Post by Merpkiller on Nov 28, 2016 0:50:26 GMT
VIDEO HERE
^A small bar half-way between the Mojave and the Baja would have a portrait of Mike printed next to the following song on their jukebox selection panel.
^This song would be found on a cassette tape in his tactical rig, left chest pocket
Mike 'the Merc' Murphey
Occupation: Mercenary
Birth Place: Montana, USA
Height: 5'9
Weight: 200 lbs
Age: 30
Hair: Brown
Eye Color: Blue
Skin: Caucasian
Build: Athletic, Strength
Notable Features: If I'm doing my job right, you won't see any.
Personality
Personality & Traits: Friendly, willing to help, "Justice driven," Stereotypical Sidekick attitude (Aka Comic relief.)
Legal Status: Not wanted by authorities. Filed as an Ex-NCR soldier.
Current Goals: Live my life and take as many bastards down with me as possible. Find a nice girl and settle down with Rodrik as my neighbor I can harass, Spoil the shit out of Rodrick's kids (My nieces and nephews) when he gets some, find some old batman and robin costumes and get a picture of me and rod in them for shits and giggles.
Likes: LIKES
Dislikes: DISLIKES
Skills
Skill: LEVEL OF SKILL/DESCRIPTION
Disguise and concealment: Master- After many years of living with the shrouded cove tribe, he learned many of their secrets, most would concern how to paint the body, tools, and armor of a warrior to match his environment, done via amounts of local materials, painting, and molding of various materials over the items, he is able to blend in with his surroundings, most notably, he is able to disguise his rifle and weapons to appear as rocks when holstered, or appear as a ledge when in use. As well as his armor being able to be disguised to blend into a jagged cliff face. If he is in an urban area for a long time, he may even disguise his armor as brick to blend into the buildings around him, but these things take time and materials, things that he may not always have access to,
Firearms: Master- Thanks to his training from the NCR while he was volunteering at the local branch, he has graduated from multiple classes given to him by the local division. After receiving that as a start, he moved on to actual gunplay practice, being on the ground and in the frey was his best training possible, teaching him how and when to wait. He became a renouned marksman working with the Shrouded Cove, them guiding him how to make each shot count due to the limited ability to do so while being hidden and remain that way. Followed up with the years of experience wandering the wastes with caravans and Rodrik, he has honed his talents to their finest, giving him the ability to go toe to toe with the best and worst the wastes have to offer.
Charisma: Acceptable- Mike knows how to make a friend easily, while he may not be able to sway an enemy or open up the hardest kept secret, he can do what he can to help his friends and make new ones whenever he needs to. Sometimes he comes off as a sidekick superhero persona, whether this is intentional to appeal to everyone's childhood or not is to be discovered
Tunnel Vision: Trademarked- This is the ability Mike tosses up on his resume and every gun for hire ad he puts out. Through his years of getting battered, shot, and beaten by the wastes without mercy, he has gained the ability to completely ignore or bypass distractions or bodily harm even in persuit of a goal he is passionate of. In many cases, this allows him to continue on with what he is doing in a combat situation, allowing him to continue to run away, or get the nerve and focus to fire at an enemy even with a hole torn in his leg that gets worse as he moves. He refuses defeat in this state, almost as if he were a man on a med-x and psycho high, he is unstoppable unless you put force his body into shock through bloodloss, crippling of the limbs, or a bullet to the brain.
Equipment
Equipment/Gear - DESCRIPTION
Combat armor:
Hunting Rifle:
Service Pistol:
Tribal Knife:
Radio:
Relations
Special||Close Friend||Friend/Well Received||Acquaintance||Untrusted||Disliked||Hated
Rodrik Reeves: This man saved my life when my caravan went down.. took down the legionaires that were fighting me, too bad we couldn't save any of my friends then... but you know what... I can survive. He carried me to the nearest town, paid for my medical care, told me about his life, I owe so much to him. We spent a long time together... a few years in fact, wandering, protecting people, saving the day and being heros. He eventually said he was ready to move on, but I refused, I knew there was work to do in vegas... We parted ways south of goodsprings... he turned and never looked back, neither did I... at that time... I miss the guy now, hopefully we can meet up again someday.. but I've got work, traveling now, just the way I like it.
