yeah i'm still here, just caught up in other shit. gimme some time
Penultimate_Pi Member
- Last Seen: 7 yrs ago
- Old Guild Username: FinderOfPaths
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 615 (0.15 / day)
- VMs: 3
-
Username history
- Penultimate_Pi 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Ariamis
Status
Recent Statuses
8 yrs ago
I keep coming back here very so often, as if it would make my wanting to return any better. I don't know why that would be. I would just disappear again and regret it again, I'm sure.
1
like
8 yrs ago
i give up. why do I even bother if I can't be consistent? it's over for me.
8 yrs ago
I'm just... really in a bad time. I feel awful. I'm don't think I have the strength of will to show my face here again after letting everyone down.
1
like
8 yrs ago
just gonna bash my head on a door or something
9 yrs ago
whatever
1
like
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
Phew, that was a big one. But now I'm caught up and in the action.
As the other hires had quite contented themselves either watching the political garbage the common man called 'news' or helping themselves to Taggart's mini bar, the three individuals Craig had mentioned began to trickle through the door. Two middle-aged men the likes of Jay himself, and then a snappy-looking young lady that looked like she'd just been plucked from under a car. Jamie remained silent, much to the mockery of Kennedy, as he remained within he own thoughts.
Jay only truly came back to the present when their supposed leader, a Mr. Michael Yancy, entered the room. Immediately, Jamie began to dash his expectations for this ragtag little squad- Mack bore every visual sign of a drunkard fresh from the saloon. He struggled to stay upright, dark bags under his squinting eyes (blue on black, oddly enough) and the hints of stubble around his lower face indicated he hadn't shaved properly. Either Taggart had surprisingly low expectations for candidates of leader roles, or Mack wasn't ready for this.
More likely the latter, however, given how painstakingly all these skilled individuals had been gathered here at this very time. But, then, there did appear to be a certain logic to who had been picked, seeing as how Yancy actually recognized some of the faces among the seven.
A couple of brisk reunions were shared, all that stuff. Jamie feigned non-interest, a simple act considering he'd never met any of these people before. However, the certain circumstances surrounding the relations of the people here made the marksman keep an ear on the conversation. It was obvious the outsiders like himself here were just experts offering their talents, but the former police agents all had some history, forced into hiding and begging to be reunited with this new combat operations unit. How convenient.
Everyone snapped to attention as Craig Hobbes stepped up to center stage again, dragging a lock box almost as large as himself all with one skinny arm. Slapping open the latch, the box fell open to reveal what had to be an entire armory's worth of firearms, all loaded up.
Damn if that didn't get everyone's attention, even the ever-stoic sniper. "Wow," Jamie commented in pleasant surprise, breaking his silence. Unlike the Chinese man he was sharing a couch with, the sniper stood up to glance at the stash of weapons from a different angle. As he did, though, Craig quickly held up an index finger to Jay, signaling to give him a moment as he retreated into the kitchen...
Not a few moments later, Taggart's partner returned with something completely different, for Packard himself, apparently.
The stockpile of traditional ballistics was all well and good, tried and true, but the rifle Craig was now hoisting under his arm seemed to come fresh from the future. Taking the thing into his arms, Jay's mouth couldn't help but slack open. The rifle was large, bulky, and weighty- not unmanageable, but still plenty to put any other conventional sniper rifle system to shame. The sheen and trim that shaped the frame of the gun showed a lot of care and money went into making this weapon look as flawless as could be afforded.
As Jay wordlessly tested the heft and design of the advanced weapon, Craig took care to answer the marksman's unspoken questions. The rifle was a custom build, created from schematics stolen from the Japanese; the Longshot Rifle "Shogun". That little tidbit about the design being stolen perked Jay right back up again.
"Stolen?" Jay parroted, somewhat blankly, before redoubling his words with a tad more exasperation. "Who did he steal it from? And more importantly-" the sniper removed the large box magazine, inspecting the dozen or so huge cartridges within, "-what the hell were they planning to do with it? With something this size, you could take down a whole building."
It certainly didn't take a gun nut to figure that the 'Shogun' was built big enough to bust a fat hole in concrete, tank armor, and soldiers alike. The question, then, is why were the Japanese trying to manufacture something like this. No, not Japan in general- more likely a private Japanese firm, Jay thought, Mack's recent words popping into his mind.
The gears in his brain began to turn. Taggart gathering a whole arsenal of weapons, a handful of professional fighters, and even advanced custom gear like this rifle... There had to be something else behind this, and it was itching Jay's mind harder than ever now.
