Scottybird Corvus
Avenging Thread God
"So the big-wigs upstairs want me to start off every one of these entries with my name, the entry number, and the date and time. Heh. Yeah, right. Hey, Admiral Clipper: Fuck you, buddy. I'm Special Ops now. You can't order me to do SHIT, meat-head. I'm keeping your idea about keeping a journal, but this is MY journal, bitch. You already had your five years with me, so NYEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! SUCK IT! Anyway, let's get this fucking thing rolling, eh?"
Birth Name:
Jonahs "Seer" Gregory
"Since the surgery, nobody's called me 'Jonahs' or 'Private Gregory' anymore. It's just been 'Seer'. My old squad used it, the admiral used it, the lab boys who did the surgery used it… Hell, even that psycho ninja bitch on the Spec Ops crew used it. It's like I don't even HAVE a real name anymore. Heh. Heheh. HAHAHA! I fucking LOVE IT! HAHA! SEER! It's fucking AWESOME! BOOYAH!"
Jonahs has recently submitted paperwork to legally change his name to "Seer", and it eagerly awaiting response.
Service Tag:
SEER-697
"Actually, the name has a pretty funny story. The dog-tags I got when I was enlisted as an ODST labeled me 'SEER-697'. That moniker turned out to be a lucky bunch characters punched out by a random number generator that turned into my own personal prophecy. And so began the best five years of my life. NOOOOT."
Age/Gender/Sexuality:
28 years old, Male, Pansexual
"In fact, it's no small miracle that I made it through the last five years with only a few minor rough ups from those muscle bound dumb-dumbs that are supposed to be "Earth's finest". What a joke. Those freaks of nature couldn't hit the deck of a Pelican if they were IN it. Ah, but I digress. Instead of bitching about the retarded grizzly bears they call 'Space Marines', let's bitch about the retarded grizzly bears they call 'Commanding Officers'. Here's a few things I learned about them. First point: Anyone with anyone that can pull rank on you hates scrawny little white boys. I suppose the more accurate representation of what the human race looks like is upsetting to the poor babies. Whatever. Point two: They don't like 'young upstarts', like me. The overcompensating 'manly man' can't handle a challenge to his authority. Waa, waa, waa. Man up. Point three: Unless you're Straight, you're an abomination. I guess 'total tolerance' has a limit. A really short limit. Aren't we supposed to have actually IMPROVED since the 2000's? Some progressive society we turned out to be."
Relatives:
None in any projects
Father, mother, and step-mother - All living
"Of course, if either Janet OR Fatima enlisted then that would change REAL fast. Heheh. Or both of them, maybe. The two of them would just stroll on up to UNSC command, holding hands and kicking ass, grab them by the balls and demand the changes, or else they lose their manhood. Hmm… Now I'm getting ideas. Heheheh."
Defining Features:
Seer underwent a surgical procedure similar to the Freelancer's AI implantation in order to create a neural interface between him and any wireless technology near him. There are some questions as to whether or not this could potentially mean he can support an AI as well as the interface, although the possibility of that is highly unlikely.
"I bet I could use the 'Device' to get in, too… HAH! Wouldn't that be funny? Heheh… Oh, guess I'm getting sidetracked again. Heh."
Birthmarks, tattoos, and scars:
Seer has a vaguely crown shaped birthmark on his left forearm.
Personality:
Seer is flippant and sarcastic, full of piss and vinegar. Between the constant stream of snarky insults and his periodic disregard for authority, Seer is constantly in the bad graces of his commanders and squad mates, although he is uniquely skilled in a few specific areas, making him indispensable to their operations. Frighteningly intelligent, Seer has experienced life consistently as the smartest person he knew, leading to almost crippling pride and a pervasive case of Major Depressive Disorder. Only recently has he encountered others anywhere near his intellectual level, and most of them are now mentally broken due to the experimental neural interface they were given. Seer is stubborn and confrontational, but even more dangerously is highly manipulative and has a need for control. While nothing can be proven, it is suspected by multiple parties that on some missions, Seer would purposefully ignore key enemies that could pin down his squad, forcing the party to rely on him to clear the way for them. However, despite his craftiness, when things are not going Seer's way, his pride keeps him from asking for aid, and his determination to win leads him to resort to some questionable methods.
