NAME: Cross Nukahmade
WEIGHT: 170 lbs
FORCE SENSITIVE: lolwut
Language: High Galactic
Personality, Weaknesses, and Strengths:
+Expert Pistol Duelist- Cross has developed a form of fighting that displays a routine of duel-wielding a set of pistols almost to the extent of a martial art. Cross utilizes a self-taught form of sophisticated close-quarters gunplay that incorporates using ranged weapons as melee weapons and more common applications such as shots from behind the back.
+Weapon knowledge and accessibility- All but the most exotic and most rare of weapons have been studied and used by Cross. Preferring long range over short range, he often uses a sniper rifle when offered the opportunity to do so or can instead prefer to switch to short range combat and utilize his pistols and energy swords.
+Stealth and Subterfuge- As is required for his line of work, Cross is an practiced expert of stealth and subterfuge.
-Excess Savagery- Cross is a natural paragon, and thus is ruthless, savage, and unforgiving in combat and during missions. If not kept in check, Cross could lose highly sought after information by killing people he shouldn't execute, or act in similar ways politically when dealing with upper echelon allies or equally important, enemies.
Generally has bad nerves and is impatient, which in combination has created an almost obsessive death stick(cigarette) addiction. If he can be seperated from his packs, Cross tends to be irritant, moody, impatient, and feels a driving sense of an impending breakdown(though it wouldn't happen to that particular extreme)
Cross generally embodies an allure and cool personality, yet boasts a shady, dangerous personality that, unless a situations calls for something different, projects only a few facial expressions, limited to moments such as when the Sith Empire is disrespected in his presence, or his calculations on a target are less than expected, which in turn will force him to issue a compliment. Though he is respectful and kind to his allies, combat tends to trigger a savagery within Cross that could cause a rookie partner to vomit during combat. His ruthlessness stems from his obsession to finish his objectives at any cost, punishing those whom would try to stop him without prejudice and without mercy.
Imp Pistols- Cross abuses the semi-automatic feature of these pistols to their full extent when utilizing them in combat. Because of Cross' lifestyle it shaped a fighting style specifically designed to engage multiple targets at once. Cross most often calculates the most precise angle for targeting an opponent and predicting where to be in order to avoid being shot by an enemy while also firing a shot of his own. This, combined with gunplay results in a man whom would strictly utilize guns instead of blades. In melee however, he's still able to utilize his weapons to perform melee strikes and when the opportunity arises has the hand-eye-coordination to land well placed shots fired from behind his back or shoot targets to his left and right by firing dual shots with crossed arms.
Sniper Rifle- When doing missions involving intel, spying, or even assassination Cross tends to stick to this weapon due to its reliability. His own drive combined with his training in the military makes for a practiced shot thats had years of experience to forge an aim that hits most targets without second tries.
Energy Sword Favored for their accessibility, Cross utilizes these blades in combat for stabbing and throwing.
Subcutaneous Comlink- Favored for his lack of time away from the field, Cross prefers to manage less than he should have to, so his sub link was implanted not long after he became an Operative.
Electronic Lock Breaker- This tool's reliability has been tested many times by Cross, and by his own standards could recommend it to nearly anyone.
Homing Beacon- Obvious tracking device, is obvious.
- Name: Oron Verd
- Alias: Darth Angrel(Former), Ashogo-Kel(Former)
- Alignment: True-Neutral?
- Faction: Mandalorians/Crusaders?
- Rank: High Knight
- Species: Near-Human
- Gender: Male
- Height: 6'1
- Weight: 205
- Eyes: High Knight
- Hair: Short and Shaggy
- Skin: Mocha
- Force Sensitive? Quite
- Sibling- [member="Isley
- [COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)][B]Sibling-[/B][/COLOR] [member="Tyrone
- [COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)][B]Niece-[/B][/COLOR] [member="Dene
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman'][B] --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------[/B][/FONT][/SIZE]
[COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)][SIZE=18px][FONT='times new roman'][B]STRENGTHS & WEAKNESSES[/B][/COLOR][/FONT][/SIZE]
[FONT='times new roman']+[/FONT] [FONT='times new roman']War Centric- [/FONT]His upbringings in combination with the lessons incorporated from his training in the force has resulted in a man whose hand-to-hand combat is formidable for his experience while maintaining an extremely high affinity for bladed weapons as well. He is an exceptional lightsaber duelist, and thanks to further training with the Confederacy of Independent Systems in combination with his activity with the Mandalorians his firearm proficiency is respectable also.
