Name: James Brandon
Age: 31
FC: (Minus the beard)
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Orientation: Heterosexual
Alias: Jamie, Scarface (he does not particularly enjoy this one), Lucky
Languages Spoken: English, Farsi, some Portugese
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Disabilities/Ailments:
Drunkard: A violent one at that. In an attempt to forget the horrors of war, James found solace in the bottle, a now old friend.
Urban Jungle: James is deeply uncomfortable in city landscapes, preferring more rural areas to sprawling metropolises
Weight: 275 Ib
Build: Extremely muscular, likely a result of the large number of steroids and other body-enhancers he has taken over the years, in addition to the already vigorous physical conditioning he undertook. The left side of his face is scarred and puffy, when it's there in the first place, anyway. Most of it's metal now. The most notable being a military grade photoreceptor in his eye socket. A faint tattoo is still visible on his right wrist, a remnant from his days as a tribal Outsider in Arcadia
Body Augments:
Combat-Grade Cybernetic Prosthesis Arm: Ugly and a washed out grey, this augment is nonetheless effective, allowing for feats of strength far beyond what standard civilian grade replacement limbs allow
Combat-Grade Cybernetic Prosthesis Leg: A hydraulic leg designed for frontline warfare, it is more than capable of taking a horrific beating and continuing to function. The armor coated cables and hydraulics are far from aesthetically pleasing, but it more than makes up for it in ruggedness and reliability
Orion Battle Sensor: An eye augment designed to assist the user in battlefield tasks, a range finder, thermal imager, and night vision all rolled into one convenient package.
Personality: A quick mouth with an even quicker temper, James is a boisterous fellow, so long as you don't manage to get on his bad side, of course. Though on the outside he appears a cheerful (if slightly horrendous to look at) fellow, inside he is racked with guilt and paranoia from his unlikely survival during a sortie in the Middle East. He despises the consumerist culture that has consumed much of the world, despite participating in much of it himself. (His dirty pleasures include the purchasing of aged whiskey and expensive suits)
Biography:
James was raised by a tribe of Outsiders for the first two years of his life, they lived a nomadic lifestyle after the destruction of their village due to a stray bombardment, gathering what they could and bartering what they could spare. It wasn't long before they were preyed upon by a local militia, their camp raided for supplies to assist in a hopeless turf war against UN forces. James was left an orphan at the age of six.
Taken in by a sympathizing pair of tourists, James was brought to the penthouse after a few weeks in a street orphanage. He became quick friends with many of the others, though proved to be rather unliked at times due to his explosive temper and outbursts.
Coming of age, he left the penthouse and drifted for about a year, subsisting off of generous checks from Mom. Just swimming through life, not a thing on his mind.
Until he saw that ad.
With only mild interest in his heart and telling himself that he was only checking it out because he was bored, James found himself somehow cajoled into signing onto a twenty year contract with Orion Arms at the age of eighteen.
James soon found himself rather at ease with the whole situation, really. A structured life like this was just what he needed. Sure, the officers were giant dicks, but hey, at least he got to go around the world, see new people, shoot new people. Go to new places, blow up no places.
After a number of successful sorties and operations, James was found to have quite the knack for leadership and after much deliberation amongst the local heirarchy, was promoted and given command of a thirty man reconnaissance platoon.
After a few years of assisting UN forces crush insurgents and US forces bully their local satellite states back into submission, he and the soldiers under his command found themselves within the middle east, with orders to commence reconnaissance and provide security for local aid groups within the area.
Almost immediately, the operation went horribly wrong. The intel they had recieved was botched. The 'light enemy presence' they had expected turned out to be what seemed like the entirety of the New Taliban backed up by what seemed to be several tank companies.
The lightly armed and unprepared platoon found itself under heavy fire but nonetheless performed admirably, killing scores of enemy insurgents and knocking out several vehicles in the process. A relief force was requested, but it would be several hours before they arrived, it seemed everyone was just as tied down as they were.
With ammo running on empty and their numbers dwindling, James made the call to request an aerial bombardment danger close to their position in an effort to stave the enemy advance.
The resulting blast killed what little remained of his men, and nearly himself. The entirety of the left side of his body was all but gone, his arm and leg vaporized in the explosion and what little flesh remained fusing to the inside of his power armor.
Nevertheless, it seemed the strike had done its job well. The enemy assualt was blunted and the remaining forces pulled back after the strike. James was recovered several hours later by the relief force, through a combination of his armor, luck, and sheer willpower, he had survived. Lived where others had died. 'Lucky', they called him.
He had survived.
Sometimes he wished he hadn't.
Orion Arms proved more than capable of fixing his body, (well, mostly) but they proved little help in solving the issues with James's mind. Several weeks after being reassigned to a new platoon, he proceeded to have a psychotic breakdown and nearly strangle the Colonel briefing him and the other task commanders.
After that little incident, James was removed from the battlefield and assigned a desk job in Arcadia City, the local board hoping that a somewhat relaxing job monitoring the oncoming traffic of arms deals and all expense paid bimonthly therapy sessions would be enough to return this soldier to the battlefield.
Only time would tell if they had the right idea.
Being back home is... strange, to say the least. He had changed. Gone from a care free kid to a shell of a man. Hopefully the others wouldn't mind too much. It's good to be back.