Alone in his musings, still holding the rifle, he looked back across the room, past his new teammates and out the window, into the salient night...
Within a single moment, the entire house was sent into chaos. Jay tried to move, but the bullet traveled faster than any man could hope to catch up with, entering Craig's chest with little resistance. Glass shattered, the table buckled under the falling body, and Mack screamed uncharacteristically. Synthetics, Taggart's partner hacked out in his fleeting breaths.
From the support beam he had taken cover behind, Jay cursed the tides of fate. "Knew it," he muttered once, then again louder, "I fucking knew it!"
Everything happened so quickly. Mack desperately begged Craig for words, and he spat them out. The Chinese man heeded the instructions about the failsafe in the boiler room, and scrambled for the vents. The temporary squad captain began to bark out orders as one of the men headed upstairs in a panic. She pointed at Jay and the worn street-sweeper, ordering them both to take up arms at the roof and pick off their assailants.
The sniper spared a single glance at the other man, sneered, and called back to the lady, "What, you think I need help?"
With a certain cool bravado about him, Packard slipped out from behind the column and between cover. Leaving the Shogun at rest behind the couch, he ducked over and pilfered an EBR from the pile of weapons Craig had dispensed earlier. As Kennedy came barreling back into the room with a door-sized riot shield and a fresh scar of battle, Jay took his place and dashed out, eager to escape the line of fire. He scrambled up the stairs to the next floor, and up further then, to the attic space Craig had mentioned.
Bashing open the door, Packard crawled along the dusty flooring, past the piles of assorted crap, and up to the edge of the skylight. This experience was one that the marksman hadn't been through in years, his time in urban warfare having spoiled him to being in a true, heated conflict. Placing the stock to his shoulder and his eye to the scope, he zeroed in on the first of eight targets he could count - which meant the rest were surrounding the complex or preparing to breach. He quietly hoped his other operatives were as good as Taggart advertised, or he might actually be in serious trouble.
Jay's eagle eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light, and he aligned the crosshairs of the EBR to his first victim of the night. Humans, androids, they all fell the same to a solid bullet through the head. Compensating for the soldier's next movement, he squeezed the trigger, a cacophony of ballistic power and shattering glass accompanying the shot.
Jay only truly came back to the present when their supposed leader, a Mr. Michael Yancy, entered the room. Immediately, Jamie began to dash his expectations for this ragtag little squad- Mack bore every visual sign of a drunkard fresh from the saloon. He struggled to stay upright, dark bags under his squinting eyes (blue on black, oddly enough) and the hints of stubble around his lower face indicated he hadn't shaved properly. Either Taggart had surprisingly low expectations for candidates of leader roles, or Mack wasn't ready for this.
More likely the latter, however, given how painstakingly all these skilled individuals had been gathered here at this very time. But, then, there did appear to be a certain logic to who had been picked, seeing as how Yancy actually recognized some of the faces among the seven.
A couple of brisk reunions were shared, all that stuff. Jamie feigned non-interest, a simple act considering he'd never met any of these people before. However, the certain circumstances surrounding the relations of the people here made the marksman keep an ear on the conversation. It was obvious the outsiders like himself here were just experts offering their talents, but the former police agents all had some history, forced into hiding and begging to be reunited with this new combat operations unit. How convenient.
Everyone snapped to attention as Craig Hobbes stepped up to center stage again, dragging a lock box almost as large as himself all with one skinny arm. Slapping open the latch, the box fell open to reveal what had to be an entire armory's worth of firearms, all loaded up.
Damn if that didn't get everyone's attention, even the ever-stoic sniper. "Wow," Jamie commented in pleasant surprise, breaking his silence. Unlike the Chinese man he was sharing a couch with, the sniper stood up to glance at the stash of weapons from a different angle. As he did, though, Craig quickly held up an index finger to Jay, signaling to give him a moment as he retreated into the kitchen...
Not a few moments later, Taggart's partner returned with something completely different, for Packard himself, apparently.
The stockpile of traditional ballistics was all well and good, tried and true, but the rifle Craig was now hoisting under his arm seemed to come fresh from the future. Taking the thing into his arms, Jay's mouth couldn't help but slack open. The rifle was large, bulky, and weighty- not unmanageable, but still plenty to put any other conventional sniper rifle system to shame. The sheen and trim that shaped the frame of the gun showed a lot of care and money went into making this weapon look as flawless as could be afforded.
