Jason_Steele

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About Jason_Steele

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  • Birthday 06/04/1999

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  1. Sketch requests! (yep, again.)

    I absolutely love it! Thank you so much!
  2. Sketch requests! (yep, again.)

    I've never actually had any sketches of any of my characters, so I'd love one. Here he is, Jason Steele. Draw him in any pose you like, just please nothing too ridiculous ^^;
  3. /Jason's Log pt4/

    //Begin// "The Core Worlds. That's where my story gets juicy. So, around the time after I quit ATLAS and joined the Voinese, a few men were sent after me. Well...more than a few. So, to hide, I escaped the Fringe. Yeah, it's a stupid move. In the Core worlds, or whatever those rich fucks call 'em, Fringe dwellers were basically criminals. All of them. And what can I say? That's a fair judgement. So obviously, I had to hide there, too. I used my USCM connections to score a hideout, made a few friends. I armed myself.  I'm not going to cheese the experience and say I was a little goody-goody scared of ruining his reputation. I robbed a few banks, I shot a few men. I shot a LOT of men, actually. But the thing about these core worlds? Maybe I'm crazy when I say this. Maybe I'm just spewin' bullshit. But it seems...off. Corrupt. Who'd have thunk it? In a system that holds themselves so high over the Fringe, every man has four, five dark secrets behind him. It's complicated there. It's almost like it's even more shady than the Fringe. So I got to thinking - just let me spew here. The Fringe? Place is anarchy. Still is. Don't give me bullcrap about any 'progress' made by the crap-shoots that call themselves governing bodies around here, because they just add to that anarchic feeling. See, since I've been to the Core, I see this whole world in a new light. The Fringe can't be changed. The USCM, the USSR, the Galactic Rangers, anyone who tries to 'enforce rule and order' - they're not helping. Because with factions comes rivalry, and with rivalry comes war. And in the Core, they know that. They realize that problem. So under the guise of a pure and untainted rule, they fight their wars in secret. In the alleys of streets, men are lined up and shot, and it's blamed on some serial killer whose name they've changed fifteen times. Assassinations are almost daily occurrences, blamed on a plague. And the people? The people eat up that garbage. Because they know how to make things WORK.  //Jason sounds angry, but sighs and calms himself. He gulps down something.// "They blame it on us, though. The serial killer? He's from the Fringe. Obviously, the plague originated in the Fringe. They keep it all together by putting the blame on a common enemy. US. They make it look like our fault so the public stays ignorant, and the wars they fight can continue uninterrupted. That's why you don't see many Core factions out in the Fringe, trying to make order. It's why the damn Fringe exists. After the original space travelers cut the crap and realized expansion was too expensive, too...distasteful. So they kept what they had and let whoever dared have the rest. All a damn dirty trick." "How do I know this? Because I was part of it. I was one of the shooters in those alleys, I was one of the assassins in those plagues. I was PART of all of it. All because I thought it would be better to stay in...in that place, than face my troubles in the Fringe. //Jason pauses.// I'm done this log. Good night."
  4. /Jason's log Pt3/

    //Begin// //Jason sighs.// "Alright. You've all heard the start. Let's get to the middle. I was - very briefly - a member of the USCM. I left, soon after I joined. Don't ask me why. Instead, I joined the USSR. I remember my first day there. To get in, one of the requirements was to beat as many members at hand-to-hand as I could. So I did. One by one, I moved through them. The USSR guys, they're great. Comrades, as they say. But some of them were simply tanks that knew the basic directions and how to hit things. I was smarter. I calculated. I thought.  So finally, the big matchup came - the head of the elite Squadron. Our duel was...brief. He drew a knife in the heat of the moment, I may have drawn my own. At the end, this fight had lasted a minute, and we were deadlocked. Neither of us could get past the other's defenses. He was too smart, I was too fast. So we dropped our knives, shook hands, and, well...I was in. I remember those days well. I drank with my friends, I started dating a pretty girl. I won a lot of fights. It was...well...great. Then, I....don't know. Members just kept dying. We had made a lot of enemies, in our days. Soon, the Elite Squad was dead. All of them. Even the guy I dueled with.  So I wreaked vengeance. That's when I got my skills as a sniper honed. I would pick 'em off, one by one, day after day. I fell out of the ranks at that point. I couldn't find reason to stay, anyway. All my friends had moved on or had died.  So then I just...wandered. I don't really remember much at this point, besides meeting a floran named Xena and a human named Rich. Those two were my pals, man. Amigos. I joined up with Atlas, a Merc crew. Some shady shit went down, and I found myself out of the job. I don't like talking about my Atlas days. ...I'm done for tonight. //Log end//  
  5. /Jason's log, Pt2/

