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Jul. 1st, 2017 01:58 am
notyourrookie: (Default)
Player Name: Zalia
Are you 16 or older: Yes I am over 16
Contact: [ profile] zaliachimera
Current Characters: N/A
Tag: agent washington

Name: Agent Washington (originally David)
Canon: Red vs Blue
Canon Point: The end of Season 8, just after fighting the Meta
Age: 29


Personality: During Project Freelancer, he was was a lot more trusting and upbeat, still believing that they were doing the right thing, dedicated to the cause. He came across as somewhat childish, naive and a little gullible. He made friends easily, often being treated as the younger brother of the group; often teased for his outlook on the world and his inexperience, but still supported and generally liked by the rest of the Freelancers. He repaid this by being hard working, protective and utterly dedicated to the project and his teammates. In these surroundings, it isn't surprising perhaps that he was loyal to a fault, willing to overlook the occasional oddity, the times that the Director pushed them too hard, the thoughts that there was something rotten hidden at the heart of the project. And if it he did pay attention, then it had to be for a good cause, surely? Alongside this was a feeling of gratitude and obligation; he says that the Director gave them everything, which makes him reluctant to believe Connecticut when she raises doubts.

This changed with Epsilon. The AI was already insane when it was implanted into Wash. When he was implanted into Wash, the memories and pain and hurt that went with it proved too much. Wash was left screaming and unstable himself. Even when the AI was removed, he was left unconscious for a significant amount of time, except for the brief periods when he woke up screaming. He spent a lot of time unable to tell what was real and what was Epsilon's memories, often unable to tell who he even was.

After this it is unsurprising that his personality began to change. With the people that he had trusted most either dead or having betrayed or abandoned him, and with dangerous knowledge of the Director's aims in his head, he had to change in order to survive. Paranoia kept him alive, where trust had half destroyed him. He became much colder, shoving his emotions down until he could deny that they existed, learnt how to survive through manipulation and deceit. Convincing people of his loyalty so that he could twist the knife in their back. While before Epsilon, he still had moments of sarcasm, that twisted into something much more bitter and angry. The focus of his life became revenge; revenge for Epsilon and Alpha, revenge for what had happened to him.

His sanity is questionable at times. He still retains many of Epsilon's memories and the emotions associated with them and especially with many of them being particularly intense, there are times when Wash is unable to distinguish which memories are him and which Epsilon, or even who he is supposed to be. He can at times become lost in these memories, especially after nightmares or when one crops up without warning; a dangerous effect when one needs to be in control just to stay alive. There are other effects too; Wash is prone to bouts of insomnia, periods when he avoids sleep because he will inevitably dream about Epsilon and what happened to them both. He also tends towards the self-destructive; while he isn't actively seeking to kill himself, he is willing to take more risks than are strictly necessary, putting himself into danger and not caring if he gets hurt, so long as he achieves his goals.

With everything that had happened, betrayal after betrayal, and being used as a pawn by the Director, he became obsessed with revenge and bringing down the man who had given him everything and then destroyed it. But this wasn't an irrational burst of anger; his desire for revenge made him cold, isolated, but most of all, patient. He bided his time, waiting for the right moment to destroy him, the point when it would hurt most and do the most damage.

Similarly, when he's offered a chance to clear his name, he is willing to do nearly anything to achieve that, including killing some of the people he'd worked with before, treating the Meta, the shell of one of his former friends with a certain amount of cruelty, and even stooping to abusing Doc to get information from him. He is extremely ruthless. He's lost everything, everyone has betrayed him, so why should he care about helping anyone else? However there is a certain amount of self-awareness in what he does. He knows that he is becoming a monster, and even displays genuine confusion when the Blues adopt him, not able to believe that anyone would want to help him after that.

The distance and aloofness that he used as a protective measure to hide what he knew, have become habit. When he does have to interact with people, he tends to be brusque, curt, and to the point, with a vein of cynicism. He doesn't trust you, he certainly doesn't like you and in fact, you are probably getting in his way.

Wash is coming from a very bad place for him. He's depressed and angry and seeking only revenge for perceived betrayals. Wash is going to have a lot of adjusting to do. Space and space travel isn't new to him, although the method is, but he's going to have to spend a lot of time adjusting to being surrounded by people again and having to work with them. A lot of his immediate subsconscious goals are going to be learning how to trust again, and how to function as part of a society instead of a military operation, or a lone wolf operative. There'll be a lot of culture shock too, since everything works on a very different system to what he's used to; Wash is used to strict structures and hierarchies, and to using force when he can't get something that he needs. He's going to have to adjust to a more egalitarian society, although he will probably still gravitate towards the more dangerous aspects of the game.

Wash is an excellent combatant, able to hold his own against most enemies. He's particularly skilled with firearms, especially a battle rifle, and is shown as being able to take down a couple of hornets (small planes) by himself. He is also very good with knives, able to engage in close combat using them, and to throw them with exceptional force and accuracy. He's even shown to have very good reflexes and is able to catch several knives that have been thrown at him.

