[Hider=Corporal Felix "Iceman" Hazard]
Name: Corporal Felix "Iceman" Hazard

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 5'6" 177 lbs.

Speciality: Plasma Gunner

Appearance: "Short and stocky" are the words that often come to mind when describing Corporal Hazard. He manages to be small enough to comfortably fit in any given seat of an armoured vehicle, and broad enough that he has no trouble getting in the way when he needs to. He tends to put a great deal of effort into avoiding being obviously singled out as short, and if it weren't for the fact that he were a guardsman, he might avoid being singled out entirely, thanks to his surprisingly forgettable features. A face that was once far more generic is now almost upsettingly memorable thanks to his position as plasma gunner. Not one to be considered vain, Felix strives more for forgettable than any sort of attractive, though he'd take either over the sometimes painful plasma burns that extend downward from his lower jaw to most of his neck.

Uniform: The plain black, and entirely unmarked, combat fatigues of the 3003rd grenadiers, under their olive drab heavy flak armour, an inexpensive cross between carapace armour and flak armour used by the 3003rd for their roughly stormtrooper-equivalent, the grenadiers.

Armament: Plasma Gun, Laspistol, Bayonet, Fragmentation Grenades, Snub-nosed Stub Revolver, IFAK, E-tool, Half-face respirator, Goggles, Claymore Wire.

Personality/Demeanour: Felix has long-since adopted the guard standard of not caring about anything that doesn't immediately affect him. The things that do affect him are usually met with a gout of superheated plasma, or warm, welcoming indifference. His tendency to yell, or at least speak loudly, due to his difficulty hearing often gives the impression that he cares a lot more than he does. His apathy only seems to last as long as his breaks from the frontline, however. In combat, his levels of motivation reach astonishing levels as he strives with every fibre of his being to live to see another day of blissful indifference.

Greatest Ambition: To leave the Guard and build a life where he can do very little in relative comfort and without consequence. Often described as a desire to "Ball so hard, motherfuckers try to fine him, but remain unable to locate him in order to do so".

Greatest Hatred: A tie between Orks and Traitor Guardsmen.

Skills: Master Plasma-gunnery, Expert Mental Fortitude, Advanced Narcolepsy, Advanced Bullshitting, Advanced Overwatch, Advanced Trench-clearing, Intermediate Navigation(Ground), Intermediate Dangerous Terrain Negotiation, Intermediate Hand-to-hand Self-defence, Intermediate Grenade-throwing, Intermediate Survival(Trenches), Intermediate Survival(Urban), Intermediate Shotgunnery, Basic Room Clearing, Basic Sleight-of-hand, Basic Fearlessness, Basic Trap-laying.

History: Felix grew up on an agriworld, but he wasn't born there. He was born on a colony ship on its way to said world, with a name none of its new colonists could pronounce. They stuck to calling it by its designation, if only because that was pronounceable. "Charlie-Foxtrot-0331" was home for Corporal Hazard's developmental years, though that didn't last long. He was press-ganged into the Imperial Navy the day after he turned eighteen. He tried to escape when no one was looking, but that didn't go so well. He only succeeded once he was on the ship that was supposed to carry him off for whatever specialized training he might get selected to receive. Success was also a bad word to use in this context, since the best Felix managed was getting himself trapped in the next room, which just so happened to be full of people about to be forcibly inducted into the Imperial Guard. This "Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire" sort of twist would follow him through most of the rest of his life.

Boot camp was rough, but he got through it, and quickly realized just how rough things could get. He was just in time to be picked as a replacement plasma gunner. It was only after he got to the unit that he found out why his apparently coincidental position was so much worse. The Regiment that he'd been abducted by was Lord Strathcona's 3003rd Raider Regiment. So of course that meant anything to do with the number three was "lucky". As luck would have it, he was the third replacement plasma gunner for Three Section of Three Platoon, Charlie Company, 3rd Division. That was actually the only good thing to happen to the poor bastard. The 3003rd had been mechanized infantry at their inception, but that had been nearly a decade previous. Lord Strathcona himself was long dead, and the Regiment was still fighting the battle it had been created for. To make matters worse, this wasn't a battle the 3003rd had been created to win. Now a light infantry regiment, and with no more success, they continued to slog away. Two very stubborn and apparently well-supplied Traitor Guard Regiments, an Ork infestation, and rumours of Eldar operations had three planets under constant siege by the Imperium. Normal procedure likely would have resulted in orbital bombardments, and eventually either the three planets would be destroyed, or just left barren of life. Unfortunately for the 3003rd, someone in the Inquisition had declared that the planets needed to be taken the old fashioned way. Operation: Burn 'Em Out, had failed, and now Felix and the new wave of recruits were here to fill the gaps before they tried again.

In a unit where surviving your first assault made you a veteran, and living for long enough to see a replacement trooper join your section got you inducted into "The Old Breed", it seemed like Corporal Hazard was ready to make himself a career. Himself, his Sergeant, and the mortarman that insisted on tagging along with their section were the only ones that seemed to live for any length of time, everyone else just turned into a blur of faces that screamed in slightly different octaves when something awful tore them to pieces. It wasn't a pleasant existence, but he got to stay alive, and most days that was better than nothing.

It was only when "Weird, warpy shit" started happening, and a couple of minor Chaos daemons showed up, that anything really got done. By that time, Felix had lost the skin on his neck and lower jaw, half a dozen fingers, and the feeling in his left hand to his plasma gun, the whole platoon had been promoted to Grenadiers, and he'd been fighting Orks and Traitor Guardsmen for at least a year. 

The Inquisition finally sent someone to try and speed things up when daemons started showing up. Felix, his Sergeant, and the mortarman whose name he'd never actually caught, being the sole survivors of yet another Traitor assault, were instructed to help the Inquisitor and his retinue in any way they could. That resulted in the three veterans getting dragged around behind a small army of stormtroopers, occasionally offering advice just a little too late, and generally going through some places much more unpleasant than they really wanted to. 

In the end, the Inquisitor accomplished something that seemed to rout the Traitor Guard on that particular planet something fierce, and only at the cost of most of his private army, and the sanity of the mortarman. The Iceman himself was rewarded with a brand new pair of mastercrafted arms from the elbow down, specifically constructed to resist the kind of heat put out by a plasma gun venting overheated coolant. Felix didn't ask questions, and took to wearing long sleeves and gloves at all times, just to show off that he could hold onto a plasma gun while it overheated. He earned himself a fancy nickname, and then was horrified to realize he was expected to just go right back to fighting on the next Hellworld in the system that needed to be rid of the enemy's presence.

That had been the original idea, at least. Some kind of hidden political struggle resulted in the ship he'd been ushered onto being redirected to Emperor-knew-where. Someone said something about being attached to an entirely different regiment, and someone else observed that it was just the 3003rd's entire compliment of Grenadiers on the ship, but Felix focused on brushing up on his R&R, considering he had at least a month of warp travel ahead of him, and no one was shooting at him any more. He could get concerned about what was going on once they'd arrived at their destination. So of course their destination had to be at least as bad as the world he'd wasted more than a year of his life fighting on. But now he was expected to assault a fortified hive alongside the rest of the 3003rd's "Stormtroopers". The vast majority of them were practically children, and in a best case scenario, maybe half a dozen had made it out of their twenties. And of course some overly-ambitious senior officer who'd never seen a battlefield, had to go ahead and suggest that the 3003rd would have no trouble leading the way. Felix just hoped that whoever it was, they were leading the first charge through the gap...

Miscellaneous: In progress?
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