Hathcock, Carlos
Dec 18, 2010 3:30:58 GMT -8
Post by Carlos Hathcock on Dec 18, 2010 3:30:58 GMT -8
- Behind the Mask -
Name: Derek
Age: 19
RP Experience: Going on six years
Activity Level: At least once a day
- The Character -
Name: Carlos Hathcock
Species: Human
Age: Thirty-four
Gender: Male
Affiliation: Unaffiliated
Member Group: Human
Appearance: Carlos keeps his hair black hair short at little more than stubble covering his head. His face is deeply lined aged well beyond his years looking more like a man of fifty, covered in a series of nicks and scratches from experiments gone wrong. His eyes being his most striking feature, a deep golden yellow they resemble those of a bird of prey. He stands at nearly six feet in height weighing in at a hundred and sixty pounds. His hands covered in a myriad of scars from burns and machining accidents. The rest of his features are very discreet allowing him to blend into large crowds very easily. For clothing he tends towards wearing a brown great coat and brown fedora the collar of the coat kept up and a bandanna wrapped around his lower face a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. When meeting clients he replaces the coat with a simple bland business suit with a tie the color of blood. To keep his face hidden during these meetings he wears a plain white mask completely featureless concealing his visage from the world at large.
Personality: Carlos can be considered at best a paranoid sociopath. From a young age human interactions have always confused him, he simply does not know how to react to people. Which explains in many ways his choice of profession and many personality quirks; he is incredibly driven and focused to the point of obsession. He believes the absolute worst in mankind and is far past considering people fit for redemption. This has led him to abandon the concept of mercy entirely. Though he is in many cases without morals he is not necessarily an evil person, he does not kill without reason and when he is working on a contract his methods never endanger bystanders. He is also a man of his word; he will never break a contract and will remain loyal as long as he is paid to be so. That being said never expect that loyalty to last even a day after the contract has expired. He is to his core a mercenary.
Likes or Dislikes:
Likes
• Firearms
• Chemistry
• Quiet
• That single perfect shot
Dislikes
• Large Crowds
• Excessive Noise
• Failure
• Those who break their word/contract
Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strengths
• Highly Intelligent
• Self-Sufficient
• Crack Shot
• Highly motivated and driven
• Inhuman patience
• Ability to craft his own weapons and ammunition.
Weakness
• Paranoia
• Doesn’t understand basic human interactions
• Has a tendency to experience ‘tunnel vision’ when working on a project
• Has problems functioning in large crowds.
• Lack of faith in humanity as a whole.
History: Carlos was born sixteen years before the beginning of the agreement; from his earliest years he never fully understood how to handle interactions with other children in his neighborhood. Often left alone he would spend hours wandering the streets. For years he lived in his solitude, his parents not sure how to handle their strange little boy. This changed the day of the Agreement; his home was located in the neutral zone between the newly opened hellmouth and the freshly erected divine barrier. While Carlos’s home itself was not affected by the energies released his family did not escape the horrors of the event. Amidst the chaos a freshly transfigured human tore through their home during the night. Within moments both of Carlos’s parents lay dead on the ground throats torn out as the monstrous man turned on him with a curious glance at the mutilated corpses of his parents he slowly begins to back away self-preservation motivating his careful retreat. As the monstrous figure continued its advance Carlos found himself backed against a wall knowing his chances of survival against this monster were next to nothing. Turning he dove out of a nearby window catching onto a ledge before hitting the ground Carlos quickly scrambled down to ground level quickly loosing himself in the maze of streets.
After his first brush with the monstrosities of this new world the then sixteen year old Carlos truly alone, with no living family he spent the next year living off of the streets that he had explored so well as a child. Upon reaching the age of seventeen he managed to secure his first of a long line of jobs. Working as a machinist’s assistant, he was a diligent worker and while he rarely spoke he observed his bosses every move while working. After a year of this he realized that he had gotten everything he could out of the man so he simply moved on. Over the next several years he worked many similar jobs staying just long enough to learn all he could of the trade and then moving on. This changed a short month after his twenty-second birthday; he had received a job working for a gunsmith. He stayed on for nearly four years learning everything he could from the man.