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman'][COLOR=rgb(0,255,0)]+[/COLOR][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)] Intelligence- [/COLOR]Despite his harsh upbringing and violent attitude, Oron has a certain knack for deductive reasoning, as well as being an astute judge of character, especially in the dark side of the morality spectrum. He's also incredibly patient, observant, and displays excellent problem solving skills.[/FONT][/SIZE]
[COLOR=rgb(255,0,0)]-[/COLOR]/[COLOR=rgb(0,255,0)]+[/COLOR] [COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)]Cold-[/COLOR] Oron tends to turn a blind eye to others in danger.
[FONT=arial][SIZE=14px][COLOR=rgb(255,0,0)]-[/COLOR][COLOR=rgb(255,165,0)]Not Empathic- [/COLOR]He has very strict logic. If someone is in a situation that he's never experienced or can't understand(why not get a new empress, bro?) he'll find it hard to generate sympathy.[/FONT][/SIZE]
[FONT=arial][SIZE=14px][COLOR=rgb(255,0,0)]-[/COLOR][COLOR=rgb(255,165,0)]Short Sighted and Scatter brained-[/COLOR] Oron only sees the here-and-now. He has no particular foresight and fails to see the repercussions of his actions. He also often forgets things, puts them off, get distracted, etc. Although intelligent, he has very little control over his mind.[/FONT][/SIZE]
[FONT='times new roman'][SIZE=18px][COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)][B]Force Powers[/B][/COLOR][/FONT][/SIZE]
[FONT='times new roman']Learned- [/FONT][COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)]∆∆▲[/COLOR][FONT='times new roman'] Versed- [COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR] Mastered- [COLOR=rgb(0,255,0)]▲▲▲[/COLOR][/FONT]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Telekenesis- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Telepathy- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Breath Control- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)]∆∆▲[/COLOR]
[FONT='times new roman']Force Bubble- [/FONT][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Speed- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Sense- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Crush- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)]∆∆▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Jump- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Concealment- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Tutaminis- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Rage- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)]∆∆▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Track- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)]∆∆▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Mind Trick- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Force Combustion- [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(255,140,0)]∆▲▲[/COLOR]
[SIZE=14px][FONT='times new roman']Drain Life: [/FONT][/SIZE][COLOR=rgb(128,0,128)]∆∆▲[/COLOR]
[B][COLOR=rgb(255,165,0)][SIZE=18px][FONT='times new roman']Arsenal[/COLOR][/FONT][/SIZE][/B]
[URL="http://starwarsrp.net/topic/790-harpy-sienartech-sniper-rifle/"]One Harpy Sniper Rifle[/URL]
One Heavy Blaster Pistol
One Light Machine Pistol
Two curved lightsabers, with violet crystals and waterproof casings.
One Dauntless Blade
Two Energy Swords
A Pair of HUD-G's
One OBL-3 Attack Drone
BANG Slugs for my Heavy Blaster^
Basic Slugs for my Machine Pistol^
The spark of life that would eventually become Oron started on the planet Enarc. A land where the rich were secluded in their walled city and the poor were left to survive in the slums. These areas were largely ignored by the government, starved of resources and worked to the bone for flakes of skin off a bantha's hide for food. Although not particularly true, the people in the slums were rich with disease and families were birthed and raised in this filth- born with various disabilities, whether mental, physical, or both. Healthier families eventually garnered the time and energy to mine and buy their way out of the slums, leaving the less-fortunate behind. The families that didn't have the health nor youth to mine for money were forced to wait for credits on the whims of Slave Traders, whom came around only a few times a year and selected only the finest of specimen...if there were such a thing in a place so devoid of hope, sanitation, and- in most cases, sanity.
When Oron was born, he was the first of seven children to be born without an ailment. This is largely due to his own, unique genetics which were casually handed off by his father, Rake Verd, whom donated his seeds to females around the galaxy like he knew the day of his death and it was fast approaching. To this family, he was a prodigy in a circle of hopelessness. His stepfather was an abuser, murderer, drunk, and spice addict and Oron would often would watch as his father would limp back from the mines, frustrated with his lack of productivity, and release his anger on his mother, swinging his only good arm back and forth, beating the ill woman until either she passed out or his own sickness dragged him into unconsciousness.