It is important to note that Seer is most definitely a sociopath.
Appearance Under Armor:
Picture taken on Nov 3rd, 2547
Height:
5'11
Weight without Armor:
183 lbs
Armor Configuration:
Seer's armor is configured specifically to play off of his neural interface, equipped to increase his range of influence and outfitted with complex medical equipment to allow him incredible control over his own physiology as needed. His helmet has a complex dummy AI installed, aiding him as needed, but not to the extent that a Freelancer AI can.
"Oh, so I guess I can't rag on ALL of the UNSC. The tech crews for the Spec Ops teams are fucking amazing! Those boys have got their hands on so many awesome toys that they don't know what to do with it all! So, naturally, they gave me a whole SHIT TON. Well, they haven't given it to me yet, but they powered everything up today to test it, and I felt it come online. Let's see, now… They're giving me a little scripted assistant, they're giving me a signal booster, they're giving me a ton of medical shit… Those guys must LOVE what I can do now! Of course they'd load up what is quite possibly their collective fucking wet dream! This is going to be fucking AWESOME!"
Primary Weapon:
Modified UNSC Sniper Rifle
"They're also giving me a new sniper rifle with an electronic scope so I can see CRAZY far with the little fucker. I mean, seriously! It's like they just want to see how much I can handle!"
Secondary Weapon:
Standard UNSC 15-shot Pistol
"The sidearm is a bit boring, but I bet they'll do something cool with it eventually."
Melee Weapon:
Modified UNSC Combat Knife
"I guess my knife is all pimped out, too. If the AI's inventory is correct, then they installed a fucking electrical coil in the hilt, so it can stab or shock. Heh. Or both."
Preferred Grenade:
Smoke and Type-2 Spike Grenades
"And I get a whole bunch of fucking SPIKE GRENADES!!! BOOYAH!!! THIS IS GONNA BE SWEET!!!"
Preferred Vehicle:
Mongoose
"No personal vehicle, it seems, but I've got my fingers crossed. I could one man a Mongoose, and those little fuckers are sooo much fun to drive."
ODST Skills:
Hacking
Battlefield Manipulation
Surveillance
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following excerpts are from "Private_Jonahs_Gregory-Audio_Journal.mp3" in "UNSC Personnel Data" archives
Monday, April 30th, 2541
"Cape Town is just a trap. I finally realized it right as I blew out lucky candle number twelve last night, and it fucking pisses me off. Happy birthday to you, Jonahs - you're going to die poor and unfulfilled. You can't do shit in Cape Town, not it you want to have your life mean anything. It's fucking bullshit. We're gonna fix that. I know how to work the Web like a pro, and I have a few favors I can cash in on with those corporate douche bags at Ragman Corps. I've put out my own feelers to see who I can rope in, and I've got the guys on PolitiCull.com searching for cooperate weak links for me to exploit, too. Had to promise a couple of the fellas a solid that I'm worried might come back to bite me, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. So what if I'm fucking sixteen? I'm gonna change things in this God-damn city. Cape Town is going to pay me what I'm due."
