Post by jacques on Nov 7, 2012 5:02:04 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 0px 20px 0px; border-radius: 20px 0px 20px 0px; padding: 10px; border: #000000 solid 0px; ] stuck in this daydream. [style=font-family: helvetica; font-size: 13px; letter-spacing: 6px; text-transform: uppercase; text-align: center;]MELIMUS PRIME FULL NAME: ALIAS: Ty DATE OF BIRTH: 31/01/1986 AGE: 26 OCCUPATION: SEXUALITY: Heterosexual PLAY BY: Jay Ryan TOURIST [style=background-color: #65727A; border: 10px solid #65727A; font-family: georgia; letter-spacing: 10px; color: white; text-align: center;]all about me As the bus he was boarded rolled to a stop in a terminal on one of he many stops along the way to Myrtle Beach, Ty glanced down at the photograph he always had tucked near and dear to his heart. She was going to hate him. She was going to hate everything he stood for and everything he had become. And what was worse about it all was the fact that he didn't blame her in the least. The photograph had seen better days. But it was the last momento he had of her. He could remember the way she smelled, the texture of her skin... the way she tasted. He could remember it all, plain as day, but remembering did nothing to ease the pain he felt every time he thought of her and everything he had lost. He had given all... He had given everything in the name of honor and country and, in the end, the only thing it had done was screw him over twice as hard. He'd been happy with his life. Content with the way that things were going at home, even if it was difficult getting through his constant combat deployments and the missions in which he would just up and disappear in the middle of the night without being able to say a God damned thing to her. They'd asked him to join a task force that carried out only the most top secret of missions. They carried out the orders directly from their Commander in Chief from the Whitehouse. Only a select few knew of the existance of Task Force Mercy and even less knew the faces of the operatives involved. Nicholas Black. Mark Colten. James Rosen. Michael Walton. Dane Harrison. Kyle Wright. Jeff Nayer. Jacques Thibodeaux. Eight of the best men that the Army Navy, Air Force and Marines had to offer. They'd done their jobs and they'd done them damned well... Putting everything they had into their respective branches of military and again into a team that the world would never know existed. Especially if the chain of command had anything to say about it... November 28, 2009 - Somewhere Nearby the Hindu Kush Mountains It was damned cold out there. Far too cold for his likings. The Middle East was proving to be more of a barren wasteland now that the Western occupancy was coming to a close... or so the Government claimed. But there was still work to be done in the Middle East for men the likes of the ones that compiled Task Force Mercy. With Jeff flying in the hot seat and Dane as his co-pilot, the guys piled into the back of the Little Bird had no doubt in their minds that they'd wind up making it on target safely. What happened to them from there would be up to them, ultimately. The Little Bird landed on target. Nick covered the group with a belt fed machine gun mounted near the door of the helicopter as the guys piled out. They were as silent as they could be, given the wind whipping up through the propellers of the chopper. But just as quickly as it inserted, the chopper lifted up into the air the moment that Nick's boots touched the ground. Everything was deadly silent. Each operative covered an angle of their formation, making sure that no one was coming their way to investigate through the noise. Everything seemed quiet. After a solid fifteen minutes of silence, Nick finally got on the radio with their command. |
Getting there wasn't the problem. Hell, setting up wasn't even the problem. The complications didn't arise until they were already within the walls of the compound. The hit was supposed to be a high end Al Queda bomb tech. The real deal. Exactly the kind of scum that Jacques had signed up to take down. The dossier that they had on him reported that he used the bodies of Iraqi civilians to hide away IEDs so that when military forces got closer to inspect them, it blew them sky high. He was also rumored to be pretty damned close to OBL. Osama Bin Laden. Every man on Task Force Mercy wanted to nail this son of a bitch badly.
Just as they made it into the compound, a series of soldiers popped up on the East side of the camp. "Shit, LT! Thirty tangos east of your position. No infrared signature on these guys. They're wearing a cloaking device!" And pandemonium struck out. There seemed to be enemy fire coming from all directions. No one knew which way was up or down at that point. All they wanted to do was get out of there alive. By the time their enemies finished pouring out of every nook and cranny there was, they were outnumbered by 10 to 1. Not odds that were in their favor at all. And while each of the operatives sported years of service in their respective branches of military... Some SEALs from DEVGRU, others Army Rangers or Green Berrets. Wherever they were from, each man knew the score.