Oron's supposed siblings were all dead. Once their ailments were discovered by his demon-of-a-stepfather he would toss the infants into the back yard to feed the alien dogs. Poor creatures were just as sick as everything else on this side of the planet, yet their appetite never wavered, and not once did they turn down a meal. Not when they were fed mere rations a month.
The old bastard was too impatient and too idiotic to wait for Oron to grow, to mature and be able to bear the labor of the mines to earn his family revenue. Instead, when the child was only 8, which was old enough to barely travel, he was at the door of his own home with a wrinkled hand on Oron's shoulder waiting for the Traders to come and take the young boy away. This was to be their last stop of the year, and Oron's stepfather thought this to be a much better trade off then waiting a few more years to make quadruple the amount should he keep his only healthy child alive a few more years. But logic was not a thing he exercised often. Oron hated this place. The things he witnessed festered a deep hatred within his tiny chest, a spark that first became alight when he truly understood his step-fathers behavior, which was the product of withdrawals from a myriad of addictions. He despised his neighbors for killing each other everyday for no reason. He even despised his mother because of her weakness. Her inability to stand up to the filth that exploited her ability to create life. She would die eventually, and Oron himself soon afterwards. He was ready to leave, and he'd no desire to save any of them. Lone survival was his only motive, and it came natural.
The slums were alive tonight. When off-world slavers came to the slums it were as if Holo-net celebrities were walking the streets. Screams of joy could be heard from several blocks away, glass could be heard shattering against the duracrete. All truly pathetic affections in Oron's eyes. Searching for product among the desperate must of been easy...and cheap. And the turnover, Oron was sure, was always there.
Finally, two figures could be seen approaching their makeshift house in the distance. Hardily slapping Oron's back, he gasped in pain as his step-father ushered him out to the edge of his property. Moments later a slim, crimson Twi'lek and a fat, pale-green Gammorean approached. Their clothes told of a wealth unseen by Oron in the entirety of his short life. Shiny jewelry swung from their necks, hugged their wrists, adorned their clothes, and their shoes were even new. But that wasn't all that grabbed the boy's attention. His eyes drifted to the blasters at their hips. And never left them.
His stepfather straightened up, attempting to pull the rags covering his body into place and cover up the patches of exposed skin as the slavers neared them. Oron didn't bother with his garbs. He didn't know what it meant to be clean or neat. He simply stared at the dangling blasters on the stranger's hips. One could say he was unashamed, but this was a way of life. He smelled as if he were allergic to soap and water, but he might as well have been since he couldn't remember the last time he bathed.
Pudgy, sloppy footsteps enclosed on the pair before they finally stopped just out of range of the putrid smell that wafted from their bodies. The gammorean in his disgust wafted a fat, greasy hand in front of his nose, but the twi'lek's attention was solely on Oron. His stepfather, in his slaking greed could not bear to let them speak first. The silence was eating him alive.
"Hello fair traders!" He said, before bowing the best way he new how although it came off silly and downright unnecessary. "This boy's healthy! I know you's been around these parts and I don't see a chain gang with ya, ya gotta take him and I know ya want 'em! I can do a good price, I swear! You don't wanna leave this planet empty handed do ya? Huh?"
He attempted to grab onto Oron's chin as if to display the boy to them but after a brief scuffle he found Oron to be uncooperative. The gammorean took a step back- and then another. Disgusted by something entirely different this time.
The twi'lek considered the scrawny man in front of him, then the small boy staring so intensely at the blaster on his belt. Oron was healthy, which was obvious, but could he be of any use for their markets?
"He can't be used for labor." Came a baritone voice as the Twi'lek began his dialogue. "His frame does not speak of any eventual strength. He's no wookie or Yuzzem, obviously. But I don't think he can even compete with any of his stronger near-human cousins...actually- what exactly is he? This is no pure human boy."
Oron's crimson eyes moved away from the pistol then, staring into the twi'lek's face, but only momentarily. His attention returned to the blaster.
"I...I don't know. He ain't mine..."