As Jay wordlessly tested the heft and design of the advanced weapon, Craig took care to answer the marksman's unspoken questions. The rifle was a custom build, created from schematics stolen from the Japanese; the Longshot Rifle "Shogun". That little tidbit about the design being stolen perked Jay right back up again.
"Stolen?" Jay parroted, somewhat blankly, before redoubling his words with a tad more exasperation. "Who did he steal it from? And more importantly-" the sniper removed the large box magazine, inspecting the dozen or so huge cartridges within, "-what the hell were they planning to do with it? With something this size, you could take down a whole building."
It certainly didn't take a gun nut to figure that the 'Shogun' was built big enough to bust a fat hole in concrete, tank armor, and soldiers alike. The question, then, is why were the Japanese trying to manufacture something like this. No, not Japan in general- more likely a private Japanese firm, Jay thought, Mack's recent words popping into his mind.
The gears in his brain began to turn. Taggart gathering a whole arsenal of weapons, a handful of professional fighters, and even advanced custom gear like this rifle... There had to be something else behind this, and it was itching Jay's mind harder than ever now.
Alone in his musings, still holding the rifle, he looked back across the room, past his new teammates and out the window, into the salient night...
- All Hell Breaks Loose -
Within a single moment, the entire house was sent into chaos. Jay tried to move, but the bullet traveled faster than any man could hope to catch up with, entering Craig's chest with little resistance. Glass shattered, the table buckled under the falling body, and Mack screamed uncharacteristically. Synthetics, Taggart's partner hacked out in his fleeting breaths.
From the support beam he had taken cover behind, Jay cursed the tides of fate. "Knew it," he muttered once, then again louder, "I fucking knew it!"
Everything happened so quickly. Mack desperately begged Craig for words, and he spat them out. The Chinese man heeded the instructions about the failsafe in the boiler room, and scrambled for the vents. The temporary squad captain began to bark out orders as one of the men headed upstairs in a panic. She pointed at Jay and the worn street-sweeper, ordering them both to take up arms at the roof and pick off their assailants.
The sniper spared a single glance at the other man, sneered, and called back to the lady, "What, you think I need help?"
With a certain cool bravado about him, Packard slipped out from behind the column and between cover. Leaving the Shogun at rest behind the couch, he ducked over and pilfered an EBR from the pile of weapons Craig had dispensed earlier. As Kennedy came barreling back into the room with a door-sized riot shield and a fresh scar of battle, Jay took his place and dashed out, eager to escape the line of fire. He scrambled up the stairs to the next floor, and up further then, to the attic space Craig had mentioned.
Bashing open the door, Packard crawled along the dusty flooring, past the piles of assorted crap, and up to the edge of the skylight. This experience was one that the marksman hadn't been through in years, his time in urban warfare having spoiled him to being in a true, heated conflict. Placing the stock to his shoulder and his eye to the scope, he zeroed in on the first of eight targets he could count - which meant the rest were surrounding the complex or preparing to breach. He quietly hoped his other operatives were as good as Taggart advertised, or he might actually be in serious trouble.
Jay's eagle eyes quickly adjusted to the lack of light, and he aligned the crosshairs of the EBR to his first victim of the night. Humans, androids, they all fell the same to a solid bullet through the head. Compensating for the soldier's next movement, he squeezed the trigger, a cacophony of ballistic power and shattering glass accompanying the shot.
Holy crap this is moving fast. Guess I'd better start writing if I have any hope of keeping up
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww shit
(psst, does that rifle have any details you'd like to share or should I just make something up?)
(psst, does that rifle have any details you'd like to share or should I just make something up?)
@Dynamo Frokane Please let me know if the additional backstory I produced in my post is acceptable. I only brought it up as something to create conflict for Jay himself, it doesn't need to be relevant in the story itself if you don't want it.
Jamie wasn't particularly enthused, so far.
For the past few years, "Jay" Packard had operated as a freelance agent of sorts - taking jobs at his personal discretion and generally working under the salary from that alone. Before that, he'd been a dedicated agent for DynaCorp, one of the leading "private security" operators in the North American region, for upwards of a dozen years.
The company had a certain infamy about it, recognized only by those well-ingrained in the political world, in its habit of locking down and absorbing smaller business outfits. Part of this was to expand their range of influence, the other part served to intake supplies and workers with promise of better pay and treatment. For the most part it worked, legal and ethical concerns be damned; the puppet government didn't have enough power in their hands to refuse DynaCorp's questionable practices, and the other corporations that did were either paid for their silence or sent a 'message' to ensure they didn't speak up.
