Post by Marcus "Whiteout" Cantrell on Jan 2, 2010 10:06:09 GMT -6
Basic Information
Name:Marcus Leons Cantrell
Call sign: Whiteout
Radio Call Sign:Whiskey-Wun-Too
Age: 26
Rank: PO1
Branch: NAVSPECWAR (Navy SEAL; friendly)
Date Of Birth: 10/25/1989
Place Of Birth: Seoul, South Korea
Country Of Origin: United States Of America
Appearance/Other
Height: 6ft 2in
Weight: 196lbs
Hair Color: Black
Hair Style: Short shave, 1/2 in long. No sideburns.
Eye Color: Brown
Personality: Marcus is a very calm, thoughtful person. He likes excitement and danger, as long as he doesn't get himself killed. Sort of like hacking in a video game where one has infinite health. He is a quick thinker and reacts efficiently in all situations, and when his life is endangered, he reacts out of training and muscle memory.
He is a very social person and likes to keep simple friendships and an occasional relationship, but he has never let them develop to the point in which they would interfere with his military career. But once he's out, he looks forward to getting married and settling down. But due to recent situations, he has that dream locked away in so distant part of his mind. Being in the Navy, he has "problems" with a "foul mouth", although he doesn't tend to use language nearly as much as his fellow fighters.
He may not act like it, but he cares for everyone that he works with, and does his best to ensure their survival. Survival, then elimination of enemy is his philosophy.
Likes:
- Hot babes
- Fast Cars
- Big Guns
- Danger
- Excitement
Dislikes:
- Disorder
- Disrespect
- Fools
- Cowards
- Racism
History
[/center][/color]Bio: Marcus Leons Cantrell was born on October 25th, 1989 to Roy and Ashley Cantrell in Seoul, South Korea. He was born there due to his father being stationed there, and there his father met his mother. He lived there for the first several years of his life, learning English, Korean, Arabic, Russian, and Chinese. This gave him an advantage in his military career, as Naval Special Warfare were looking for people who spoke fluid Arabic, Russian and Chinese.
When his father was killed, he left behind a large sum of money which Ashley took advantage of and used for her and Marcus' good. She took him to the States when Marcus was 14, and moved into Virginia. Although his father was a Marine, Marcus had always had an interest in the Navy, and took every opportunity he had to receive hands on training with anything related to the military. As soon as he finished high-school, he enlisted in the Navy and graduated boot camp with the rank of E-3. Within a year, he made the rank of an E-4 and went into BUD/S.
He graduated BUD/S at age 20 and was 1 of 16 out of 243 applicants who graduated. He finished SEAL qualification training, and made agreements, had talks, and got favors from the right people in order to get into ST-6. Why? He just wanted to have the bragging rights of being able to say "I'm in SEAL Team 6" and that was all the motivation he needed to stay in.
By age 23, after being in for only 5 years, he made the rank of Petty Officer First Class, and was offered to become an officer, but he politely declined. Since then, it had been impossible for him to make the rank of Chief, and he did everything to keep from being busted down to a PO2 again.
Weapons/Other
[/center][/color]Primary: Beowulf .50
Secondary: Ranger
Melee: Russian Machete
Other Equipment: Extra Ammo, Throwing Knife
[/left]
RP Example:
[/center]This was it. Last part of his deployment, then he was going back home. Classic roof entry: Glass ceiling, armed personnel below, VIP in an office with armed guards at the door. Marcus stood on top of a square piece of glass, and if everything worked well he would safely pass through the opening without the threat of glass from the surrounding area slicing him open. If not, well that was just too bad for him.
He held is Beowulf .50 in his hands and aimed it down. One thing he loved about this weapon was the fact that it was compact, yet it could stop anyone with one shot. Perfect for CQC just like this. The SEAL squeezed off a round, shattering the glass below him and dropping through. As he fell, he let out a burst of 2 rounds at everyone he would hit. Although 1 shot would be sufficient, it didn't hurt him to put in an extra round. Almost as quickly as the brief firefight had begun, it had ended. It was time for him to move on, eliminate the VIP and get out.
He moved up towards the door and tried to listen in to pick up some info. They seemed to be armed with fairly "old" style weapons: all pretty with the wood and steel, like an AK-47. It didn't matter. He reloaded his weapon and set a breeching charge on the door. For extra safety, he primed a flash-bang in the hand that wasn't holding the detonator for the charge. He counted down in his head, and settled his breathing.
*click* A rather small explosion went off as it turned the door into a giant wooden grenade, sending splinters off into the room. A flash-bang soon followed the explosion, intensifying enemy gunfire. When the shooting had stopped, Marcus calmly walking into the room and in a way "executed" the hostiles. 30 rounds at 600 rounds a minute goes by fast, and they all seemed surprised when they had their guns aimed at him, but nothing happened. As the last guard fell, he looked around for the VIP, but found nothing.
"VIP is AWOL" he joked over his COM. "Aye, standby for extraction." Came the reply. As he turned around to leave, his eyes went wide with terror. He stared right down the barrel of a Desert Eagle, and behind was the smirk of the man he was sent to kill. Marcus had always been fast, but for once in his lifetime he had been too slow. Everything turned black as a pounding pain rammed through his head...
"It was only a dream." Cantrell muttered to himself as he woke up from his rack with a pounding headache, and sweat pouring out of him. He quickly got out of his rack, put on something warm, and went to the chow hall to get something to drink.[/size]
