Cutter aimait vraiment l'Empire. Ou au moins la vie dans l'armée impériale. C'était bien mieux que la vie de Taris. Il n'a pas toujours l'air d'avoir aimé ça. Souvent en désaccord avec des officiers supérieurs, il a jugé trop stupide et incompétent d'obéir. Au cours de sa première année avec l'empire, il a nettoyé d'autres toilettes et salles de douche qui probablement n'importe quel autre soldat dans l'histoire du corps des soldats de la tempête. Mais ces officiers ont vite appris que s'ils lui donnaient une longue laisse et le laissaient sortir dans le désert où les interactions avec lui pouvaient être limitées au strict minimum, il était en fait un bon soldat. Étonnamment fidèle à l'Empire, qu'il considérait comme lui offrant un moyen de sortir de cette existence sinon inutile, il était condamné à diriger. Et il aimait faire ce qu'il faisait. En fait, il pouvait voyager et voir de nouveaux sites au-delà de l'étourdissante florescence allumée sous l'urticaire de la ville de la planète sur laquelle il était né. Végétation réelle et plantes qui étaient réelles et non de faux moules plastoïdes. Pierre qui n'était pas la masse produit du béton. Paire ça avec un lit gratuit, trois repas par jour et une raison de se lever tous les jours et en fait avoir un but. C'était une sacrée bonne affaire pour lui.  Et la routine stricte n'était pas aussi agaçante qu'il le pensait. Il y avait quelque chose au sujet de la régimentation qui était attrayant. Il est rapidement devenu confortable, fiable. Il l'a pris mieux qu'il ne le pensait.
 
Il y avait toujours des problèmes. Eh bien pas des problèmes dans le sens que Cutter pensait qu'ils étaient des problèmes. Et puis... Quand il n'était pas sur le terrain, son dossier était susceptible de gonfler avec des infractions mineures. Aujourd'hui seul, on lui en a donné deux. Un pour ne pas avoir son armure jusqu'à la norme officielle, poli miroir (Il allait juste se salir à nouveau de toute façon. En plus, il s'est toujours assuré qu'il avait le pire.) et l'autre pour qui sait quoi. Quelque chose à propos de l'insubordination légère. Il ne se souvenait guère du nombre de personnes qu'il pouvait potentiellement révéler un jour donné.
En ce moment, il était parti dans un coin isolé du navire. Découper son long blaster avec un cigare bien fumé dans sa bouche. Autre chose, à proprement parler. Il n'avait pas le droit de le faire à bord du navire. C'est pourquoi il a choisi de trouver une zone moins fréquentée du navire pour nettoyer son fusil. Contrairement à ses armures, son arme a été soigneusement nettoyée et nettoyée. Pas une tache de poussière de l'extrémité de la muselière au cul du stock et toutes les parties entre les deux. L'une des rares choses qu'on ne lui reprochera jamais d'avoir négligé.
Les officiers de son bataillon tarisien avaient appris à le couper, lui et d'autres ex-gangards, un peu de marge de manœuvre dans certaines situations. Mais tant qu'il était à bord de ce super destroyer, il était entouré de hordes littérales d'officiers qui n'étaient pas de son bataillon et pas comme la compréhension de ces soldats plus uniques points de vue sur les fops entraînés à l'académie qui se considéraient comme de la merde chaude parce que quelques années de soi-disant «enseignement supérieur» passé dans les confins de l'académie impériale bien loin de toute ligne de front leur a donné une certaine autorité. Eh bien, son dossier de service continuerait probablement à gonfler avec des infractions.
Il a tiré une longue traînée du cigare et l'a pris sur la caisse de cargaison sur laquelle il était assis. Jeter le talon restant dans un coin sombre pour les droïdes d'entretien à balayer plus tard. Respirant la fumée à travers ses narines, il a vérifié son arme une dernière fois avant de décider qu'il était convaincu que c'était aussi propre que possible. Son poignet a bipé pour lui rappeler qu'il avait un devoir de punition à accomplir en disant à ce lieutenant de lui mettre son col dans le cul ce matin.
"Faites-moi chier..."
Storm trooper classification: Scout Trooper
Designation: LXS-00975
Military Ranking: Corporal. White Pauldrons.
Nickname: Cutter, named after his old gang on Taris
Race/species: Human
Planetary Origin: Taris
Gender: Male
Armour appearance: Standard Scout trooper Light armour, Black body suit with white composite armour plates and helmet.
For scout troopers there isn't much armour to paint. But what he does have is usually brushed and painted to suit whatever the environment of the planet he is posted to. So it varies from assignment to assignment. Ideally his purpose is to remain undetected so painting his armour bright yellow or blue in say, a heavily forested and primarily green environment would only serve to draw unwanted attention to his person. Which would probably heighten his chances of being killed.
The only distinctive mark on his armour is a black painted serrated knife on his left shoulder. A token from his days running with the Cutters back on Taris.
Personality: One has to earn his respect, Cutter cares little for what deeds people say you did, even less for what deeds you yourself claim to have performed. He has no time or attention for those who try to assume command without proving they deserve it.