When he wasn't assassinating crime lords or covering drug-busting operations, Jay would occasionally find himself the 'courtier' for those certain latter instances. While DynaCorp did pay a handsome royalty to ensure the 'delivery' went as perfectly as it could, it didn't make the experiences any more desirable. Killing rabid junkies and lawless insurgents was easy and didn't need much induction - "These guys are plotting to overthrow the security of this sector, go put a stop to them," - political intrigue, meanwhile, proved much more difficult to swallow.
Fortunately, servicing a company for over a decade with excellent skill in your field allowed one to be less of a beggar and more of a chooser, so to speak. Gradually, Jamie formulated a certain business plan for his own devices, and began to phase away from DynaCorp in the span of a couple years. The process wasn't so much taking matters into his own hands, but rather working as an independent agent, doing the same terror-killing missions without the concerns of inter-company power struggles.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before DynaCorp themselves caught on, and at that point Jamie would be ready to defend his stake if it came to it. Rather than challenge him, however, the security agency recognized his intent and granted him that very political freedom- under several firm conditions, granted, but all the same in any case.
Until recently, Jay had been somewhat enjoying this free reign to take down the many different anarchist rings at his own order for a year or so. With no company requirements or political killings to keep quota, life became relatively more simple- as much at it could get, of course, for someone who effectively served as a hitman.
It was at this point that he came in contact with Councilman Tim Taggart. The man who recited all of this knowledge and more to Jamie, making quite clear his former governmental influence. Time presented the meeting as an opportunity for a soldier like Jay to make a real difference in the world again while doing the same job he'd just been doing. Jay himself interpreted as a threat to his well-being, a ransom to join this newly-founded anti-crime organization or have the secrets he was holding divulged. Who would the info go to? He couldn't know for sure; yet, Jamie was quite certain that there was more than one person (or company of persons) that would want the man dead if this knowledge was divulged to them. There was no cause driven greater than petty revenge, after all.
So here Jay sat now, lounging on the couch of some messy flat of the former young police captain who was supposed to be fielding this crew. And what a crew it was- back in the day, the racial diversity of this team might have been rather praised (or just as equally hated).
He was supposed to get along with this motley band of individuals? Well, it couldn't be the worst challenge of life.
Just looking at this meeting place told volumes about what C.O.P.S. had to work with compared to what the program meant to do. It put the whole thing in a slightly more understandable light for Jay, so that he didn't feel exactly like he was being dragged into this against his will.
Still, Jay couldn't shake off a certain feeling. Like a shirt with an itchy tag, the uncomfortable thought nagged at him. The idea that Taggart had approached him knowing everything there was to know about him didn't quite sit right in the brain. If the councilman knew all that himself, how many other people had Jay's life story recorded and up for grabs. Was this a ransom, or some secret chance for redemption?
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, the saying went. As Jamie chugged half a glass of water, he tried to resolve not to think too hard about whatever implications were at stake. This was just a less-than-fancy attempt to change the face of a city, after all.
For the past few years, "Jay" Packard had operated as a freelance agent of sorts - taking jobs at his personal discretion and generally working under the salary from that alone. Before that, he'd been a dedicated agent for DynaCorp, one of the leading "private security" operators in the North American region, for upwards of a dozen years.
The company had a certain infamy about it, recognized only by those well-ingrained in the political world, in its habit of locking down and absorbing smaller business outfits. Part of this was to expand their range of influence, the other part served to intake supplies and workers with promise of better pay and treatment. For the most part it worked, legal and ethical concerns be damned; the puppet government didn't have enough power in their hands to refuse DynaCorp's questionable practices, and the other corporations that did were either paid for their silence or sent a 'message' to ensure they didn't speak up.
When he wasn't assassinating crime lords or covering drug-busting operations, Jay would occasionally find himself the 'courtier' for those certain latter instances. While DynaCorp did pay a handsome royalty to ensure the 'delivery' went as perfectly as it could, it didn't make the experiences any more desirable. Killing rabid junkies and lawless insurgents was easy and didn't need much induction - "These guys are plotting to overthrow the security of this sector, go put a stop to them," - political intrigue, meanwhile, proved much more difficult to swallow.
Fortunately, servicing a company for over a decade with excellent skill in your field allowed one to be less of a beggar and more of a chooser, so to speak. Gradually, Jamie formulated a certain business plan for his own devices, and began to phase away from DynaCorp in the span of a couple years. The process wasn't so much taking matters into his own hands, but rather working as an independent agent, doing the same terror-killing missions without the concerns of inter-company power struggles.
