I'm not all that happy with my CS, but i've finished it.
BTW, Shadow, your weapons are awfully unorthodox for your role as a Delta operator.
And on an unrelated note, what's up with these ads?
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A sort of Arma RP? Count me in.
I guess yeah, nothing stopping that from happening. But I guess since most of the RP will be happening inside the research base, I guess the point is moot anyways.
EDIT: I also guess, that I used the word guess a few too many times in my post, so I guess that's a bad thing.
EDIT: I also guess, that I used the word guess a few too many times in my post, so I guess that's a bad thing.
Well, if we're in the Arctic. Then I guess a Lee Enfield, since that's what the Canadian Rangers use to patrol the rather cold parts of Canada. A weapon like the M4 is going to freeze up pretty quickly in the temperatures that you can expect in the Arctic. But that would be a little hard to use, honestly, I'm not sure on what to suggest, maybe the M417, which is probably no better. Since pretty much any weapon would freeze up in minus twenties.
Are we having a standard loadout, or are we for some reason going to have a mismatched assortment of weapons, which make resupplying each other a nightmare? You know, just because a Mk. 16 fires 5.56 NATO, doesn't mean you can load it with a 5.56 mag from an M4.
And on that note, if we are operating in a desert, like Antarctica. The M4 is less than stellar choice of weapon, just saying.
Name: Peter DeWitt.
Callsign: Pope.
Rank: Staff Sergeant.
Age: Thirty-two.
Gender: Male.
Bio and Personality: Born to a military family in Upstate New York, it came to no surprise that as soon he was able, he enlisted in the US Army. Which just so happened to be in time for the US lead invasion of Afghanistan. He would go on to spend several years in the Army, before he decided to attend Ranger school in the hope of becoming a Ranger. At first he didn't make the cut, but the year after he returned and was able to get into training and eventually become a Ranger.
Peter went on to serve with the 75th Rangers for several years in Afghanistan. He had planned on leaving the military at this point, or taking on a training position, however, relations with Iran made a turn for the worse, and resulted in an invasion of Iran. This of course meant that Pete was more or less forced into remaining in the Army, for the time being at least. Serving three tours in Iran, his time there was eventful to say the least, eventful enough that he was noticed by a Delta Force recruiter.
He figuratively leaped at the chance of joining the elite of the elite, and before he knew it, he was back in Iran doing the work that was very much kept of the books.
Weapons and Ammo:Mk. 16 Mod 0, twelve 20 round magazines - Angled Front grip, side mounted laser/light mounts and a ACOG Scope. M9 Beretta, four fifteen round magazines - Underbarrel light attachment Combat Knife Two M63 Fragmentation grenades Two M83 Smoke grenades
And on that note, if we are operating in a desert, like Antarctica. The M4 is less than stellar choice of weapon, just saying.
Name: Peter DeWitt.
Callsign: Pope.
Rank: Staff Sergeant.
Age: Thirty-two.
Gender: Male.
Bio and Personality: Born to a military family in Upstate New York, it came to no surprise that as soon he was able, he enlisted in the US Army. Which just so happened to be in time for the US lead invasion of Afghanistan. He would go on to spend several years in the Army, before he decided to attend Ranger school in the hope of becoming a Ranger. At first he didn't make the cut, but the year after he returned and was able to get into training and eventually become a Ranger.
Peter went on to serve with the 75th Rangers for several years in Afghanistan. He had planned on leaving the military at this point, or taking on a training position, however, relations with Iran made a turn for the worse, and resulted in an invasion of Iran. This of course meant that Pete was more or less forced into remaining in the Army, for the time being at least. Serving three tours in Iran, his time there was eventful to say the least, eventful enough that he was noticed by a Delta Force recruiter.
He figuratively leaped at the chance of joining the elite of the elite, and before he knew it, he was back in Iran doing the work that was very much kept of the books.
Weapons and Ammo:
You got any plans on what specifically the Republic (Intelligence) would want from Alex in this situation, or will I just go with what I had planned?
Taken back a little by Eyrtij's comment, Alex almost wasn't sure on what to say. "Oh you know" he started, "trying not to get myself killed for one." Putting his hand over his mouth, before he yawned, Alex realised he hadn't shaved this morning, and then he realised he hadn't even looked in a mirror in days, no doubt he looked like shit."So, do you actually have money for this time, or has your purse sprung a leak, again, eh?"
He could feel a burning sensation on his chest, not one of actual origin. Just his mind reminding him where death lay, in his suits inner breast pocket. A simple envelope, which had a sufficient amount of information to do untold harm on his beloved Empire . . . How the mighty had fallen.
He could feel a burning sensation on his chest, not one of actual origin. Just his mind reminding him where death lay, in his suits inner breast pocket. A simple envelope, which had a sufficient amount of information to do untold harm on his beloved Empire . . . How the mighty had fallen.
Alex agreed that in this very moment, things could simply not be better then their were right now. It was safe to say, that there existed no greater pleasure in the whole of the Galaxy, than savouring the taste of a twenty-two hundred thousand credit bottle of Corellian scotch. Well, that's what Alex thought, and who was anyone else to complain?
However, at this point, Alex hadn't even opened the bottle, it just stood motionless taunting him on his table.He wasn't all too sure what exactly stopping him from indulging his pleasures in such a good investment. Upon reflection, that probably had something to do with the part where said scotch was bought from money in which he had acquired from means that were, well, would get a man shot, no matter his position.
Another man would probably gulp that up, when you were in such a position as Alex is, your days are very much numbered. Why not make your last few days, good days?
And then he saw him, across the bar trying to be nondescript and out of the way. He was good at doing that, to anyone one else, he was just another patron at a high-end establishment, but to Alex he stood out like a sore thumb. He was the reason that Alex was here, damn him and his ways, because of this son of a bitch, Alex had went from an Imperialist to the heart, to a man who sells classified documents to the Republic, in exchange for credits, which he then inturn spends on scotch, that he won't drink.
'Now the fun begins', he thought to himself, 'how many more deaths will I cause today?' It wasn't a question he could answer, and that was good, he didn't want to know.
"I'd offer you a glass," said Alex, as his handler sat next to him. "But I can't find it in myself to be kind to you, so you'll have to do without."
However, at this point, Alex hadn't even opened the bottle, it just stood motionless taunting him on his table.He wasn't all too sure what exactly stopping him from indulging his pleasures in such a good investment. Upon reflection, that probably had something to do with the part where said scotch was bought from money in which he had acquired from means that were, well, would get a man shot, no matter his position.
Another man would probably gulp that up, when you were in such a position as Alex is, your days are very much numbered. Why not make your last few days, good days?
And then he saw him, across the bar trying to be nondescript and out of the way. He was good at doing that, to anyone one else, he was just another patron at a high-end establishment, but to Alex he stood out like a sore thumb. He was the reason that Alex was here, damn him and his ways, because of this son of a bitch, Alex had went from an Imperialist to the heart, to a man who sells classified documents to the Republic, in exchange for credits, which he then inturn spends on scotch, that he won't drink.
'Now the fun begins', he thought to himself, 'how many more deaths will I cause today?' It wasn't a question he could answer, and that was good, he didn't want to know.
"I'd offer you a glass," said Alex, as his handler sat next to him. "But I can't find it in myself to be kind to you, so you'll have to do without."
Sorry about the delay, been having the ever so phone Internet connection that doesn't want to work to save it's life.
Going to post now.
Going to post now.
Is the position of Casino owner open, because that sounds like something I'd do. Because one simply can not own a casino, and not be a mob boss.
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