Thomas, G.

All active personnel assigned to Bravo Company and the USS Chattanooga.
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Thomas, G.
Posts: 13
Joined: Sep 02, 2012, 3:29 PM

Thomas, G.

Post by Thomas, G. »

Department of Defense
Department of the Colonial Navy
United States Colonial Marine Corps


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--Personal Information


Name: Michael "Joker" Gregory Thomas
Birth Certificate: 1/3/2224 - 20 years of age - Bixby, Oklahoma
Sex: Male

Background Check: An unexpected child, Greg was born into the Thomas household on January 3rd, 2223 in suburban Oklahoma. During his toddler years, Greg's family lived a rather comfortable life. His father, William Dean Thomas was the manager of a local paint store while his mother, Elizabeth Ashley Thomas was a DUI counselor. As he grew older and began to attend school, Greg was quickly noted for his wildly creative imagination and artistic skills. His ability to take a simple object such as a stick or piece of plastic and use it to create and entirely new world of exploration and weaponry fascinated his parents, which led them to believe he would one day become an artist. Such things as this, however, made Greg a target for local bullies for being a "nerd" or a "wuss" making it very difficult to attend any public schools for any extended period of time due to the ruckus that followed him. Despite the distractions, Greg reached middle school as an A+ student, but that would prove to be the top of the mountain, and from here on out, it was a landslide going down.

During the summer between his sixth and seventh grade year, his mother was involved in a car accident coming home from work due to a drunk driver, killing her nearly instantly. Not long after, Greg's father was unable to take the grief any longer and began to drown himself in ugly, muddled whirlpool of liquor and hard drugs. The atmosphere was less than stable for a still growing young man, and despite many attempts, nothing could be done to rectify the situation. Greg's grades plummeted, and his artwork became nearly non-existent as the place he had once called home had turned into a cess pool of anger and sorrow. No longer able to escape from reality in his artwork, Greg took a new found fascination in sports, joining the middle school football and basketball team. Though nothing special and hardly receiving any play time, he was able to find a home away from his house in practice and games, almost an escape from everything that had gone wrong. By the time he became a freshman in high school, Greg had once again became a devoted student and athlete, but still faced struggles at home.

Greg and his father became very distant during his later years, rarely speaking or even seeing each other. He continued to excel in high school, maintaining a GPA that earned him top of the class, while also winning a starting spot at quarterback on the football team. An instant star during his sophomore year, Greg enjoyed the popularity of being a starting quarterback, but didn't relish in it like most his age. Instead, he used his time to better himself as a student-athlete as well as a person, seeing as how he didn't have a parent to care for him. He moved out into his grandparents home before the start of his junior year, effectively ending all contact with his father. Greg's last two years of high-school saw a high-school athlete blow up into the national spotlight, earning All-State and All-American honors his junior and senior season, which opened a variety of different college choices for him. As the national spotlight began to shine on him, his ego became inflated to the point of bursting, and he set out to for the pro's, choosing Oregon as his college of choice.

Greg's college years took a violent twist from his high school years. He quickly became involved in the wrong scene, which ultimately set up his failure. Before his freshman season even started at the University of Oregon, Greg was dismissed after becoming involved in a large on-campus brawl. With no education and no parents to guide him, Greg set out into the work force. Dead end jobs, one after the other began to line up and fall before him with his every move. Working as cashier at a grocery store by day, and scrounging up whatever else work he could by night brought a once highly regarded athlete tumbling back down to Earth, and he knew he had to find a solution quick or his situation would never improve. With no friends, no parents, and nothing to fall back on, his options were limited and time was running out. Ideas were few and far between, until the day he saw an advertisement for the USCMC as he walked to work. An opportunity. A chance to redeem himself, and he took it. He had no other choice.

Training was hell. Greg had endured the physical labors and stress of a high-profile athlete, but even then he was simply a high school athlete, and he was reminded of it every second by his superiors. He had tumbled back down to Earth, escaped success and became nothing but a shit stain left on the bottom of his Drill Instructor's boot. Months of dedication and being beat down, all leading to another chance. A chance that he so badly wanted, so badly needed. A United States Colonial Marine. He had given himself that second chance, now he just had to not fuck it up.

