by Andrew Logan
A rough overview of one of my characters. Please crit!
|Name: Marcus Brent (a.k.a. Casper, a.k.a. The Pale)
Age: 7 – 30ish
Hair: Black, slightly curly
Eyes: Dark grey/blue
At a very young age, Marcus Brent lived in a small community located in what used to be Washington State. The majority of the community’s occupants opposed the reigning government in the United States, and fortunately was almost completely hidden from their all-seeing eyes.
When the infamous “Militia” occupied the town as a temporary safe haven, the government task force assigned to tracking and eventually eliminating the Militia discovered the town. A little less than a day after the Militia moved out of the town, a Piranha crew moved in. The Piranha troops are small, ranging in height from 3’ to 5’. They move in overwhelming numbers, flooding their targets with small arms fire, and flame-class weapons.
Marcus’ parents took him and fled to the edge of the city. They knew that they and their town would soon be lost and forgotten. They sent Marcus into the woods, and told him to run, and not stop. They were survivalists, and had taught Marcus how to live off the land. They knew that if he got clear of the attack, he could survive. But he would not escape. He ran nearly a hundred and fifty yards from the town, and upon reaching the top of a small hill, looked back to see his home, and his town in flames. He watched in horror as these strange men chased down and slaughtered every man, woman, and child in sight. It was at this point that the Observer-Controller overseeing the operation spotted him from another hilltop. A spring-step scout, which is an advanced mobility soldier (AMS), was dispatched to police him up.
Never one to pass up a chance to exploit any given situation, the commanding officer of the Piranha task force had the boy sent to the Emmitt Youth Development/Detention Center for re-education and would be reincorporated into the population. He would be input as a special treatment case, as he would be assigned to a high-profile adoption.
At first, Marcus fought tooth and nail against his captors. For days and nights he would scream and yell and attack anyone who came near him. He was brought to his breaking point. One night, while laying restrained to his bed in his observation cell, he dreamt. He remembered the lives lost at what was now known as Commune 726. He remembered his parents. He remembered their training. And he remembered the Militia. The next day of reeducation was Marcus’ most successful. He made the biggest, most sudden improvement that any previous subject had made. Things went relatively well for him after that. He remained at the institute for nearly 2 years before he was distributed to his new home. Commander James McCallister. Head of north-western operations. It was all a publicity stunt, and Marcus knew it. This was just a chance for a high-ranking official to show what few people that still paid attention that he had faith in the youth “development” programs they were operating.
While living with the family, Marcus did his best to maintain. All the while remembering the unbridled hatred he felt for this government that would slaughter entire towns of citizens to keep the majority under control. Marcus continued his survivalist techniques and tactics, utilizing the rural area around his new home.
One unfortunate afternoon, the commander discovered Marcus in his practices and after giving him quite the once-over, had him immediately re-admitted to the youth facility. Having been there before, and given the circumstances, he was input as a critical case. They began extensive treatment, including shock therapy, and chemical experiments. It was through this treatment that Marcus became deathly pale. He developed varicose veins over a large portion of his body, and scarring accompanied by grey hairs at his temples. The treatments caused some damage to his motor functions, but those would recover with time and therapy, and the treatments weren’t too long winded. He knew what results they wanted, and he was happy to oblige. He’d become quite the actor. It would be another year before he would escape.
That fateful day carried on like any other. The sun rose, and fell, and nothing changed. It was under the cover of night that those freedom fighters known as “The Militia” would strike. The Militia was a group of military trained fighters, mostly made up of the sons of Special Forces men who had defected when the dictatorship began. They would be performing a quick, hard in and out from the complex to evacuate the children who had been stolen away from their homes and imprisoned in this place. Explosions rocked the complex. The moved like something right, and wicked. Fortunately for Marcus, the country, and eventually the world, they chose his wing to liberate.
The Militia moved as many youths out as they could. They were able to effectively control and cover 12 kids. Any more and their movements would have been hindered and lives would have been lost needlessly. They began their run in the critical care ward, and made their way out, moving kids when they had the time. Marcus was the third youth freed from his observation cell. Given his extensive time at the complex, and the days he’d spent studying guard movements and shift changes, he had proven to be a valuable asset during the rescue; and the militia squadron commander noticed.
The night was black and silent. All that could be heard was the raindrops tapping against the leaves, and the feet shuffling through the roughage. The squad leader for the militia approached Marcus, and as they walked he said simply:
“When we get below, come with us…”
Marcus looked up at him and nodded once. They walked for several more miles before the group was told to hold up. Blindfolds were placed on the evacuees, and they were led single file for another 50-60 yards. They could hear the sound of old metal creaking, and then, 1 by 1 they were lowered down into a covered hole that would eventually lead them to the militia’s headquarters. The made their way through the intricate waistworks, not sure of where the militia was leading them. As they neared their final destination, the kids could hear the rising sound of bustling people and unintelligible voices. Radio crackles and heavy objects being lifted and slammed down. The kids were stopped and their blindfolds were removed. Before them like much more than they expected.
It was an entire city full of people, living and breathing in these dark, dank catacombs. The militia was not just a group of men that roamed the country as many thought. They were an entire organization. Marcus was unsurprised for the most part. In that logical head of his he knew that a splinter cell of 6 or 7 men could not maintain as long as they had without some type of support.
The main bulk of the escapees were taken by den mothers to an area where things would be explained to them, and they would be cared for. Marcus already knew the score, and he could take care of himself. His parents didn’t believe in hiding the truth from him, no matter how grim or unfortunate. He followed the squad members to a locker room where they were taking off and cleaning their gear.
“So where you from kid?” one of the men asked nonchalantly.
Marcus stood in the doorway, remembering when the militia had passed through his town.
“Commune 726…” he said. His sullen tone was unmistakable.
The Militia men stopped dead in their tracks…their jovial dispositions now melted away. Each man’s visage was statuesque and grim. Their minds racing; Taken back to the memory of that town just east of old Seattle.
After a moment, the squad leader broke the silence. “I see…you couldn’t have been more than ten years old when we came through there. We’re very sorry for your loss. I’m glad someone made it out though. And from what I saw back in that detention center, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I’m sure your parents would be proud.”
Marcus’ head bowed for a moment, in remembrance of his parents. “Thank you…it’s been hard.”
“I’m sure it has…but you’ve persevered…” The squad leader paused when a man in a blue uniform stepped in and handed him a dossier. “I see here that you lived with Commander McCallister for a number of years…How was that?”
“It was very…informative…” Marcus replied with a smirk.
The squad leader laughed a bit. “I was hoping you’d say that! If you’re up to it, I wanna put you through some training exercises and if you perform well, I want you on my squad. I think you’d make a hell of a soldier. What do you think about that?”
An image of Commune 726 burning brightly in the night flashed through Marcus’ mind. “Well…this dictator really wants to take you guys out…they must see you as some kind of a threat.”
The squad leader laughed. “Roger that…”
“Well…they haven’t seen anything yet…” Marcus smiled for the first time in a long while.