    //Begin// "Right...day two. Chapter two, I guess. I've still got a bad hangover, so let's get this over with. So, after I killed my ol' pa, I ran away. Said to my mom, "I can't stay. I got to go." She just nodded and let me leave. My dad had an old junker of a ship. FTL drive barely worked. Thrusters kicked and malfunctioned a lot. Still, I managed to take the piece of shit off-planet and I just...well...ran. Few years later, I joined a group. Called themselves the 'Jolly Rogers' or something, I can't recall. Pirates, the lot of them, but they made me feel....welcome. Like one big family, the Captain used to tell us. Watch each other's backs, earn respect and fame. Money, food, booze, girls - even though I couldn't so much as look at any of those broads, given my past. We drifted a lot, went system to system. Stole. Sacked. Raided.  Eventually, the good old Captain, one hell of a guy, fell sick. He appointed me as captain. Now, obviously, I was shocked. Barely three months on board and already I was at the top. I told him, "I can't lead. I ain't got the talent." He looked me in the Brand, shook his head, laughed, and told me that I must have been truly crazy. And...he was gone. I never saw a human die before. I nearly threw him off the ship, scared he'd burst and damage the hull. Took the others a bit to explain to me what happens to humans when they die. I was confused. "They rot?" I asked, incredulous. "They just...stop working?" As a Nova, the concept of death didn't quite catch me. I thought that you burst, then you reform years later, long as your Brand's okay. Nope, they told me. That's not how it worked. I suggested we clone the old man, but they told me he'd wanted to go naturally.  So we landed in the middle of goddamn no where and buried him. I still wish I knew which planet it was. I would go back every day of the rest of my life if I did.  Months after that were...okay. I guess, anyway. We did the same-old same-old, except now I was top dog. And, uh...it didn't quite catch me like it might have caught someone else. So one day, I appointed first mate to Captain, said my goodbyes, and...left. That's enough for today. //Log ended//
  6. /Jason's Log, Pt 1/

    //Begin// "So...this is a, uh...recording. By Jason Epsilon Steele. My friend Xena suggested I do this to...relieve some stress. I've got issues with my past, yeah. Who doesn't? So let's start with the, uh...beginning. I was formed on a volcanic planet. Not many might know this, but I was a girl, once upon a time. Lived a nice life. My 'Mom' - a Novakid mother I was assigned to - owned a saloon, and my first job was serving drinks. Nothing too crazy, in that profession. A few bar fights here and there, but, hey, what are you gonna do? Drunk Nova don't have much self-control. My...dad. Let's get on to that sensitive subject. He was...not around. Not often. Not ever, actually. They say all a gambler needs is a suitcase and his wits. That was my dad. When he was home, god, he was a monster. He'd hit my mom for not doing enough around the house. Or because she'd forgot his alcohol. Or because she talked with some guy at the bar. He just did it to be violent, really. He gave no excuse. He gave no reason.  Obviously, I'd tried to defend her here and there, but...my dad was an equal opportunist. I'd get the shit kicked out of me, too. I remember nights where the floor was covered in plasma. The years just got, uh...worse. My dad came home more, sure, but that was because he was out of pixels. He'd steal alcohol from the saloon, telling my mom he got it for free. He'd continue to abuse us, really. Just...lots of bad shit that went down. //A sound like a glass clanking can be heard. Something fills a tall cup up to the brim with liquid, supposedly alcohol.// "So...uh...yeah. The turning point...I think my dad came at my mom with a knife. I don't even remember why he was mad. He grabbed her and just cut her arms, slicing and yelling. Then he turned his sights on me. He said I supported my mom more than I did him, and then he cut me up good, too. So...I decided that was it. My dad always told me that ain't no woman ever going to stop him. He said girls were only good for sex and taking care of the house. So I did what I thought was best. The transition was....painful. I shifted my plasma around a bit, got rid of my bits and replaced them. Soon, I was a guy. Tall, muscular... Then my dad came home. He tried to beat my mom, again, but I stopped him. I maybe went too far. All I could remember was his years of abuse and hate. I just...lost it. I've never seen so much blood in my life, not since. I stabbed him, again and again, until he just...stopped moving. I tossed him outside, let him burst, then took what was left of his Brand. I still don't know why. Maybe as a trophy.. I'm tired, and drunk. I'm done for tonight. Chapter one complete." //The log ends.//
  7. Dhraigan Royal Guard Service