The fat one finally spoke. "Regardless, he has no gammorean or gungan in him." He said chuckling sarcastically. "So if we take him to a military vendor he'd need extensive training. Hell, he'd probably die."
The twi'lek waited his turn to speak. "And I can't think of anyone who'd want a...near-human boy as a entertainment."
The remarks mirrored frowns on both Oron and his stepfather's face, until the twi'lek spoke a final time.
"I will take him but I will not offer you my usual rate." The gammorean snorted and walked towards Oron and gestured for the boy to raise his wrists so that he could be cuffed. Before he binded them, voiced his offer. "I will give you forty credits."
"Forty credits!? Are you mad? This boy is worth at least 60! Last year you gave the Tungstens 79 for their measly brat-girl and here you are........
His rambling was washed out by Oron whom was still focused on the Twi'lek's blaster. Finally realizing what was going on, the Twi'lek turned his attention away from the mad man and with a raised eyebrow snatched the pistol from his belt. Turning the safety off, he tossed it to Oron whom immediately turned it on his stepfather and in the midst of his rant burned two holes into his chest.
Silence followed until finally the gammorean offered up a mix of snorts and grunts before finally offering up what sounded like laughter. Wild, hysterical laughter. A smile slowly crept onto the twi'lek's face as he watched a woman in the house behind Oron close the curtains and turn the lights off. Retrieving the binding cuffs from his partner, the twi'lek slapped the cuffs on Oron and turned him from his stepfather's body to leave the slums.
"I know exactly where to take you."
Once they returned to the ship, Nero was pushed into a slave pit of a room where dozens of beings were all sitting around, bidden by cuffs just like his. They looked absolutely miserable. Some wore rags like his own, some wore decent clothes fit for even shopping on a rich planet, and others wore no clothes at all. Nero whom held no innocence saw the scene for what it was, but saw something more eye-catching in the room which was more food to eat than could be digested. Bowls of white...something were in the center of the room and as he approached no one moved to stop him. That was new. Realizing there was no threat to filling his belly, he hunched over the bowls and hand-by-hand stuffed the food into his mouth. It was as bland as clay itself, with little to no moisture in it but Nero didn't feel sick while eating it and didn't have the urge to regurgitate so he saw no reason to complain.
Feeling the ship lift from the ground, Nero stopped and afraid of what was happening screamed until another child assaulted him, striking him across the cheek with a closed fist, slamming his head into the metal floor.
"Ain't you ever been in a ship?"
Dazed, Nero waited for the room to stop spinning before replying. The boy that hit him had to be years older, as he was much taller, mature, and...healthier. He painfully opened his mouth.
"Well get used to it! I ain't gon' hear 'ur hollering 'ery time we take off."
Satisfied this his point had gotten across, he trotted back to what looked like his spot along the wall and rested his head on the shoulder of another child and attempted to go to sleep. Or go back to sleep, Nero couldn't tell. He walked over to the boy and sat in front of him, staring into his face. Feeling an awkwardly close presence, the fatigued boy opened his eyes to see Nero staring.
"What chu doin?"
"Where we going?" Nero asked, simply.
Annoyed, he made a face that displayed it before responding. "A planet! Ya know, the round things people live on? Dont'cha know nothin'?"
Nero didn't know how to answer. So he responded with questions instead.
"Why we going 'der? Whats 'der? We gon' live 'der?"
"Ungk..." Another annoyed noise. "Kariek's a planet were da lizard people called da Eickarie are. 'Dey buy slaves and train 'em at their military academy. I hear its the best form of slavery ta be offered but I hear lots of slaves die 'der, but they're a reliable trade-off for Voort and Mavado."
Nero gave a confused look.
"Voort is the Gammorean and Mavado is the Twi'lek."
"'Deres a chance nobody on dis ship will see the next calender, but out 'der we got a fightin' chance." Literally.
Weeks passed and Nero and the boy never spoke again. He couldn't think of any further information to inquire about and he couldn't pry his fingers away from the bowls Voort brought in every day to fatten them up. Putting weight on slaves apparently, upped buying prices which was probably the only reason they were fed. But that didn't turn Nero away from the meals. His fingers were in a bowl every day and his belly was always full. He'd eaten more food in 3 weeks than he had in roughly 5 years. Who was he to complain?