Earning his respect requires one to prove to him that you have skill and ability. He views politeness and manners as pointless. And his speech is often blunt and too the point. Unsurprisingly he also dislikes it when people try to use flowery language or speak a paragraph when a single sentence would do just fine.
One of the fastest ways to earn his respect is to fight him. One on one, with nothing but fists and personal endurance. If you manage to beat him you might even gain a friend.
Appearance: Young, in his mid-late twenties. Greyish skin from a life lived with little access to sunlight. His head is completely shaven, head and chin, but his five oclock shadow is more like a two o'clock shadow and is pretty thick after a couple days.
He has harsh but not totally unhandsome features. Square jaw and high cheeks. But overall his mannerism more closely resemble a rough bar brawler than a suave ladies man.
He does have a deep red tattoo on the left side of his face that goes from his chin, sprawls over his cheek and covers one eye. On the other side of his face is a black tattoo of a knife, similar to the one of his armour down the side of his neck.
History:
Cutter spent his entire adolescent life in the lower levels of the sprawling planet-city of Taris. Most of that was spent running with one of the smaller gangs, The Cutters. Joining a gang was something many young Tarisians did. It was viewed as one of the only ways to survive in the slums of the lower city. And the gangs usually did well in the way of feeding their members and giving them a sense of purpose and community.
The Cutters controlled his neighbourhood growing up as well as a few other blocks. Small time mostly but there were far worse gangs that he could have worked for. They cared about the people under their direct control for the most part. Distributing food and medicine if possible to the neighbourhood blocks. This made them popular, even if the merchants still grumbled about the cost of their 'protection' taxes.
In the end it didn't matter. The cutters territory was invaded and overrun by a rival gang following weeks of vicious fighting. The Cutters were all decimated by the conflict. Becoming just another one of the many gangs that rise or fall on a weekly basis.
What led to taking refuge within the ranks of the Empire was that same rival gang that took down the cutters leadership and took over its territory was also having it's members round up any known Cutters in the neighbourhoods. Dragging them out into public to be executed or tortured in an effort to quell the new populace into submission and kill any thoughts of rebellion before they could be raised.
Refuge within the Imperial army was the easiest and fastest way to escape such a fate. Because as vicious as gang rivalries could be. There was no way any gang would be so stupid as to attack an Imperial recruiting base.
The Empire was smart in knowing that many people who were raised in this environment would flock for the chance at a different life. One that didn't seem so bleak and pointless and could only promise a violent end. At least enlisting with the Empire meant that the chance of a violent end also came with the opportunity to experience life outside of a Tarisian slum. To see at least a part of the wider galaxy. The Empire played on those peoples depression and otherwise existential existence. Cutter was simply one of many young Tarisians who fled their old lives. Luckily the Imperial recruiters on taris were willing to overlook little details like criminal records and murder charges. If they didn't, and actually tried to filter out everyone who ever committed a crime they would never find recruits on Taris anyway.
Of course the Empire didn't gain nothing. Recruits plucked from the lower slums of Taris were ripe candidates for soldiers. They were already toughed from a hard life, accustomed to many hardships like surviving a few days without food or taking a beating and pushing through the pain. Many of them thought very little of authority figures who simply demanded obedience because they wore a few pips on their collar. The main problem was that these people also tended to be undisciplined and easily prone to fits of anger. Solving problems with their fists was the most common way to settle disagreements for many of them. As it was all their lives back on their home world. Finer arts like diplomacy are lost on street gangers.
Which posed an additional problem. Getting many of them to forget their past lives and affiliations. Years of gang violence and loss of friends thereof. Hardened many recruits against each other from the get go. Old wounds were inevitably opened from being forced to live and sleep beside the man who killed your best friend. Entire riot squads have to be put on alert just to stop the fights from being an hourly occurrence during the first few weeks of training.
Cutter's experience in this regard was no exception. There were a few other recruits who recognized his face during training. Some of whom new that his old gang was beaten down and dissolved. It forced him to be extra paranoid and careful during his training weeks. He was able to find and band together with a few other run away ex-cutters like himself. Who fled to the Empire to escape being hunted down and killed like rats. This gave him some limited protection but him and his colleagues were still always outnumbered and thus always watching their backs.
During his initial training he was selected as a candidate for alternate duties and purposing. Namely to serve in a recon and advanced scouting capacity. A role he proved well suited for. While less disciplined than a other recruits from other corners of the galaxy. He did not lack for patience. Nor was he inept at his duties. If anything he excelled when given the opportunity to be away from the standard parade square drills and strict rank and file of the common trooper. Being a scout trooper had him alone or in a small group for potentially weeks on end. Seperated from command structure and not having to follow some of the more ridiculous protocols and deportment standards required of rank and file Imperial stormtroopers.
Notes: Cutter's strength as a scout in in heavily urbanized areas. He has an excellent sense of direction, even when underground and things like claustrophobia or fears of darkness and chronic lack of sunlight for potentially weeks on end mean nothing to him.
He can perform all the other functions expected of a scout trooper in whatever environment is necessary. Though some would be more naturally comfortable than others.