Wednesday, May 13th, 2545
"I finally did it. It took me four fucking years to do, but I ever since I started to accrue the favor of Baboui and his little drug empire it's just been one success after the other. He has to be the best god-damn birthday present I've ever gotten. That dirty fucking pharmacist owed me big, so and I got him to have his pushers to start dealing to Governor Naidoo. The man was already a junkie, and it was all too easy to pay off one of his drug buddies to tell him he should try Baboui's stock, and by 'pay off' I mean 'sent him a shit load of drugs free of charge'. The hard part was getting the media there, honestly. That fucking reporter, Eric Richardson, is so fucking dense that I'm amazed he got through grade school without getting himself shanked twenty times or more. Anyway, once I finally convinced him that something good was going down where Mr. Naidoo's fucking push was set to happen, it all fell right into the palm of my hand. Those Web scrubbers I got last month are already getting in contact with poor Mr. Naidoo while he's under house arrest. If they can keep his career alive, then I may be able to find a use for a desperate little bitch of a politician. Honestly, though, I'm just surprised that it was so damn easy to get our 'friend' Brennon voted into office. The smear campaign those guys put together with that info I gave them was perfect. His opponent didn't stand a chance. I had to use the old "hire a junkie and give them an earpiece" trick when he said he wanted to meet, which went smoother than usual. Haven't had to resort to that one in ages. Either way, this is good. With Brennon as governor, I can start acquiring the other top dogs in office around here. I already have the mobs and most of the local businesses around here in my pocket, so it was only a matter of time until I started acquiring politicians, too. Still, the governor is a big fucking move. From here on out will be easy sailing."
Friday, September 4th, 2547
"Started up as a contractor at Miller-Garvey Inc. today. I'm glad that Nancy suggested I help out that one CTO. I can't remember his name, but he had that kid with cancer. That particular favor may be the most powerful one I've cashed in on yet. Getting past HR was easy, but if that guy didn't like me, I wouldn't have gotten in here. Either way, I'm hot on the heels of that fucking bastard that spawned me. It's fucking weird knowing that he even exists after living with two moms for so long, but if anything that only makes him worse. The god-damned son of a bitch has a lot to answer for. I know he's working some of the same contacts I am, so I'm infiltrating his fucking company so I can figure out how to take down their connections to those guys. Cripple the company, hurt 'Steven K. Miller' big time, and put myself in the position to completely take over this part of the workforce when he falls into bankruptcy. It's perfect. Now I just have to get Nancy's startup into a stronger position before I start gutting Miller-Garvey Inc."
Thursday, November 20th, 2547
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. Seriously shit. As in, shitfuck. It's that bad. A couple of my contacts in the police force are reporting that some high ranking UNSC fucker is asking around about 'Oversight'. How the hell did they learn my codename for my corporate contacts? What the fuck did I do that tipped them off? The same police contacts are also telling me that he's arrested fucking Siyabonga, Old Finn, and he's got Shady on the run. They say he's got some people investigating fucking Brennon, too. How the fuck does this guy know so much? Who the fuck is selling this fucker my contacts? There's a fucking rat somewhere, and I have to find out who the son of a bitch is before they lead this 'Admiral Clipper' straight to me. Shit shit shit shit shit."
Monday, January 1st, 2548
"This is it. I haven't been able to update, so here's the down low: I got the damn rat, but fucking Admiral Clipper still found me. I escaped back to the control station two nights ago, but there's got to be at least fifty, maybe sixty guns out there, and all of them Clipper's. He straight up told me that I can either resist and spend the rest of my days in a god-damn max security lockup, or I can fucking come quietly and he might consider working out some kind of fucking deal to keep me free. That was right before he shot the damn camera he was talking to. He's got to be fucking lying, he has to be, but if he wanted me locked up, then he could just fucking do it. He sent me a copy of a document with enough dirt in it to ensure I stay behind fucking bars for THREE lifetimes. Maybe more. I don't know what he's planning, but I can't find a single fucking way out of this. Infrared is just detecting a massive blob in the hallways, and he's got guys shooting out damn cameras as they make their way down here, so I can't find a way to take them on. He's got more guys blocking the emergency exits, and the soldiers in the halls will be here in like two minutes. I don't know how this Clipper mother fucker knows everything he knows, but FUCK I am screwed! I'm going to have to fucking go with him willingly if I have any hope of an even halfway decent future. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. This is it. Whatever happens next is going to seriously fucking change Cape Town, and seriously I doubt it will involve me."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Home World:
Earth, South Africa, Cape Town
Other:
Seer always has a toothpick he is chewing on when out of armor. If he doesn't have a toothpick, he has some other small item to place between his teeth. He despises tobacco, and considers 12 to be his lucky number. Due to his upbringing, his everyday speech is riddled with curses, and it's usually "fuck" or "fucking".