Once they reached Kariek, no one knew it. There were no viewports to see anything outside the ship from their holding, so the dimming darkness became something Nero was accustomed to, much like his slave-mates. This fact made getting off the ship very painful on his eyes.
"Everyone get up and march!" Mavada shouted after he slammed the door open to the slave pen. Forming a uniform single-file line, the slaves walked from the ship to the hangar where the ramp was let down and the sun of Kariek not only blinded but stunned the slaves. Nero could never think of a time where it pained him so to simply see. Feeling a sharp pain in his back, he realized the crew was being prodded and blindingly they moved forward. After what seemed like an eternity, his sight finally adjusted and everything was plainly seen. The world was mostly barren. No trees, grass, or even any visible wildlife. The sting of night bugs were something that Nero was sure to never miss.
Once they were moved into a large building a line of Eickarie were awaiting their arrival. They were uniform and looked as if they'd been fighting from birth. They all bore pink scars on their tails, face, abdomen, shoulders, some were missing an eye, others were in worse condition but they seemed unfazed and even proud. One broke out of the formation and walked the chain gang, inspecting them all before speaking in a foreign tongue to Voort. Nodding after a brief conversation he spoke to Mavado and finally the twi'lek spoke to the slaves.
"This will be yalls home now. Anyone under 14 standard years of age will be unable to join the academy, and instead you will be in training until you will be able to participate at the regular academy. All of you over 14 will be starting your lessons once we leave you here." Feeling as though he'd said everything that need to be translated, he left after giving a final remark. "Good riddance." He moved to stand next to Voort and the Eickarien Warlord and finished the financial transaction before trudging out of the building and back to the ship.
Immediately after they were out of site, the lizards separated the hopeless lot and Nero's life on Kariek had officially begun.
His sleeping quarters consisted of only a mattress and a lockbox, but the room was his and his alone, which was much better than sleeping on the living room floor of a home with broken windows. Many slaves on the ship insisted that they were trading one hell for another, but Nero saw only a blessing. One he would do all it took to turn into an opportunity.
From the age of 5 to 10 he was trained purely in melee combat. Utilizing by choice, only daggers and swords. Sparring was a sport on this planet, and it often ended with a participant dying. But this did very little to stop the actual training process because Voort and Mavado returned to exchange slave and credits at least 4 times per calender. This kept the ranks swollen and the cost of replacement, from Nero's understanding, very cheap. He himself sustained very few injuries outside of the usual cuts, which earned him a place above the usual lot with a select few others. Blood sport and children in of itself didn't sound entertaining but to the Eickarie all forms of battle were worth rallying around.
When he turned 11, he trained in firearms until he was 13, then once he turned 14 he graduated from the sub-academy to the real academy where he was trained in melee combat and firearm combat simultaneously until he was 20. Once more he sustained little injury, allowing him to maintain the rank he held in the sub-academy, only sparring and dueling those whom were on equal footing which meant that his echelon provided very little death. Something that bored the Eickarie and thus allowed him to stay out of serious harms way for the most part. What he witnessed was a different story however. For 15 years, he witnessed, nearly every day, a death delivered in a variety of flavors. Children were sliced open by other children, and teenagers were shot in cold blood because of the inability to properly defend or evade attacks. The boy Nero met when he was loaded onto the slave ship was right. Many, many slaves would die here but what Nero realized soon after he got out of the sub-academy was that he couldn't find him anymore. The only assumption to be made was that his life was taken as well. Nero felt nothing.
Once someone graduated from the actual military academy they were sent to become rangers for the planet's Warload, which was a unique system in itself. Kariek had a singular warlord, and to be warlord meant to be the ruler of the planet.
Being a Kariek Ranger, meant that a slave was now not only a slave but a working slave- with a very dangerous job. Slave trading was merely a resource for bodies on Kariek. The culling process was extremely brutal because those that survived the academy were the strongest of their slave groups, meaning they had a better chance at surviving the next job which was to serve in Kariek's mines- the planet's main source of income. Only Eickarie were allowed to actually mine. The problem was the beasts inside the tunnels killing the miners, which is where Academy slaves and their extensive combat training came in handy. The Eickarie could train themselves, but the tunnel beasts killed them eventually and the Kariek Warlords soon learned that raising slaves through the academy was much better than risking their own people in the tunnels.