-Update: I've finally gone crazy, no, no I havn't, holy shit, it's Rod, in the flesh! I thought that I was fucked when those legion bastards firebombed the building that the followers caravan I was stuck protecting took shelter in, but Bam! out of the blue, an small army of citizens and soldiers swooped in and saved me, tried their damnest to get that one girl out of the fire.. Little did I expect it, we get out, then Here comes ol' Reeves himself, walking over the horizon towards me, I had to look twice but the someone said his name, I just stood there, wide eyed at him. I even forgot about the burning building nearby, I just realized my friend was back baby! We talked a bit, the guy's still himself, never wants to show he's happy, but willing to humor people and even try a bit of comedy now. I'm glad he finally did something about that old shell of his, he finally bucked up and got a girlfriend, and it sounds like he loves her more than he loves himself.. 'least I've got the best friend slot on lockdown still, hell yeah! I'm going to see if I can crash with them for now, because if a guy like Roddy can settle down, I can do it too, and I'm not planning on settling without my buddy.
Lilliana: She's pretty interesting, seems to stick with that Dave guy all the time, probably dating or something, good for them. Although, I don't really know how long their relationship or lives will last if they keep accepting dirt cheap jobs from high raider types regardless how shifty it was. Glad they had some backup, wouldn't have made it otherwise.
Lt. Matthew Antonio: Well, he's a NCR Lt. I can respect that, although, he doesn't seem like he's even qualified for the role. Hell, the guy's a quadriplegic now because he thought he could go mono e mono with a fucking behemoth! Who the hell does that? Meh, at least his heart seems in the right place, but he's not really going to keep his position if he can't walk or shoot... maybe they need someone to think? he can't write or anything... yeah, he fucked up and probably got himself an early release of service. Lucky him..
Background
Mike never was one to stay in one place for too long, never felt he belonged or could fit in well. If he ended up getting comfortable, something would usually happen to the guy.
He started out doing some volunteer work for a small, local NCR group in a small corner of the wastes. The pay was... negligible, the action was wonderful, survival training, weapons handling, conditioning, it all would be what he needed to survive out there, especially with guns pointed his way. After a few months, he realized he wasn't going to be able to last in this field, the stagnant area, the following of orders, the regimented lifestyle, it wasn't for him, if he wanted something like that, he'd have gotten a job in a city as a clerk or something stupid like that. He took his tags, his sidearm, and his civilian clothes and left, not looking back on the group he left.
He would wander his way along, eventually moving from city to city, not finding any good work to do that would suit him along the way, he eventually ended up making his way to Utah, believing that Zion would hold the life he was searching for, far from the norm and open for possibilities, well, seems like had too high of expectations. An introduction to the valley was... impolite at best, the white legs spotted the man in his normal clothing contrasting against the red rocks of the area, without a warning, he was fired at, causing the man to quickly dive for cover, the pinging of bullets along the rock he happened to choose, he would flip over the cover, his service pistol in hand, blasting away at the above enemies, taking out one of the above attackers with a precise shot to the shoulder. knocking a hunting rifle to the ground below as the man screams out in pain from above. He'd hide behind the rock again, the sound of rock chipping causing the man to flinch and dive further down into cover, he would wait for a break in their attacks, rising up to the attack again, when he was met by a shot though the forearm from his attacker, waiting for the man to become impatient, as such, Mike's service pistol would clatter to the ground, and he would unfortunately be hurled to the side and to the ground, his head exposed. When looking up, he would stare in horror as the shooter would line their sights up with the man's head, a smirk grown on the tribal's face as his finger rests on the trigger, about to destroy the poor wanderer. But then, a series of battle cries would be heard, followed by shocked expressions on his attackers' faces as eruptions of red began to explode across their chests, the men falling off the cliff side with terrified shrieks. The man believed he was even worse off, as a rival tribe appeared on the cliff side, one of them drawing a knife and throwing it into the chest of the injured white legs, producing a quick shriek before the man would fall prey to shock. The others would spot Mike, they first aimed their weapons, then realized he was not one of the white legs, but a bystander targeted by the group. The tribals would quickly speak to each other, two of them rushing and sliding down the hill, leaping over and quickly inspecting the man, grabbing him by the hands and feet, quickly making sure to grab his weapon and place it on his chest before moving him, the man let out a near shout, but only let out a garbled sigh as he lost consciousness to the loss of blood from his untreated wound.