That job changed Carlos’s life for the first time in his life he had found something that truly gave him a sense of belonging. He learned quickly, within the first six months of work he had proved his worth as an assistant and was allowed to work independently on certain weapons. Within a year he was given free reign in the workshop allowed to build and design as he saw fit. While far from a master he was proficient, but learning to craft the weapons was not the only thing he learned while there, his master’s philosophy when it came to his craft was decidedly hands on. “One could not craft a weapon that he was not proficient with,” during his time their Carlos learned how to fire, field strip, clean, and craft firearms and ammunition. On the day of his twenty-sixth birthday once again everything changed.
His master had accepted a job several weeks before it was a rather strange order for the times. The customer wanted a custom made revolver; the order itself was fairly simple and was finished well before the deadline given. When the customer arrived to pick it up he was not alone. He arrived with a group of five men all armed. Upon the completion of the transaction the armed men forced his master to his knees directly in front of the man; the stranger slowly examined the weapon before commenting, “Very nice work.” Slowly he aimed the barrel directly at the smith’s forehead with a casual movement he had executed Carlos’s master leaving the body to cool laying in a pool of blood in the middle of the shop. When Carlos returned from an errand he had been running he found the corpse lying as it had been left.
Three days later the customer was killed, a single bullet tore through his heart as he sat in a business meeting. The shooter was never found.
Carlos’s life had once again been flipped on its side; he no longer simply drifted through life from one job to the next he had found his career. He began the life of a freelance mercenary in the city of Chorazin. He quickly gained a reputation as a hitman, and his paranoia was legendary among the circles he moved through. He never met his clients face to face. Meetings were always electronic and arranged through a multitude of dead drops and hired lackeys. His face was never shown to those who hired him and his safe houses changed weekly. He lived this way for eight years. Eight years of killing for the highest bidder. Eight years of living in a near constant state of paranoia. Eight years of work, sweat, and sacrifice to build up his reputation as a mercenary and an assassin. Now his reputation as a professional is secure, in eight years he has never failed a contract. It is the eighteenth year since the death of his parents, the eighteenth year since the beginning of the Agreement, and everything is about to change.
Roleplay Example: The slow constant count echoes deep in the recesses of my mind. A single count for each click as I slowly twisted the small plastic knob, a quick glance down told me that I was there, a kilometer. Slowly I looked out the window down the long straight street below, civilian traffic was heavy I would need to be careful. I once more glanced down at the calculations scribbled down on the table I was using as a stand. Once more glancing out the window my eyes quickly zeroed in on the flags stirring lightly in the nearly nonexistent wind perfect adjustments for the wind would be unnecessary. Placing my face once again on the rather comfortable cheek rest of my MacMillan Tac-50 rifle, I would miss this rifle it had served me well in the past. But no chances could be taken, I could not risk discovery. That would lead to a rather inconvenient course of action that I would much rather avoid if at all possible. Allowing myself to relax slightly I kept an eye on the distant window, I had time. The meeting wouldn’t start for nearly an hour. I once again ran through the memory of my meeting with the client, once more looking for anything out of place.
The meeting had gone entirely too well. When the client had arrived he immediately made his way to the terminal located in the center of the room. The man stood at about five foot four inches wearing a business suit and carrying a small metal briefcase, glancing away from the security footage I turned towards the screen as I carefully affix the featureless white mask and readjust my tie before activating the video feed. Starring intently into the screen my eyes met those of the potential client for the first time.