As a Ranger, Nero was the captain of his squad, being the most gifted combatant of his group. He would lead his squad into the tunnels, draw out Shredder Bats and Saurians and kill them, which allowed the Eickarie miners to find ore, extract it and move deeper into the tunnels without fear. Shredder bats were particularly dangerous because had highly sensitive hearing which made mining all the more harder. Their hearing was produced by a series of hearing organs along its neck and forehead. Such acute hearing enabled shredder bats to pinpoint prey up to fifteen kilometers away. The bats traveled in packs and hunted by day and night, making mining without Rangers all the more dangerous. These creatures, when mature, were at least 1 meter in length and attacked prey by dive-bombing with great speed and accuracy, often killing their targets instantly with blunt force trauma. Their speed was deceptively fast and the impact was rarely lived through.
Saurians were also a problem, as they lived cohesively with shredder bats in the tunnels and although they didn't have the threat of dive-bombing, their killing potential was all-the-same. They were much larger, growing up to 3 to 4 meters in length and had the strength to wrestle and tear asunder targets with their claws and teeth.
Nero was wounded many times during these tours, and had two near-death experiences but always recovered and returned with better strategies eventually paired his combat efficiency with stealth in order to turn the tables and ambush the predators instead of being the prey which was stalked and taken advantage of.
Two years later, he was promoted once more and had access to more training regimes, weapons, instructors, and even piloting which is when he became a much more efficient and total soldier. After graduating from these courses however, he was assigned to the tunnels once more, but this time to enforce security. Nero learned that life on Koriek was turning out to be much worse than slavery, and enforcing security meant that he would work alongside the Eickarie lizards in murdering and torturing slaves. Nero spoke against it, but the Warlord refused to change their inhumane system on Koriek. Instead, he suspected the time invested in Nero was now toxic and instead of seeing his system undone he disposed of the outsider he'd let into his hierarchy and framed Nero, sending him to a prison known only as Kiffex.
Nero found life as a prisoner much worse than that of a slave, but had no regrets. His combative prowess proved to keep aggressive inmates away and discouraged over-confident guards from trying to abuse him. His term was meant to be indefinite but within 2 years, he'd formulated a plan to escape once a new prison guard was installed into the Kiffex colony. He was green, fresh, barely 18, and could hardly hold his gun. He beat weaker prisoners in an attempt to express superiority but Nero saw through the haze. He knew men by now. Especially those on the darker side of the morality spectrum and this guy was a pretender. When he walked past Nero's cell he smelled of soap, new boots, and fresh opportunity. Unlike the other guards which only had the scent of sweat, fear, and tight trigger fingers.
During a routine recess opening, the fresh guard moved to unlock Nero's cell and once he'd done so Nero moved quickly and without prior warning, overpowering the weaker man and knocking him unconscious. After shoving the body into his cell, he awaited for the remaining guards to flush out the area and remained, claiming he was ill. Whilst a guard retreated to go and find a nurse, Nero undressed the knocked out guard he'd hidden under his bunk and donned the uniform himself. His walk was slow, yet brisk. But he might as well have been running. He was unrecognizable to a pair of guards standing at the exit gate to the facility and had to pull a pistol to shoot the guards down before sprinting out of the prison and commandeering the colony's only space freighter.
The Company put a million-credit contract on Nero and he became a wanted man, a fugitive, on every planet in the sector, instantly becoming pursued by nearly every bounty hunter, cutthroat, and mercenary in the space lanes. Every time he killed one of them, their deaths were added to his list of serial killings until approximately 7 months later, Nero was caught but his hunters attemped to kill him rather than capture him and aimed at his stolen freighter, destroying it. Somehow, he survived the incident althoughmost of his lower face was severed in the explosion, which required him to have a cheap vocabulator installed. In prison for the second time, he took a psychological evaluation by an esteemed Dr who deemed that Nero was a violent sociopath and a murderer by nature. It was on this planet that he joined an underground mercenary outfit through a Connect in the prison. During the same year, they helped him escape the prison and during their attempt at getting off planet, of the 30-something men in that outfit, Nero was the only man to leave the planet alive. He'd killed his entire platoon out of fear that once off planet and out of the prying eyes of the judicial system, they'd attempt to take his freedom away from him once more out of some form of honor or bond. But Nero would never have his freedom jeopardized again.