"Deux inconnus s'approchent du poste de contrôle"
'En attente d'une confirmation'
'Alpha identifié, Wisechild, Beatrix. Bravo iden...
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"Oh mon dieu"
"Lean, réponds"
Bravo est un homme, je répète Bravo est un homme. Homme non identifié, début des années 20, cheveux noirs courts. Répondez.
- Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? T'es sûr? Beatrix n'aurait pas...
"Les Heatscans confirment, Bravo est un homme, je répète Bravo est un homme. Demande d'autorisation d'ouvrir le feu'
"Ouvrir le feu?" Tu es fou, c'est Beatrix, elle a sûrement une bonne raison! Laissez les gardes de la porte s'en occuper!'
Négatif, négatif! La cible est masculine et présumée hostile, vous connaissez nos ordres. Demander l'autorisation d'engager, demander l'autorisation d'engager.»
« Ne vous engagez pas, répétez ne vous engagez pas il y a des amis là-bas! »
Il a atteint sa ligne de taille! Je ne perds pas un autre ami, pas comme la dernière fois, je m'engage!
Attendez!
Alors que la voix de Lyn criait au-dessus des casques de la tour de garde, la garde trop zélée s'inclinait, envoyant un tour d'attention sur la tête de Miro. Le bruit a éclaté de l'équipe au sol au moment où elle s'est séparée; Certains membres sont tombés pour former un périmètre, quelques Beatrix d'accaparement et l'ont doucement abaissée au sol pour se couvrir, et d'autres pas si doucement claquant Miro sur le trottoir, son visage sol contre la surface de gravier. Dans la confusion, The Thinker est venu canonner de l'entrée du poste de contrôle à l'extérieur des gardes, essayant toujours de localiser d'où la ronde avait été tiré.
Ne bougez pas! Lève-le.
Les gardes ont élevé Miro à ses pieds d'une manière moins douce. Ses mains arborant le dernier en mode POW; Une paire de retenue zippée. Beatrix a été aidée de la bonne façon, les gardes s'excusent et dépoussièrent ses vêtements.
Vous deux. Salle d'information. Tout de suite.
Après un voyage à travers une série de couloirs de fortune et de petits points de contrôle de sécurité avec la base, le trio s'est retrouvé à l'intérieur d'une vieille tente de commandement avant de guerres il y a longtemps. Le grand rabat d'arrêt d'arrachement s'est refermé derrière eux alors que Miro était 'coercé' dans une chaise de l'autre côté du bureau de The Thinker.
Retirez ses reliures.
"Madame, je ne suis pas sûre que ce soit la meilleure idée."
Retirez-les. S'il te plaît.
Bien sûr.
Le gardien a récupéré une paire de coupe-fils de sa ceinture utilitaire, enlevant les fixations de Miro, en s'assurant de se masturber un peu tout en le faisant, broyant le plastique dans ses poignets pour montrer qu'elle ne jouait pas autour.
Je t'ai rendu service et j'ai empêché mes gardes de transformer ton cerveau en pâté. Si vous ne pouvez pas le dire, beaucoup de mes filles n'aiment pas les hommes. Maintenant, vous voulez me rendre ma faveur et me dire ce que vous faites à ma base?
Name: Miroslav AKA Miro AKA The Demon of the Construction Site.
Sex: Male
Age: 19
Faction: Resistance-cooperator Citizen.
Appearance: Miro is a lean, shorter than average scruffy youth with slavic features. He has icy blue eyes, pale complexion, and short black hair. Beneath his clothes, he's actually very toned and muscular, and he has a couple of faded out scars in his body, as well as a couple of bullet scars, more recent.
Clothing: Miro usually dresses in baggy, non restrictive clothes, such as cargo pants, loose, monochromatic Tshirts, and a baggy sweater. The most outstanding piece are his clothing is his boots. Sturdy,steel reinforced and high quality, these are one of the pieces Miro cares for, as they aid him to perform to his fullest.
Personality: Miro is rather gruff to approach, and rather sparse in his words. He often makes very laconic statements, even when he's impressed. Underneath his rough shell, lies a rather scarred and tormented kind person, who has seen the horrors of humanity up close even as a child. For that very reason, he's very supportive and protective of the underdogs, and specially of kids and teenagers like him. Loyal to those few who managed to befriend him, Miro doesn't hesitate when it comes to trading blows, specially for the sake of his loved ones, and he does it with a viciousness and vindictiviness only seen in war-torn people.
Weapons: His fists and legs. He's actually a MMA fighter, as well as a good traceur. He knows how to shoot a gun, but he rarely carries one of those, what with all the Martial Law and whatnot.
Equipment: His clothes, a wallet, a cellphone, and a pocket knife (more a tool than a weapon). He also owns a motorbike and a Gymnasium in the slums where he sleeps and trains (and doubles as safe house for GMG).