Jacques was one of the first to go down. Shot in the leg and bleeding out badly. But he never stopped shooting. Never gave up on his team mates or for once thought that they would give up on him. Sure enough, their medic, Kyle, skidded to a halt beside him while Nick and Michael laid out cover fire for him. Jacques could tell, however, that the prognosis wasn't good just from Michael's expression alone. He unlooped the belt around Jacques waist and tied if off on his leg. "Take it easy, man. They knicked an artery. Just... Shit Jacques... this is bad." Jacques already knew that. He looked Michael in the eye and nodded at him. "Just get me out of here when this is all said and done. And let Jo know that I loved her." This was it. He was going to die. Giving a final nod, Jacques turned the muzzle of his gun in the direction of their enemies again. "Get your ass back over there and keep them covered." He said, even though he could already feel his strength waining.
Jacques pulled the picture of Jo he kept tucked inside one of his belt pouches out and placed it on the ground in front of him. She would be the last thing he looked at before he died. He knew his death would cause her a great deal of pain, but at the same time, he knew that she had known that this was a possibility in their relationship. He just hoped she knew how much he loved her... The sound of rounds hitting rock, dirt and human flesh around him died out slowly... but he wasn't sure if it was because he was losing consciousness, or the fight was being pulled away from him... As he stared at Jo's picture, the last thing he heard was frantic arabic dialect...
And that was it...
"Last call for the Myrtle Beach bus terminal." Jacques looked up from the same tattered picture he'd kept on his person at all times over the last three years. Three years of working his ass off and doing everything in his power to make sure that no one found out the truth about his being alive. Three years of digging up the dirt he needed to make sure that when he arrived back on American soil, he was damned safe in doing it. Three years in keeping tabs distantly on the woman he loved... the same woman he was risking everything for now in coming back to her.
A group of mercenaries wound up finding him near death. They'd been drawn out by the sound of gunfire. They were a mottled group. Their apparent leader was American, however. Lucky for Jacques. They were shady and Jacques was more than a little hesitant to deal with the individuals to begin with until they made it more than clear what they wanted from him. Somehow, they knew that his own country had sold him out. They'd explained that they'd rigged an explosion, using the body of one of the soldiers that had attacked them as a decoy. They'd dressed the decoy in Jacques clothing, pulled his teeth and cut off his fingers before setting the explosion. They were all popular tactics for gaining information from special operations soldiers before they finally bled out and died.
They'd left his dog tags around the neck of the corpse. For all intents and purposes, Jacques team would think he was dead as well. The mercenaries - the leader of which had taken a shining to Jacques crass attitude and American ways - managed to set him up with a deal. He had no money and no way home, but they'd be willing to provide that, given he worked with them for a time. For three years, Jacques worked his ass off with them. He refused to do some jobs that went completely against his moral code, claiming that it was surprising that he even had one given everything that had happened to him.
Jacques didn't care how long it took him to get back home, so long as he did it and made it back to Jo. He didn't care what the hell it took so long as he was able to make it back stateside. Finally, his work paid off. From the moment the mercenaries said goodbye to him, he was no longer PO Jacques Thibodeaux. He had become Tyler Jackson. Just. Tyler. Jackson.
Back in the Middle East, Jacques had managed to get his hands on one of the mercenaries that had been hired on to kill the six operatives on the ground. Jacques learned that the two pilots they had had with them on Task Force Mercy had had severe complications with their chopper on the way back and had barely survived a crash. The picture that was being painted in Jacques mind wasn't a pretty one. He learned that his other five friends had managed to make it away from the conflict. They were a hell of a lot better equipped to deal with anything these punks had thrown at them then they had thought. But then, an interesting bit of information filtered back through to him. A man on the team had been the one who had ordered the hit on them all. Immediately, Jacques mind had gone to Nicholas Black, but he found it nearly impossible to peg the man as the criminal in all of this.
But eventually, through far too much researching and a whole hell of a lot of digging, he was able to ascertain that it was actually Michael the very man who had attempted to 'save' his life, who had been the culprit. So Jacques bided his time waiting... watching... keeping his ears out in informative circles in the Middle East. And when he heard that Michael was back in the Middle East hired out as the Saudi Royal Family's security consultant, Jacques made sure he paid his debt to Michael in blood...
"Can I get your bag for you, Sir?" The Cab driver asked. Jacques... No... Tyler realized he was standing there staring off into space. "Yeah... Sorry... Long drive." He said, offering the cab driver a small smile. Just as the man went to reach for the hardcase that his customized weapons were stored in, Tyler shook his head. "I've got that one. It's kinda heavy." He muttered, lifting it into the back of the car. He got in to the back seat and gave the driver an address for the apartment he'd secured for himself before he'd left the Middle East.
Now he just had to figure out how the hell he was going to approach JO...
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