His hand to hand skills, while not up to the same level as Carolina, are still strong. He manages to hold his own in combat against Epsilon-Texas and the Meta. His style tends more towards brawling and fighting dirty than being particularly fluid.

He apparently has some skill with infiltration and lockpicking, as he is Carolina's pick to take York's place during the Sarcophagus mission, when York is out of commission. He also shows an understanding of strategy and tactics and, is capable of being an effective leader, although he isn't really at that point yet.

Combat/Physical fitness: Wash is an elite solider with a wealth of combat experience and training. He is excellent with knives and guns, and very good with hand to hand, although not to the same extent as his Freelancer comrades.

Durability: Wash seems to be capable of surviving and recovering from injuries that would kill most other people. He has been shot, stabbed, blown up, hit, had his mind torn apart by an unstable AI fragment, and run over multiple times. And he is, seemingly, fine.

Strategy/Tactics: Wash is generally good at planning and has strong leadership skills when he chooses to learn how to use them.

Determination: Both a skill and a weakness; once Wash sets his mind to something, he is doggedly determined to fulfill his goal, be it completing a mission, or getting revenge on people who have wronged him.

Loyalty: When Wash finds a team that he can trust, he is extremely loyal to them and will do pretty much anything to keep them safe, including putting himself in harm's way.

Temper: Wash definitely has anger issues (and has for his entire life). When he was a teenager her smashed another kid's face into a mirror as revenge for bully several years prior. These days there's less outbursts of rage, and instead he channels it more effectively into taking someone who has wronged him down no matter what. He can hold a grudge for a very long time.

Mental Stability: Wash will insist that he is not crazy, but it's true that he's not the most stable person after Epsilon was implanted. He states that sometimes he wakes up and doesn't know who he is. He has also displayed a reckless disregard for his own life that borders on suicidal. As he says when he went to confront the Director and destroy the Project, he never intended to survive.

Items: One suit of grey and yellow Mjolnir Armour+bodysuit. A battle rifle and sidearm, A combat knife. An AI capture unit.

Network Sample:

[Wash appears on the screen, grudgingly out of armour, his face drawn and pinched around the mouth.]

My name is Ag- [No, he's not Agent Washington anymore is he? He's not with the UNSC. He's not with project Freelancer. He's not anything.] My name is Washington.

They said that- [He can't believe he's saying this. His life is a fucking joke and his death will probably be the punchline. Until then, he is stuck dealing with this shit. Assuming he hasn't snapped altogether. That's also a possibility.]

They said that I have been sucked in through some kind of bullshit dimension hopping. [Yes, his teeth are gritted as he says it.] I'm looking for anyone who knows what the UNSC is.

[It's not that he wants to find anyone from home. There's no-one he cares for. But he just needs someone to remind him that that wasn't all fictional.]

Prose/Action Sample: Thread
notyourrookie: (Default)

Wash blinked, shook himself and looked up at Locus. "What?"

Locus scrutinised him for a moment. At least Wash assumed he was. Hard to tell behind his helmet. "You got distracted again."

Shit. Wash wanted to scrub a hand over his face, but that's fucking tough with a helmet on. He straightened up anyway, stretched. "Sorry."

Those periods have been happening with some frequency lately. it's a bit worrying. Ever since there'd been that accident. His memory of what had happened is fuzzy, but Locus had told him that there'd been a grenade during a skirmish with the fucking Freelancer and her colour coded morons. There's a few new scars to thank her for when they finally take her out.

"You're dismissed for the day. Rest. We need you in top condition."

"I know. I will be."

Locus nods. "Remember to take the medication."

Right. The fucking pills the doctor had given him. Creepy fucking guy, but the meds had helped him to sleep, and made the moments of lost time less frequent and shorter. "I will. Tomorrow."

He heads out of the office room and hesitates before drifting towards what passes for a mess in this dump. It's just a temporary base; they'll be moving in a few days so it's sparse and basic, and then fully empty at this time of night. The planning session with Locus had run late and even if he's not really hungry, he knows he'll regret not eating.

There's one solitary figure sitting at a rough table when Wash enters.
notyourrookie: (Default)
Open post for all your Agent Washington needs. Up for pretty much anything.
notyourrookie: (Default)
They set up camp outside in one of the caves that seem so prevalent in this part of Chorus, if what the Reds and Blues have said about the Rebel base is any indication. They've explored far back enough to know that no-one will be able to come at them through the caves themselves, but that doesn't mean that they're out of the woods.

Figuratively or literally at this point.

Resting is the sensible option. They're all wired and exhausted and that last call had been too close for comfort. They need sleep. They need to plan their next move, but Wash knows that both he and Carolina (and that's a whole squirming sack of bees that he isn't sure he wants to poke just yet) are both itching at the inaction, and looking over their shoulders waiting for Felix and Locus to make their next move.

They've shared out their meagre rations between them, and now Wash is keeping watch just along the ridge. Hopefully they should see someone coming early enough. He paces along it, restless without anything to focus him. Escape from the Feds had been a focus, finding his men, but now? Telling both sides their information is a goal, but a distant one right now. It's nebulous enough that his mind slips away from it like sand through his fingers leaving him itching for action.
notyourrookie: (Throat bared)
The good things about being on Chorus were few and far between, what with being stuck in the middle of a war where the opposing side's goal was absolute genocide. Being the plucky underdog wasn't quite as much fun on those terms.