Birth Name:
Jonahs "Seer" Gregory
"Since the surgery, nobody's called me 'Jonahs' or 'Private Gregory' anymore. It's just been 'Seer'. My old squad used it, the admiral used it, the lab boys who did the surgery used it… Hell, even that psycho ninja bitch on the Spec Ops crew used it. It's like I don't even HAVE a real name anymore. Heh. Heheh. HAHAHA! I fucking LOVE IT! HAHA! SEER! It's fucking AWESOME! BOOYAH!"
Jonahs has recently submitted paperwork to legally change his name to "Seer", and it eagerly awaiting response.
Service Tag:
SEER-697
"Actually, the name has a pretty funny story. The dog-tags I got when I was enlisted as an ODST labeled me 'SEER-697'. That moniker turned out to be a lucky bunch characters punched out by a random number generator that turned into my own personal prophecy. And so began the best five years of my life. NOOOOT."
Age/Gender/Sexuality:
28 years old, Male, Pansexual
"In fact, it's no small miracle that I made it through the last five years with only a few minor rough ups from those muscle bound dumb-dumbs that are supposed to be "Earth's finest". What a joke. Those freaks of nature couldn't hit the deck of a Pelican if they were IN it. Ah, but I digress. Instead of bitching about the retarded grizzly bears they call 'Space Marines', let's bitch about the retarded grizzly bears they call 'Commanding Officers'. Here's a few things I learned about them. First point: Anyone with anyone that can pull rank on you hates scrawny little white boys. I suppose the more accurate representation of what the human race looks like is upsetting to the poor babies. Whatever. Point two: They don't like 'young upstarts', like me. The overcompensating 'manly man' can't handle a challenge to his authority. Waa, waa, waa. Man up. Point three: Unless you're Straight, you're an abomination. I guess 'total tolerance' has a limit. A really short limit. Aren't we supposed to have actually IMPROVED since the 2000's? Some progressive society we turned out to be."
Relatives:
None in any projects
Father, mother, and step-mother - All living
"Of course, if either Janet OR Fatima enlisted then that would change REAL fast. Heheh. Or both of them, maybe. The two of them would just stroll on up to UNSC command, holding hands and kicking ass, grab them by the balls and demand the changes, or else they lose their manhood. Hmm… Now I'm getting ideas. Heheheh."
Defining Features:
Seer underwent a surgical procedure similar to the Freelancer's AI implantation in order to create a neural interface between him and any wireless technology near him. There are some questions as to whether or not this could potentially mean he can support an AI as well as the interface, although the possibility of that is highly unlikely.
"I bet I could use the 'Device' to get in, too… HAH! Wouldn't that be funny? Heheh… Oh, guess I'm getting sidetracked again. Heh."
Birthmarks, tattoos, and scars:
Seer has a vaguely crown shaped birthmark on his left forearm.
Personality:
Seer is flippant and sarcastic, full of piss and vinegar. Between the constant stream of snarky insults and his periodic disregard for authority, Seer is constantly in the bad graces of his commanders and squad mates, although he is uniquely skilled in a few specific areas, making him indispensable to their operations. Frighteningly intelligent, Seer has experienced life consistently as the smartest person he knew, leading to almost crippling pride and a pervasive case of Major Depressive Disorder. Only recently has he encountered others anywhere near his intellectual level, and most of them are now mentally broken due to the experimental neural interface they were given. Seer is stubborn and confrontational, but even more dangerously is highly manipulative and has a need for control. While nothing can be proven, it is suspected by multiple parties that on some missions, Seer would purposefully ignore key enemies that could pin down his squad, forcing the party to rely on him to clear the way for them. However, despite his craftiness, when things are not going Seer's way, his pride keeps him from asking for aid, and his determination to win leads him to resort to some questionable methods.