Bio:Miroslav and his sister Olga were a couple of war-orphans hailing from a eastern europe country. In the world-upsetting wake of the Life 0 virus, little Miro did his best to keep him and his sister alive, as the Order of the world crumbled around them. Fortunately for them, this caught the eye of an american foreigner, which brought them to the USA as child refugees. Olga was then soon adopted by the government, although at that time Miro wasn't aware of the implications of such a thing. He was happy he had fulfilled his elder brother obligations. Unlike Olga, he was never adopted, and in time, he sunk in hopelessness and bitterness, becoming some sort of a troublesome youth. What drove him the most mad, though, was that he never, once received news of his sister.
Fortunately, a charitable soul intervened. A former washed out martial artist and traceur, who picked him out of the streets because he was nimble. He taught him discipline, education, restraint, martial arts, parkour, and morals. He in turn, participated in tournaments to bring the fame his master could never achieve, both legal and illegal. It was a harsh life, full of pain, blood and tears, but at least Miro knew he could make a living, and sleep well at night, not once worrying wether the next time he would wake up would have a gun aimed at his face.
However, eventually, all things would come to an end. Vincent Banks, the man who took Miro in, was dying from a strange freak cancer, fruit of years of substance abuse. Miro found himself on the situation to take care of his gymnasium and funeral, since Vincent had alienated himself from all his past acquaintances. However, Miro took it in stride, and did as the old man who had been his surrogate father wished. But then the dilemma struck. What to do after? He had won a tournament. He had taken care of his master remains.
Fate had a funny way to tell him. In front of his eyes, on a certain night in the slums, someone who never expected to run again into appeared. It was Olga. Her sister, all grown up. But she was dishevelled, wounded and in intense fear. Despite that, she managed to recognize him aswell, as she pleaded for help as she ran into a nearby block, panicked. His shock widened as a whole squad of SWAT followed, guns blazing, after her.
Government or not, he would never ignore a plea of his sister, and with a disgusted grimace, he set out after the squad. It was reliving his old life again. With hostile soldiers everywhere. But now, he had something. He could fight back to an extent. The first of them never knew what had snuck up him, as two deft hands suddenly appeared from his behind, twisting his neck in an unnatural angle, before jumping and vanishing on the many pillars and blocks of the construction building. The second was only a little luckier, as he saw the fast motion of the shovel before it cleanly cleaved its face. The third got a couple of lucky grazing shots, before he chocked when Miro stuffed his mouth with a ignited smoke grenade. It was then when the fourth requested reinforcements, his eyes wide as he opened fire on the once again, vanishing Miro. He didn't last, though, as Olga had managed to sneak up on him aswell and shot him in the face, without hesitation.
She smiled, blood covering her face, as she devolved into tears soon after, clutching her wounds. "I knew you would come to get me." She said between sobs. "Listen-WATCH OUT."
She interrupted herself as she drove Miro out of her way, three shots of automatic gunfire impacting on her lithe body with dull thuds. The reinforcements were there. In the form of something Miro had never seen before. An indescriptible monstrosity, who was a very wrong sin against creation and sense.
Love has caused wars. Love has made people lift up cars, breaking their spines in the process, to save others. Love has made people jump into trains to push people out of the way. Love has made people tackle bears. And Love made Miro defy all kind of sense and self-preservation, upon engaging the Seeker. It readjusted and fired upon him, but Miro...flew. Jumping through the beams, climbing, running, never stopping at once. Steel beams, chains, even the odd grenade or weapon from the discarded SWAT team, he threw everything at the thing, without pause nor hesitation. The thing shrugged everything with contemptous ease, and was managing to even hit him with his weapons. Not that Miro could ever feel at that point he was gravely injuried and had been shot several times. He just kept going and going on the self-destructive deadlock, until fortune smiled at him.
A pool of wet cement. Without thinking twice, he rammed the thing as hard as he could into the pool, sealing its movement. But he wasn't done yet, as he summoned the last of his strength for the coup de grace. Lifting a heavy jackhammer and leveling it against the creature's head, he didn't hesitate to pound the creature's skull with the construction machinery for a while for good measure until it stopped moving and screeching.
The weight of his wounds finally caught up to him, as he crawled towards the limp figure of his sister. She wasn't moving. She didn't even have a pulse. But she had the most placid smile in his face. Miro couldn't even begin to cry, before unconsciousness set in. When he woke up, his wounds had been tended, and there was an unknown girl besides him. She explained an ominous story, about girls being used as experiments, and that Olga had been one of them, much like her. His struggle had not pass unnoticed, and she asked for his help, despite being in mourning. They had very few allies, after all.
Miro just looked once away, before saying he would help. After all, they had to pay for whatever they had done with his sister.