Of course, it was only a matter of time before DynaCorp themselves caught on, and at that point Jamie would be ready to defend his stake if it came to it. Rather than challenge him, however, the security agency recognized his intent and granted him that very political freedom- under several firm conditions, granted, but all the same in any case.
Until recently, Jay had been somewhat enjoying this free reign to take down the many different anarchist rings at his own order for a year or so. With no company requirements or political killings to keep quota, life became relatively more simple- as much at it could get, of course, for someone who effectively served as a hitman.
It was at this point that he came in contact with Councilman Tim Taggart. The man who recited all of this knowledge and more to Jamie, making quite clear his former governmental influence. Time presented the meeting as an opportunity for a soldier like Jay to make a real difference in the world again while doing the same job he'd just been doing. Jay himself interpreted as a threat to his well-being, a ransom to join this newly-founded anti-crime organization or have the secrets he was holding divulged. Who would the info go to? He couldn't know for sure; yet, Jamie was quite certain that there was more than one person (or company of persons) that would want the man dead if this knowledge was divulged to them. There was no cause driven greater than petty revenge, after all.
So here Jay sat now, lounging on the couch of some messy flat of the former young police captain who was supposed to be fielding this crew. And what a crew it was- back in the day, the racial diversity of this team might have been rather praised (or just as equally hated).
He was supposed to get along with this motley band of individuals? Well, it couldn't be the worst challenge of life.
Just looking at this meeting place told volumes about what C.O.P.S. had to work with compared to what the program meant to do. It put the whole thing in a slightly more understandable light for Jay, so that he didn't feel exactly like he was being dragged into this against his will.
Still, Jay couldn't shake off a certain feeling. Like a shirt with an itchy tag, the uncomfortable thought nagged at him. The idea that Taggart had approached him knowing everything there was to know about him didn't quite sit right in the brain. If the councilman knew all that himself, how many other people had Jay's life story recorded and up for grabs. Was this a ransom, or some secret chance for redemption?
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, the saying went. As Jamie chugged half a glass of water, he tried to resolve not to think too hard about whatever implications were at stake. This was just a less-than-fancy attempt to change the face of a city, after all.
Name: Jamie "Jay" Packard
Role: The Sharpshooter
D.O.B.: May 17, 1999
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 189 lbs.
Nationality: Finnish
Appearance:
Background:
Jamie Packard hasn't exactly had the best of luck in his childhood. When the turn of the millennium saw the Anarchist movement erupt, his family found themselves caught in the heat, what with Nora Packard being a small-time cop in Imatra. Unprepared to fight such a major outbreak, and yet unwilling to turn away from her duty, Nora fought her best and was ultimately beaten down and publicly executed alongside ten other members of her brigade. This was just before little Jamie was even five years old yet, barely even able to grasp the idea of what was happening in the world and why her mother was so suddenly gone.
As the time of the 'Revolution' began to rear its ugly head, Jamie's father Gustrav found himself being drafted into the military. Fearing the worst after seeing his wife die, Gustrav had his son sent to live with his uncle in Switzerland, where Jay could hopefully live and grow up in safety. Though the boy did end up quite safe, Jamie's uncle couldn't help but concern over his brother, unwittingly exposing Jamie to the many evils and violence of the modern freedom movement.
Come age 8, and the poor child had an equally poor outlook on life ahead. Even as some semblance of order would return, the machinations of the world remained changed. Taxes were long exhausted, stock fluctuated wildly, private defense and major corporations boomed and dominated. Even after the war was over, Gustrav gave no signs of returning. Jamie's uncle went into depression, the remainders of his money spent drowning himself in cheap alcohol. Jamie couldn't help but be lost and alone, unable to yet act for himself and yet unsure of what he could even do.
At age 12, Jamie Packard was taken into government custody after a court ruling decided his uncle was unfit to remain a legal guardian for him. Any extensive care plans that would've taken the child in were long gone now; the only place willing to put forth the effort of taking him in happened to be one of the seedier private military corporations. They would teach him that the most common, the most well-paying, the only business worth pursuing at all in this new world had to be security detail. As much as Jamie would reject and resent their teachings and training to turn him into another of their corrupt soldiers, he simply had no other option lef to him as an individual, and could only force himself to accept that.