--DD502 Medical Evaluation

Height: 6'1
Weight: 207
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Hazel
Scars/Marks/Tattoos: N/A

Physical Description: Standing at 6'1 and an aesthetically pleasing 207 pounds, Greg is a good looking man defined by a powerful jaw line and strong, dark eyes. A silky smooth cream color, his skin is nearly flawless, save for the forestry of hair that covers his midsection and chest. His hair, like all Marines was buzzed short and of a rich, dark brown color similar to the color of a chocolate bar. His broad, powerful chest was accented by long, lean arms that were finished by hands large enough to comfortably palm a basketball. A toned mid-section came down to a point, similar to the letter V and joined a pair of thick, powerful legs that could be described to be "as thick as a tree trunk." His nose, as he would often describe it was "embarrassingly large" but it fit for such a powerfully built man. Thick eyebrows sat comfortably above his eyes, but did so in a manner that always gave Greg a light and friendly appearance that was highlighted by a smile that seamed to beam with energy and warmth.

Personality: Greg's personality goes along suit with his appearance. An extremely friendly and polite man, Greg loves to be social and mingle amongst others, whether it be cracking jokes or listening. Known for outrageous and humorous antics, he earned the nickname "Joker" amongst his former teammates on his high-school football team. A very level-headed thinker, hardly overreacts to a situation and keeps his wits about him. A strong, selfless fighter and fantastic teammate, has always looked to better himself for the sake of his team. Though considered a good teammate, does not possess any strong leadership qualities and tends to lack the brutal honesty and frankness of other Marines. Very stubborn, Greg's patience is off the charts with his willingness to keep attempting the same course of action for hope that it will eventually succeed when in reality, a much quicker alternative may be available.

Medical Record: Suffered a minor injury during football, torn PCL in right knee. Rehabbed back to full strength. Surgery performed to alleviate issues with left shoulder, injury also received during football career.

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--DD213 Equipment Receipt


Primary Weapon M41A 10-MM Pulse Rifle
Modifications: N/A
Location on Body:Wielded

Secondary Weapon (Optional) M4A3 9MM Pistol
Modifications: Laser sight attached to bottom of barrel.
Location on Body:Holstered on right hip.

Other Weapon (Optional)Natchez Bowie Knife
Modifications: N/A
Location on Body:Sheathed on chest plate.

- M4 Combat Armor [w/ leg and thigh protection, groin protector, and forearm protection, shoulder mounted spotlight, kinetic battery, and wireless PRC 490/1/1 Squadlink Radio]
  • Additional Description to include customization, paint, modifications, etc (Optional)
- M5 Integrated Marine Combat Helmet [With mounted camera, spotlight, thermal/nightvision optics, and PRC 490/1/1 Squadlink Microphone and Receiver]
  • Additional Description to include customization, paint, modifications, etc (Optional)
- M22A2 Hostile Environment Atmosphere Resistant Suite (HENVARS) [The latest in Marine technology, this suit integrates with the M4 Combat Armor to completely protect Marines from hostile atmospheres, vacuum, radiation, and other dangerous aspects of extraterran environments. Also comes with the M23 Pressure Helmet, with offers superior cranial protection and a visor, complete with HUD, PRC490/1/1 Squadlink Radio Microphone and Receiver, mounted spotlight, and camera.)
  • Additional Description to include customization, paint, modifications, etc (Optional)


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--USCMC Service Record Jacket


Rank: Private First Class (PFC)
Roster Assignment: 1st Rifleman, 1st Fireteam, 1st Squad, 1st Platoon
Designation: 0311 Rifleman
PFT/CFT Score: 1st Class
Rifle Marksmanship Qualification: Expert

Awards: N/A

Deployments: N/A

Sample Post: Blackness, almost becoming darker as if falling into an endless, shapeless void. A quick snap followed by a sharp whistle as the feeling of damp, cool vegetation came first with the distant sound of detonations closing in quickly. As his eyes began to open, Greg's vision was merely a contortion of multiple colors thrown into one almost as if someone had thrown the world into a blender and turned it on. Where was he? That was the question he kept asking himself as he rolled over onto his back, his vision becoming a little more clear. The sounds of distant fighting filled his eardrums as he blinked rapidly to get that nasty dry feeling out of his eyeballs. Finally, after several minutes of laying there and wondering just what the fuck was going on, Thomas sat up slowly, a deep guttural groan escaping from deep within him. The lush, green vegetation surrounded him with several trees each located approximately 20 feet away from the other with trunks as thick as a supply truck. It was slowly beginning to come back to Greg, why he was here, and just exactly where he was, but not quick enough for his taste. Almost instinctively, Greg picked up his weapon, the M41A Pulse Rifle as he rose to his feet to scan his surroundings. To the left was forestry for as far as the eye could see, but the right showed more signs of recent traffic, military traffic at that. Empty cartridges and shell casings littered the forest floor as he began to take one cautious step after the other. No sign of movement on the tracker, only distant sounds of gunfire and explosion.