“I hear that you are the best,” the client began. The silence stretched on as he waited for my response, as it became obvious I would not respond the man quietly coughed into his hand before continuing. “Down to business then this is the target,” sliding forward a photograph of a man wearing a similar suit sitting in an office speaking into a mobile device. “He is an executive in the Striker Security Firm, I want him killed in as public a manner as possible. I want you to make a statement out of his death.” The client paused looking at me expectantly waiting for a response. Slowly looking over the given information, I took it all in slowly contemplating the job. “One hundred thousand,” I said eyes still scanning the potential targets bio waiting for the counter offer. “Accepted,” the client agreed immediately surprising me slightly, it was not very often that a client did not try and negotiate. Closing my eyes behind the mask I slowly let out a breath. “Your contract has been accepted you will receive a message upon its completion, you will then deliver the money to the location specified in the specified manner.” Without another word the video feed was cut, glancing over at the security feed I watched as the client stood and left the room. The moment the door had shut I activated the detonator watching as the terminal was reduced to little more than slag as the thermite inside the terminal activated burning at twenty-thousand degrees Celsius
Slowly I exhaled my mind once again entirely focused upon the contract; the meeting would be starting shortly. Once it had I was to wait until the target began his presentation once it had begun I was to take the shot. I once again checked the range, using the scope I sighted in on a janitor cleaning the meeting room, checking the measurement of the scope I once more glanced down at the calculations. They were correct; a single kilometer separated me from my target. Once again I checked the flags they were flapping in a breeze, not sure where it had come from didn’t matter. I sighted in on the meeting room watching the executives slowly begin their arrival. I watched and waited as the meeting began; the target stood preparing to begin his presentation. Slowly I increased the magnification, click click click at twenty-five time’s zoom I made the minute adjustments to my aim based off the wind. The client wanted a statement made. That would make this difficult; slowly I inhaled holding my breath for several seconds. I began to exhale *thump* I let my body relax *thump* focusing down the scope *thump* the last bit of oxygen was expelled from my lungs *thump* A little extra pressure between beats of my heart and I felt the recoil travel through my body much like an old friend. The single .50 Incendiary shell enters the targets forehead dead center, upon impact the skull is pulverized brain matter and skull fragments paint the wall. As the corpse begins to fall the phosphorus ignites lighting wreathing the corpse in flames. I see none of this the moment the bullet impacts with the skull I begin breaking the rifle down, several moments later the rifle was stowed in a large metallic briefcase with a decisive click it snapped shut. Turning leaving the case sitting on the table I briskly made my way to the exit, glancing back over my shoulder I paused for a moment. I really would miss that rifle, with a click I activated the detonator held in my left hand. The case quickly burst out in an intense light as the thermite inside ignited reducing the rifle and ammunition inside to nothing more than useless slag.
Name: Derek
Age: 19
RP Experience: Going on six years
Activity Level: At least once a day
- The Character -
Name: Carlos Hathcock
Species: Human
Age: Thirty-four
Gender: Male
Affiliation: Unaffiliated
Member Group: Human
Appearance: Carlos keeps his hair black hair short at little more than stubble covering his head. His face is deeply lined aged well beyond his years looking more like a man of fifty, covered in a series of nicks and scratches from experiments gone wrong. His eyes being his most striking feature, a deep golden yellow they resemble those of a bird of prey. He stands at nearly six feet in height weighing in at a hundred and sixty pounds. His hands covered in a myriad of scars from burns and machining accidents. The rest of his features are very discreet allowing him to blend into large crowds very easily. For clothing he tends towards wearing a brown great coat and brown fedora the collar of the coat kept up and a bandanna wrapped around his lower face a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes. When meeting clients he replaces the coat with a simple bland business suit with a tie the color of blood. To keep his face hidden during these meetings he wears a plain white mask completely featureless concealing his visage from the world at large.
Personality: Carlos can be considered at best a paranoid sociopath. From a young age human interactions have always confused him, he simply does not know how to react to people. Which explains in many ways his choice of profession and many personality quirks; he is incredibly driven and focused to the point of obsession. He believes the absolute worst in mankind and is far past considering people fit for redemption. This has led him to abandon the concept of mercy entirely. Though he is in many cases without morals he is not necessarily an evil person, he does not kill without reason and when he is working on a contract his methods never endanger bystanders. He is also a man of his word; he will never break a contract and will remain loyal as long as he is paid to be so. That being said never expect that loyalty to last even a day after the contract has expired. He is to his core a mercenary.
Likes or Dislikes:
Likes
• Firearms
• Chemistry
• Quiet
• That single perfect shot
Dislikes
• Large Crowds
• Excessive Noise
• Failure
• Those who break their word/contract
Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strengths
• Highly Intelligent
• Self-Sufficient
• Crack Shot
• Highly motivated and driven
• Inhuman patience
• Ability to craft his own weapons and ammunition.
