is always a wonder of ideas and experiments that he'd like to test, he constantly absorbs books like a plant does water. There always seems to be that twinkle of pure enlightenment in his eyes when ever he speaks. He is always ecstatic when he learns something new and will wright it down in a small note pad he usually travels with.
Through the horrors of war, he is known to be a empathetic guy. He will sit and listen, even offer advice about personal issues others are having in their lives. He just has that uncanny ability to connect with others on a more personal level.
- Quality 1
Charles first quality would be that he is extremely over protective of his assets. Though he can take this to new extremes when it comes to protecting his friends and family, to the point where he is willing to commit mass murder to protect them.
- Quality 2
Since his 'accident', he has become very violent towards other people, often refusing social interaction and at worst, beating the living daylight out of them as a way to escape his emotional turmoil.
- Quality 3
Having been in the military, he has very strict policies and opinions on certain subjects. Though his his one opinion that he will never falter on is his teachings and experiences with the rocket's and their bastard ways of torturing both humans and Pokémon.
Pre-starter information: No pre-starter.
Goals in Cheyenne: Possibly to find some redemption for his sin's. By any means necessary if it comes down to that.
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