The man awoke in a dark cave, the sound of a roaring fire and dripping water being his only ally at the moment, he would quickly reach for his drop holster, as he grabbed the pistol, he would notice crude bandaging put around his leg, he would not have believed it, the ones he believed to be the reaper of his life were the ones who saved it. The man was soon met by a village elder, he was quickly met with a wise voice, speaking kindly to the man with clear English, the man would explain how he was brought, the name of the tribe, and the identity of those who had attacked him. The tribe was apparently a lesser known group, The Shrouded Cove, a group which focused on being unseen and attacking from the shadows. They had been waiting for the night to attack the camp of the white legs that Mike had stumbled upon, they only stepped in to attack when they saw him fall in the battle against their enemies, bringing him back to their own camp for treatment of his injuries. With that, the elder would produce a hunting rifle to the man, splattered with blood, he would explain that this rifle had come from the enemy he had attacked, as their tradition states, warriors would receive the spoils of their kills, as such, even the outsider would be given the same respect. He accepted the rifle with a kind smile and a nod, the elder spoke to him, stating that his problem was caused by how easy he was to spot, and offered to teach him their ways a he healed. Mike willingly accepted, knowing there was nothing better to do other than sit still and be in pain. Over the next few weeks, he learned all about camouflage and concealment, gaining the ability to make himself harder to see in light and dark, in nearly an artistic fashion, he could disguise his weapons and armor to look like rocks, trees, sand, even brick, he could blend himself wherever he needed, he vowed to never get caught in the open again, he would be invisible if he were to have his way. He decided to stay with the tribe for two years, in the time, he learned very much of their history, their traditions, and even their tactics and skills, as tribute, he would return the favor, also teaching them that which he learned in civilian life, varying amounts of farming practices, varying recent technological advances the group may not have known of, and marksmanship, and firearm stealth practices. Eventually, he met with the village elders, thanking them for all they had done for him, but told them that he had to be with his people, as such, the villagers sent him off as if he were one of their own, he thanked each and every one for their kindness, then proceeded to exit the valley, not letting himself be seen as he did so, once again wearing his civilian clothing, he proceeded, eventually reaching Nevada, a place he had only heard about growing up.
There he was, the Mojave wasteland before him, a place known for gambling, wealth, and the loss of such, but most importantly, danger at every turn depending on who you angered and who you allied with. He traveled from town to town, learning the local flavor and culture, doing small jobs for everyone around the area, which seemed to mostly consist of shooting creatures or hostile people, which he was more than happy to oblige with, considering his training and his distaste for people attacking anyone who crosses their path, it was his favorite thing in the world. He left a trail of raider and radscorpion corpses leading all the way to New Vegas, and more importantly, the Crimson Caravan, a position that would give him more than enough adventure than he could ever want.
He quickly fell in with the company, the lifestyle of the group, always on the move, little sense of what a home is, adventure at every turn, he never wanted to leave, he worked there for 4 years, every inch of that wasteland being memorized to him, every competing family, town, province known to him, as well as the enemies he should avoid. One day, those enemies caught up to him.
It was a fairly nice day, for the Mojave, Mike and his crew were heading along, consisting of their trusty brahmin Cindy, the merchant Thomas, and the navigator Isabelle. In a short time, a dust storm kicked up, visibility virtually destroyed before their eyes. They slowed down, cautious to the dust. Within an hour, something didn't seem right, they couldn't see it, but they felt it, someone was following them. Before they could react, shots began to ring out from all directions, most of them hitting their brahmin, the beast letting out a large cry and toppling over, landing on Mike. As he struggled, Thomas quickly began to spray the area of the shots with his smg, hoping to nail a shot or two, unfortunately, this would result in the shots being directed at his weapon, a sudden triple shot of 5.56 rounds to his torso, one to the gut, lurching him onto the back of the cow, the second in his shoulder, throwing him to the side and causing him to scream in pain, and the third shooting from under his stomach to his lungs, quickly causing him to drown in his own blood. As soon as the cow fell, Isabelle dove to help Mike, their combined efforts scoring her a bullet to the ribs, cracking the bottom two on her right, causing her to recoil in pain, thankfully, Mike was there to catch her, the two quickly began to run, trying to escape the fire, but unfortunately, they couldn't, as a shot quickly pierced his right thigh, the