His journey towards the bloodshed was less than scenic. Mangled bodies were spread throughout, looking as if they had all been chewed up by heavy gunfire friendly and foe alike. Greg's heart was pounding out of his chest as he reached the end of the forest coming atop of a hill overlooking a small town. The source of the fighting. Or, at least what WAS the source of the fighting, as it looked like nothing but a ghost town now with numerous plumes of smoking rising thickly into the atmosphere. The descent down the hill was much like the trek towards it, filled with random cartridges and the occasional corpse to prove that this was an actual fight and not just some crazy gun sound off. The village, housing what seemed to be 14 separate buildings was lifeless. Blood spats on the wall with tiny fragments of bone and brain matter dotted inside, followed by large burning vehicles. Greg's hands were fixated tightly to his weapon, the skin on his knuckles turning the same color as the bone beneath. Something wasn't right here. He wouldn't have been deployed by himself, would he? Who was this fighting between, and why? None of these men wore the same armor, or even carried the same weapons as him. Each small adobe hut he entered was the same, a stove by the chimney and a cot near the door to sleep in, very primitive setup. The huts were built in two rows of seven, all in a straight line, with both exits leading back into the forest that he had just escaped from.

Something just seemed very, very wrong and Greg couldn't put his finger on it. This whole village, hell the whole planet was shrouded in mystery. He still had no idea why he was there, or when he had gotten there. Exiting one of the huts, Thomas' chest became tight with fear and his breathing began to speed up. None of this made sense, was the only thing on his mind. A bush to his right ruffled and he turned quickly, popping off two short bursts from his weapon. He heard nothing in response. Another sign of movement, and he fired again. His motion tracker began to slowly blip out locations of incoming lifeforms. One, two, hell 17 blips with more coming. He turned and began to sprint, running as fast he could to escape whatever it was that was tracking him. More blips, this time from in front of him, but he couldn't see anything coming his way from either side. He turned around quickly and fired off a burst, reversed position and fired off again, hoping to hit anything coming his way. His eyes were nearly bulging out of his head, wide with fear. His heart was fighting its way out of his chest, his finger squeezing the trigger down as hard as it would go. Sweat poured off his face in streams as his ammo counter hit zero, his motion tracker a steady beep now. He attempted to jerk his pistol out of its holster, but it wouldn't come out, causing Greg to drop to one knee as he fought with it viciously. His eardrums were filled with a loud screeching noise and his vision began to shake as he dropped to the ground, his palms pressed firmly against his ears trying to drown out everything. "WHERE THE FUCK AM I?!"

Greg shot straight out of bed, nearly headbutting the Marine that was standing over him. His breathing quick and sharp, his eyes darted around the room as everyone scrambled around to get their gear on. "Whoa, man. You okay, Thomas? I thought I wasn't going to get you awake. What the hell were you dreaming about? It sounded like you were fist fighting your pillow or some shit. Get up and gear up, we gotta go man. He said, leaving Thomas to his duties. It was his first day of boot camp, and that was a less than warm welcome. Welcome to the suck, Marine.
Last edited by Thomas, G. on Oct 10, 2012, 10:19 AM, edited 1 time in total.
Thomas, G.
Posts: 13
Joined: Sep 02, 2012, 3:29 PM

Re: Thomas, G.

Post by Thomas, G. »

Don't forget me! Haha.
User avatar
Arose
Administrator
Posts: 90
Joined: Jun 25, 2011, 9:11 AM
Rank: Artificial Intelligence
Status: Healthy
Billet: Shipboard AI, USS Corwin
Injuries: Optimal Operating Parameters Maintained
Weapons: Unarmed
Designation: ONI Operating System

Re: Thomas, G.

Post by Arose »

You're not forgotten man. I've just been out of touch with life for the last month. I should be around tomorrow to put the finishing touches on characters so we can start advertising.
Thomas, G.
Posts: 13
Joined: Sep 02, 2012, 3:29 PM

Re: Thomas, G.

Post by Thomas, G. »

Alright man, no worries! I still check back every day, take as long as you need!
User avatar
Arose
Administrator
Posts: 90
Joined: Jun 25, 2011, 9:11 AM
Rank: Artificial Intelligence
Status: Healthy
Billet: Shipboard AI, USS Corwin
Injuries: Optimal Operating Parameters Maintained
Weapons: Unarmed
Designation: ONI Operating System

Re: Thomas, G.

Post by Arose »

APPROVED

Feel free to select some weapons. Let us know if you need help.
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