But one of the advantages right now, holed up in the capital, was an abundance of hot water. Wash didn't remember the last time he'd been able to take his time with a shower. Blue base's shower had run cold quickly and it hissed and sputtered and made ominous sounds. Sure, valuing a shower was petty and kind of pathetic, but he'd learnt to take his pleasures where he could and washing away the grime and sweat after a day's training was one of them.

He stripped off his armour bit by bit, and then peeling off the undersuit. Sure it was supposed to be able to be worn for long periods of time, but that didn't mean than he had to like it or that it was pleasant. He stretched, feeling the aches of the day across his skin, and then grabbed his towel to head into the shower.
notyourrookie: (Success)
He hadn't done anything for the holidays in years. They didn't mean all that much to him. But he had to admit that he was grateful for the shore leave that they'd been granted. Training was getting harder, more exhausting, more competitive, and everyone could use a break.

He'd never been to Earth before either, and on recommendation from North, they'd booked a cabin somewhere nice and out of the way. It wasn't exactly slumming it though. He had a lot of pay that he hadn't been spending and he was going to live it up. It looked like a Christmas card; log fire, rug, even snow. Which is awesome but also wetter than he'd thought it would be.

The snowball fight had been awesome though.

He heads back into the main room after his shower, wearing joggers and a towel wrapped around his neck, to sit down in front of the fire. Best way to dry off or what?
notyourrookie: (Default)
The Charon base is a maze of rooms, designed to be confusing for those who didn't know the layout. Where the main training centres for the young assassins were rigidly ordered, this place was designed to confuse, to keep people off-balance. It was smaller than the main compound, with corridors that twisted and branched and filled with cells; the place where Charon kept prisoners, and, more importantly, those trainees and assets too defiant to obey, but too skilled and useful to simply be disposed of.

He doesn't know how long he's been there. Could be days. Could be months. The days have long since blended into each other, an unending foggy blur. They have him strapped down again. They usually do, not given any chance to escape even at night, even though... why... why would he escape? He belongs with Charon. He belongs to Charon and...

The chair is metal and hard and cold, wrists strapped down to the arms, straps holding him down, even around his neck. There's a needle in his arm, and some liquid slowly running through him that glows with the tinge of magic. Doesn't know what it is. It isn't his place to ask. Just to obey.

They keep asking him things, the masked figures who run things. Never sees their faces. They ask questions, they tell him what he needs to know, what he needs to think, and it's becoming easier day by day, to believe it. They're correcting him, fixing him. Making him how he should be.
notyourrookie: (Hooded)
From what he's seen, the so-called 'Demon Prince' doesn't look very demonic. The palace staff adore him for one thing, and have no time for the rumours people spread in town. They'd dismissed Wash whenever he'd tried to ask about them. It had seemed genuine too, not the reactions of people in thrall to a monster.

Not that it matters either way. Wash has an assignment.

He's pinpointed the location of the Prince's chambers through his weeks of working in the palace, digging up information. He slips there now, avoiding the patrols of guards by making his way along the outside of the building, clinging to the wall and edging along the narrow ledge until he reached the window. He swung himself inside, sliding a knife out as he approached the bedroom where the prince should be sleeping.

AI Wash AU

Jul. 15th, 2016 12:22 am
notyourrookie: (Brooding)
It can't be true. There's been some kind of mistake. All this shit on Chorus, it's scrambled everything. Who knows what Charon was planning really? Misinformation is a powerful weapon and...

He flexes his hand, staring down at it. It moves; he can see the shift of muscles and tendons beneath his skin. He can feel the racing beat of his heart, like a panicked bug inside his chest. So it can't be true.

Except that the results of the brain scan are in the file in his lap. The wires running through his brain, the chips in his head. And all of Hargrove's research beneath that. He hasn't read it all. Just enough to know that it makes him feel sick, knowing what they'd done to him. No, that's not true is it? What they'd done to Agent Washington, the original, not the broken shadow that he apparently is, because Agent Washing died alongside Alpha and he's just...

He's not real.
notyourrookie: (Bloodied)
Well, that had been a fucking trainwreck of a mission. Everything that could have gone wrong, and they'd barely scraped through. Oh the mission objective had been achieved, but none of them had got out without injury and the Director had been... displeased. Yeah, let's go with that.

He entered the locker room, a ball of tension and barely restrained anger. Pulled off his gauntlets and threw them into the container. They'd need to be fixed up, cleaned off. He took off the rest of his armour before his helmet, each piece thrown with as much aggression as he could muster, when it was warring with exhaustion.

Helmet last. He pulls it off, ruffling his sweat and blood-sticky hair, then tosses the helmet as well. He sits down on the bench and just breathes for a moment, rests his head in his hands.
notyourrookie: (Default)
This is Washington. No, the other Washington. It's complicated.

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