lead piece flying out and onto the ground nearby, causing him to collapse. Refusing to accept the loss of her friend, Isabelle stood, holding the trigger of her Assault rifle down, attempting to suppress the group, a scream or two could be heard from the dust, but suddenly, from behind, she was struck four times in the back, blood flying out of her chest like miniture explosions, one lodged straight in the center of her spine, cracking it and causing her to fall. Mike quickly looked over, panic-stricken from the loss of his friend, he scrambled off as quickly as he could, refusing to stop and be killed in the open like a fool, his wound tearing open more and more as he did so, but his goal was clear, survival and revenge, as blood spilled across the ground, he got a good distance away, quickly rolling into a sitting position, bringing up his rifle and pulling it to his face, focusing and waiting. Whether it was luck or misfortune, the dust storm began to roll by, giving him a clear shot of the remaining 4 legionairies, with two additional injured on the ground, writhing in pain from the assault rifle, a small group. Recognizing his foes, he quickly bolted his rifle, exhaling and waiting to feel his heartbeat, quickly sqeezing the trigger, just as he was taught to in basic. Bang, Bang, his shots rang out, before they could realize it, the standing legion members were no more than distant memories, their corpses piled atop the injured, the others quickly moved to cover behind the brahmin and the cart, preparing to end their foe. One of the casualties would roll out of cover, scanning the area, a shot would quickly end his life from the injured man, but unfortunately, that was exactly what they wanted, the other members quickly popped out of cover, rifles trained on the source of the shot, the bloody leg of the camouflaged man being a figurative red flag to his position, as he prepared to bolt and fire again, hoping to take as many as he could down with him, a volley of fire rang out from a nearby hillside, the topmost legion member toppled over the brahmin, hands clasped to the new hole in his neck as he began to choke on his own fluids. The others quickly shifted their attention, the backmost raider quickly meeting his end via a shot through his vitals from the side by Mike, and the final injured man having his arms shattered via a duo of shots from the hillside, screaming in pain from his injuries. As if it were an angel come to save him, a man dressed in a tactical vest and mask stepped down, a lever action rifle in his arm and a pistol held at his side, the man walked up to the injured legion member, he quickly raised the pistol, muttering a few words before pulling the trigger repeatedly, splitting the man's helmet and head wide open, leaving no trace of the man to remotely recognize him by. Mike would quickly flinch at the brutal action, his dreams of grandour shattered, he quickly would raise his rifle, pulling the trigger, a loud click would sound, his rifle empty, he gasped, quickly starting to reload and try to find an additional magazine, the masked man turned, stepping closer to the frantic man. Within seconds the man was directly in front of Mike, as he held the magazine in hand, he looked up, a face of lost hope and fear on him, he closed his eyes tightly, waiting to be executed, instead, he heard a voice. "Come on, let's get you out of here." He looked up in disbelief, a hand outstretched to him from the masked man, he accepted it, getting pulled up and supported. Mike gasped at the pain in his leg, but continued with the man, the two stepping along towards a nearby city. "Who are you... why'd you do that for me?" He asked, head still spinning at what happened. "You didn't deserve that, none of you did, it's only the right thing to do.." said the man back, "The name's Reeves by the way... Rodrik." Mike nodded, speaking through his pain "Thanks... I'm Mike, Mike Murphy.. hey.. can you help me with them? I can't just leave them there, they're my crew." "We can get to them later, we need to get you patched up, and I'm not the guy to do it. Just stick with me, and keep breathing... alright?" his new friend replied. The two continued along the trail, getting to the nearest town and luckily finding a doctor to help him. The next day, the two returned to the scene, albeit with Mike on crutches, they buried the group, skinned and gutted the cow, then cooked it as a feast in the honor of those who were lost, the two traveled for a while, occasionally saving someone or helping a group in need. Eventually Rodrik decided it was time to move on from the Mojave, Mike realized what he wanted to do, he wanted to keep doing as he and Rodrik had done, but not somewhere else, in the Mojave, the two had a heart wrenching goodbye, before traveling their separate ways.
After a year of this, Mike had joined a local gun for hire service, doing what he had been doing but for pay, it was great, eventually, the group grew to a massive proportion, eventually he felt that he had made his mark, he began to journey onward, curious of what may come his way, he continued to travel through the west, bringing his own version of justice wherever he went, these journeys would eventually lead him to the Baja due to a tip sent by his group at a lush opportunity for work in the area, his story is uncertain, but hopefully will be better than it has been.