In 2012, one year later, the private industry housing Jamie is compromised after the Anarchist movement exposes their criminal practices and undermines several of their operations. Unfit to continue, the company attempts a merger with a more localized security firm in order to regain a foothold, only to be subsequently absorbed. By this stroke of luck, Jamie is able to come in contact with his father, who had quietly transitioned into work as a security agent without sharing the news with his family. This certain revelation leads to Jay attempting to formally disown Gustrav as his father, utterly disgusted over the man's apparent selfishness- alongside the fact that he seemed to be fooled into the same mindset that private security was the best job to pursue.
Fast-forward several decades, filled with strife, training, controversy, and war. Jay Packard, age 32, is now one of the top marksmen in his branch of the agency - but only begrudgingly so. He works as a skilled assassin and watchman, skilled enough to take on the more dangerous and expensive of operation with little strife and cost. Jay's aim in his field is the money, not to fight for any particular side. For as swiftly as he works, he too is silently dissatisfied with the politics of the world and quietly longing for the power to change that.
In early August, Jamie was extended an offer to join the Combat Operative Private Service program, and help take Neo-Bay City back from the rings of corruption and violence that now governed it.
Theme Song: youtube.com/watch?v=UHLKJYQ3Q_I
Role: The Sharpshooter
D.O.B.: May 17, 1999
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 189 lbs.
Nationality: Finnish
Appearance:
Background:
Jamie Packard hasn't exactly had the best of luck in his childhood. When the turn of the millennium saw the Anarchist movement erupt, his family found themselves caught in the heat, what with Nora Packard being a small-time cop in Imatra. Unprepared to fight such a major outbreak, and yet unwilling to turn away from her duty, Nora fought her best and was ultimately beaten down and publicly executed alongside ten other members of her brigade. This was just before little Jamie was even five years old yet, barely even able to grasp the idea of what was happening in the world and why her mother was so suddenly gone.
As the time of the 'Revolution' began to rear its ugly head, Jamie's father Gustrav found himself being drafted into the military. Fearing the worst after seeing his wife die, Gustrav had his son sent to live with his uncle in Switzerland, where Jay could hopefully live and grow up in safety. Though the boy did end up quite safe, Jamie's uncle couldn't help but concern over his brother, unwittingly exposing Jamie to the many evils and violence of the modern freedom movement.
Come age 8, and the poor child had an equally poor outlook on life ahead. Even as some semblance of order would return, the machinations of the world remained changed. Taxes were long exhausted, stock fluctuated wildly, private defense and major corporations boomed and dominated. Even after the war was over, Gustrav gave no signs of returning. Jamie's uncle went into depression, the remainders of his money spent drowning himself in cheap alcohol. Jamie couldn't help but be lost and alone, unable to yet act for himself and yet unsure of what he could even do.
At age 12, Jamie Packard was taken into government custody after a court ruling decided his uncle was unfit to remain a legal guardian for him. Any extensive care plans that would've taken the child in were long gone now; the only place willing to put forth the effort of taking him in happened to be one of the seedier private military corporations. They would teach him that the most common, the most well-paying, the only business worth pursuing at all in this new world had to be security detail. As much as Jamie would reject and resent their teachings and training to turn him into another of their corrupt soldiers, he simply had no other option lef to him as an individual, and could only force himself to accept that.
In 2012, one year later, the private industry housing Jamie is compromised after the Anarchist movement exposes their criminal practices and undermines several of their operations. Unfit to continue, the company attempts a merger with a more localized security firm in order to regain a foothold, only to be subsequently absorbed. By this stroke of luck, Jamie is able to come in contact with his father, who had quietly transitioned into work as a security agent without sharing the news with his family. This certain revelation leads to Jay attempting to formally disown Gustrav as his father, utterly disgusted over the man's apparent selfishness- alongside the fact that he seemed to be fooled into the same mindset that private security was the best job to pursue.
Fast-forward several decades, filled with strife, training, controversy, and war. Jay Packard, age 32, is now one of the top marksmen in his branch of the agency - but only begrudgingly so. He works as a skilled assassin and watchman, skilled enough to take on the more dangerous and expensive of operation with little strife and cost. Jay's aim in his field is the money, not to fight for any particular side. For as swiftly as he works, he too is silently dissatisfied with the politics of the world and quietly longing for the power to change that.
In early August, Jamie was extended an offer to join the Combat Operative Private Service program, and help take Neo-Bay City back from the rings of corruption and violence that now governed it.
Theme Song: youtube.com/watch?v=UHLKJYQ3Q_I
@Dynamo Frokane Alright, fine.
Hey, folks. I was recommended to this RP by @Dynamo Frokane himself after another of his RPs closed down. He offered me a potential spot here, so I'm just offering a character in return.
© 2007-2024