Weakness
• Paranoia
• Doesn’t understand basic human interactions
• Has a tendency to experience ‘tunnel vision’ when working on a project
• Has problems functioning in large crowds.
• Lack of faith in humanity as a whole.
History: Carlos was born sixteen years before the beginning of the agreement; from his earliest years he never fully understood how to handle interactions with other children in his neighborhood. Often left alone he would spend hours wandering the streets. For years he lived in his solitude, his parents not sure how to handle their strange little boy. This changed the day of the Agreement; his home was located in the neutral zone between the newly opened hellmouth and the freshly erected divine barrier. While Carlos’s home itself was not affected by the energies released his family did not escape the horrors of the event. Amidst the chaos a freshly transfigured human tore through their home during the night. Within moments both of Carlos’s parents lay dead on the ground throats torn out as the monstrous man turned on him with a curious glance at the mutilated corpses of his parents he slowly begins to back away self-preservation motivating his careful retreat. As the monstrous figure continued its advance Carlos found himself backed against a wall knowing his chances of survival against this monster were next to nothing. Turning he dove out of a nearby window catching onto a ledge before hitting the ground Carlos quickly scrambled down to ground level quickly loosing himself in the maze of streets.
After his first brush with the monstrosities of this new world the then sixteen year old Carlos truly alone, with no living family he spent the next year living off of the streets that he had explored so well as a child. Upon reaching the age of seventeen he managed to secure his first of a long line of jobs. Working as a machinist’s assistant, he was a diligent worker and while he rarely spoke he observed his bosses every move while working. After a year of this he realized that he had gotten everything he could out of the man so he simply moved on. Over the next several years he worked many similar jobs staying just long enough to learn all he could of the trade and then moving on. This changed a short month after his twenty-second birthday; he had received a job working for a gunsmith. He stayed on for nearly four years learning everything he could from the man.
That job changed Carlos’s life for the first time in his life he had found something that truly gave him a sense of belonging. He learned quickly, within the first six months of work he had proved his worth as an assistant and was allowed to work independently on certain weapons. Within a year he was given free reign in the workshop allowed to build and design as he saw fit. While far from a master he was proficient, but learning to craft the weapons was not the only thing he learned while there, his master’s philosophy when it came to his craft was decidedly hands on. “One could not craft a weapon that he was not proficient with,” during his time their Carlos learned how to fire, field strip, clean, and craft firearms and ammunition. On the day of his twenty-sixth birthday once again everything changed.
His master had accepted a job several weeks before it was a rather strange order for the times. The customer wanted a custom made revolver; the order itself was fairly simple and was finished well before the deadline given. When the customer arrived to pick it up he was not alone. He arrived with a group of five men all armed. Upon the completion of the transaction the armed men forced his master to his knees directly in front of the man; the stranger slowly examined the weapon before commenting, “Very nice work.” Slowly he aimed the barrel directly at the smith’s forehead with a casual movement he had executed Carlos’s master leaving the body to cool laying in a pool of blood in the middle of the shop. When Carlos returned from an errand he had been running he found the corpse lying as it had been left.
Three days later the customer was killed, a single bullet tore through his heart as he sat in a business meeting. The shooter was never found.
Carlos’s life had once again been flipped on its side; he no longer simply drifted through life from one job to the next he had found his career. He began the life of a freelance mercenary in the city of Chorazin. He quickly gained a reputation as a hitman, and his paranoia was legendary among the circles he moved through. He never met his clients face to face. Meetings were always electronic and arranged through a multitude of dead drops and hired lackeys. His face was never shown to those who hired him and his safe houses changed weekly. He lived this way for eight years. Eight years of killing for the highest bidder. Eight years of living in a near constant state of paranoia. Eight years of work, sweat, and sacrifice to build up his reputation as a mercenary and an assassin. Now his reputation as a professional is secure, in eight years he has never failed a contract. It is the eighteenth year since the death of his parents, the eighteenth year since the beginning of the Agreement, and everything is about to change.