It is important to note that Seer is most definitely a sociopath.
Appearance Under Armor:
Picture taken on Nov 3rd, 2547
Height:
5'11
Weight without Armor:
183 lbs
Armor Configuration:
Seer's armor is configured specifically to play off of his neural interface, equipped to increase his range of influence and outfitted with complex medical equipment to allow him incredible control over his own physiology as needed. His helmet has a complex dummy AI installed, aiding him as needed, but not to the extent that a Freelancer AI can.
"Oh, so I guess I can't rag on ALL of the UNSC. The tech crews for the Spec Ops teams are fucking amazing! Those boys have got their hands on so many awesome toys that they don't know what to do with it all! So, naturally, they gave me a whole SHIT TON. Well, they haven't given it to me yet, but they powered everything up today to test it, and I felt it come online. Let's see, now… They're giving me a little scripted assistant, they're giving me a signal booster, they're giving me a ton of medical shit… Those guys must LOVE what I can do now! Of course they'd load up what is quite possibly their collective fucking wet dream! This is going to be fucking AWESOME!"
Primary Weapon:
Modified UNSC Sniper Rifle
"They're also giving me a new sniper rifle with an electronic scope so I can see CRAZY far with the little fucker. I mean, seriously! It's like they just want to see how much I can handle!"
Secondary Weapon:
Standard UNSC 15-shot Pistol
"The sidearm is a bit boring, but I bet they'll do something cool with it eventually."
Melee Weapon:
Modified UNSC Combat Knife
"I guess my knife is all pimped out, too. If the AI's inventory is correct, then they installed a fucking electrical coil in the hilt, so it can stab or shock. Heh. Or both."
Preferred Grenade:
Smoke and Type-2 Spike Grenades
"And I get a whole bunch of fucking SPIKE GRENADES!!! BOOYAH!!! THIS IS GONNA BE SWEET!!!"
Preferred Vehicle:
Mongoose
"No personal vehicle, it seems, but I've got my fingers crossed. I could one man a Mongoose, and those little fuckers are sooo much fun to drive."
ODST Skills:
Hacking
Battlefield Manipulation
Surveillance
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following excerpts are from "Private_Jonahs_Gregory-Audio_Journal.mp3" in "UNSC Personnel Data" archives
Monday, April 30th, 2541
"Cape Town is just a trap. I finally realized it right as I blew out lucky candle number twelve last night, and it fucking pisses me off. Happy birthday to you, Jonahs - you're going to die poor and unfulfilled. You can't do shit in Cape Town, not it you want to have your life mean anything. It's fucking bullshit. We're gonna fix that. I know how to work the Web like a pro, and I have a few favors I can cash in on with those corporate douche bags at Ragman Corps. I've put out my own feelers to see who I can rope in, and I've got the guys on PolitiCull.com searching for cooperate weak links for me to exploit, too. Had to promise a couple of the fellas a solid that I'm worried might come back to bite me, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. So what if I'm fucking sixteen? I'm gonna change things in this God-damn city. Cape Town is going to pay me what I'm due."
Wednesday, May 13th, 2545
"I finally did it. It took me four fucking years to do, but I ever since I started to accrue the favor of Baboui and his little drug empire it's just been one success after the other. He has to be the best god-damn birthday present I've ever gotten. That dirty fucking pharmacist owed me big, so and I got him to have his pushers to start dealing to Governor Naidoo. The man was already a junkie, and it was all too easy to pay off one of his drug buddies to tell him he should try Baboui's stock, and by 'pay off' I mean 'sent him a shit load of drugs free of charge'. The hard part was getting the media there, honestly. That fucking reporter, Eric Richardson, is so fucking dense that I'm amazed he got through grade school without getting himself shanked twenty times or more. Anyway, once I finally convinced him that something good was going down where Mr. Naidoo's fucking push was set to happen, it all fell right into the palm of my hand. Those Web scrubbers I got last month are already getting in contact with poor Mr. Naidoo while he's under house arrest. If they can keep his career alive, then I may be able to find a use for a desperate little bitch of a politician. Honestly, though, I'm just surprised that it was so damn easy to get our 'friend' Brennon voted into office. The smear campaign those guys put together with that info I gave them was perfect. His opponent didn't stand a chance. I had to use the old "hire a junkie and give them an earpiece" trick when he said he wanted to meet, which went smoother than usual. Haven't had to resort to that one in ages. Either way, this is good. With Brennon as governor, I can start acquiring the other top dogs in office around here. I already have the mobs and most of the local businesses around here in my pocket, so it was only a matter of time until I started acquiring politicians, too. Still, the governor is a big fucking move. From here on out will be easy sailing."