Roleplay Example: The slow constant count echoes deep in the recesses of my mind. A single count for each click as I slowly twisted the small plastic knob, a quick glance down told me that I was there, a kilometer. Slowly I looked out the window down the long straight street below, civilian traffic was heavy I would need to be careful. I once more glanced down at the calculations scribbled down on the table I was using as a stand. Once more glancing out the window my eyes quickly zeroed in on the flags stirring lightly in the nearly nonexistent wind perfect adjustments for the wind would be unnecessary. Placing my face once again on the rather comfortable cheek rest of my MacMillan Tac-50 rifle, I would miss this rifle it had served me well in the past. But no chances could be taken, I could not risk discovery. That would lead to a rather inconvenient course of action that I would much rather avoid if at all possible. Allowing myself to relax slightly I kept an eye on the distant window, I had time. The meeting wouldn’t start for nearly an hour. I once again ran through the memory of my meeting with the client, once more looking for anything out of place.
The meeting had gone entirely too well. When the client had arrived he immediately made his way to the terminal located in the center of the room. The man stood at about five foot four inches wearing a business suit and carrying a small metal briefcase, glancing away from the security footage I turned towards the screen as I carefully affix the featureless white mask and readjust my tie before activating the video feed. Starring intently into the screen my eyes met those of the potential client for the first time.
“I hear that you are the best,” the client began. The silence stretched on as he waited for my response, as it became obvious I would not respond the man quietly coughed into his hand before continuing. “Down to business then this is the target,” sliding forward a photograph of a man wearing a similar suit sitting in an office speaking into a mobile device. “He is an executive in the Striker Security Firm, I want him killed in as public a manner as possible. I want you to make a statement out of his death.” The client paused looking at me expectantly waiting for a response. Slowly looking over the given information, I took it all in slowly contemplating the job. “One hundred thousand,” I said eyes still scanning the potential targets bio waiting for the counter offer. “Accepted,” the client agreed immediately surprising me slightly, it was not very often that a client did not try and negotiate. Closing my eyes behind the mask I slowly let out a breath. “Your contract has been accepted you will receive a message upon its completion, you will then deliver the money to the location specified in the specified manner.” Without another word the video feed was cut, glancing over at the security feed I watched as the client stood and left the room. The moment the door had shut I activated the detonator watching as the terminal was reduced to little more than slag as the thermite inside the terminal activated burning at twenty-thousand degrees Celsius
Slowly I exhaled my mind once again entirely focused upon the contract; the meeting would be starting shortly. Once it had I was to wait until the target began his presentation once it had begun I was to take the shot. I once again checked the range, using the scope I sighted in on a janitor cleaning the meeting room, checking the measurement of the scope I once more glanced down at the calculations. They were correct; a single kilometer separated me from my target. Once again I checked the flags they were flapping in a breeze, not sure where it had come from didn’t matter. I sighted in on the meeting room watching the executives slowly begin their arrival. I watched and waited as the meeting began; the target stood preparing to begin his presentation. Slowly I increased the magnification, click click click at twenty-five time’s zoom I made the minute adjustments to my aim based off the wind. The client wanted a statement made. That would make this difficult; slowly I inhaled holding my breath for several seconds. I began to exhale *thump* I let my body relax *thump* focusing down the scope *thump* the last bit of oxygen was expelled from my lungs *thump* A little extra pressure between beats of my heart and I felt the recoil travel through my body much like an old friend. The single .50 Incendiary shell enters the targets forehead dead center, upon impact the skull is pulverized brain matter and skull fragments paint the wall. As the corpse begins to fall the phosphorus ignites lighting wreathing the corpse in flames. I see none of this the moment the bullet impacts with the skull I begin breaking the rifle down, several moments later the rifle was stowed in a large metallic briefcase with a decisive click it snapped shut. Turning leaving the case sitting on the table I briskly made my way to the exit, glancing back over my shoulder I paused for a moment. I really would miss that rifle, with a click I activated the detonator held in my left hand. The case quickly burst out in an intense light as the thermite inside ignited reducing the rifle and ammunition inside to nothing more than useless slag.