Friday, September 4th, 2547
"Started up as a contractor at Miller-Garvey Inc. today. I'm glad that Nancy suggested I help out that one CTO. I can't remember his name, but he had that kid with cancer. That particular favor may be the most powerful one I've cashed in on yet. Getting past HR was easy, but if that guy didn't like me, I wouldn't have gotten in here. Either way, I'm hot on the heels of that fucking bastard that spawned me. It's fucking weird knowing that he even exists after living with two moms for so long, but if anything that only makes him worse. The god-damned son of a bitch has a lot to answer for. I know he's working some of the same contacts I am, so I'm infiltrating his fucking company so I can figure out how to take down their connections to those guys. Cripple the company, hurt 'Steven K. Miller' big time, and put myself in the position to completely take over this part of the workforce when he falls into bankruptcy. It's perfect. Now I just have to get Nancy's startup into a stronger position before I start gutting Miller-Garvey Inc."
Thursday, November 20th, 2547
"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. Seriously shit. As in, shitfuck. It's that bad. A couple of my contacts in the police force are reporting that some high ranking UNSC fucker is asking around about 'Oversight'. How the hell did they learn my codename for my corporate contacts? What the fuck did I do that tipped them off? The same police contacts are also telling me that he's arrested fucking Siyabonga, Old Finn, and he's got Shady on the run. They say he's got some people investigating fucking Brennon, too. How the fuck does this guy know so much? Who the fuck is selling this fucker my contacts? There's a fucking rat somewhere, and I have to find out who the son of a bitch is before they lead this 'Admiral Clipper' straight to me. Shit shit shit shit shit."
Monday, January 1st, 2548
"This is it. I haven't been able to update, so here's the down low: I got the damn rat, but fucking Admiral Clipper still found me. I escaped back to the control station two nights ago, but there's got to be at least fifty, maybe sixty guns out there, and all of them Clipper's. He straight up told me that I can either resist and spend the rest of my days in a god-damn max security lockup, or I can fucking come quietly and he might consider working out some kind of fucking deal to keep me free. That was right before he shot the damn camera he was talking to. He's got to be fucking lying, he has to be, but if he wanted me locked up, then he could just fucking do it. He sent me a copy of a document with enough dirt in it to ensure I stay behind fucking bars for THREE lifetimes. Maybe more. I don't know what he's planning, but I can't find a single fucking way out of this. Infrared is just detecting a massive blob in the hallways, and he's got guys shooting out damn cameras as they make their way down here, so I can't find a way to take them on. He's got more guys blocking the emergency exits, and the soldiers in the halls will be here in like two minutes. I don't know how this Clipper mother fucker knows everything he knows, but FUCK I am screwed! I'm going to have to fucking go with him willingly if I have any hope of an even halfway decent future. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK. This is it. Whatever happens next is going to seriously fucking change Cape Town, and seriously I doubt it will involve me."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Home World:
Earth, South Africa, Cape Town
Other:
Seer always has a toothpick he is chewing on when out of armor. If he doesn't have a toothpick, he has some other small item to place between his teeth. He despises tobacco, and considers 12 to be his lucky number. Due to his upbringing, his everyday speech is riddled with curses, and it's usually "fuck" or "fucking".
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