    Full name: Jason Epsilon SteeleAge: 23Species: NovakidDesired branch: Panzer DivisionApplicable skills: Trained and accomplished sniper, skill with interrogation, skill with heavy weapons including light machine guns and mechanized vehicles, extensive knowledge of geography.Past experience: 5 months serving the USCM, Grand Inquisitor of New Voinese republic, heavy duty soldier in AtlasMedical history: Nothing major to report.
  8. An incident at a bar

    {LOCATION: LOCAL BAR ON EPSILON MAJORIS II} A single Novakid sitting in the corner.Five men with rifles approaching him. Jason's situation might have seemed dire to any commoner, but to the experienced and seasoned galactic pirate, it was simply more business. After all, the movements had already been made. His foot planted against the hard, tack-wood floor, scraping against the barely authentic synthetic birch. His brand, a novakid's metal face, boiling quietly as he heightened his senses. His grip on the seat tightening. His hand covering his sidearm within his sleeve. All cards in the secret deck of a man who knew every hand. The men stopped at his desk. He took notes. Two human. Two hylotl, aquatic, japanese-society mer-people. A single Apex, his muscular frame much larger than the green man's. "Time's up, gasbag. Got those pixels?" Jason lolled his head to the side, disinterested, and made a noise a human would have associated with clucking his tongue. "Well, gents, I b'lieve you would find that my pockets are quite empty. After all, I just happened to spend my last voxel on a cup of delicious brandy." The Apex grimaced, and lowered his rifle towards the Nova's head. "Then you die." Jason chuckled, and exploded in to movement. To them, it was a second. To him, it was simply slow motion. His hand shot up from the top of the seat, his wrist impacting with the bottom of the barrel. The crazy recoil causing the rifle to clatter from the man's hands. The others struggling to ready their guns. They hadn't expected this kind of resistance. They never do. Jason stood up, propelling himself upright with his one foot on the floor, the other on the edge of the seat. His gun slid from his sleeve, right in to his waiting palm. And he pulled. Blood, bright red and sticky, with that copper scent that never quite leaves your nostrils until you take a good, long shower, rained across the bar counter. The crimson droplets were enough to cause many people to scream. Jason turned, cocked back the revolver, and fired again. This time, the bullet hit dead-on the Hylotl's temple. More blood, this time blue, with the scent of sea salt. All over the nice seats. A shame, Jason thought,even as he had just blown a human's brains all over the floor. Good upholstery. He'd pay the dry-cleaning. The bullets finally came, this time towards him; but the cards, they had already fallen. A full hand. Jason had shot the last two men before they could adjust their aim just right. He chuckled, staring at all the bodies on the floor. "Sorry, there, lads," he said, as if to mock their slowly departing souls. "I told you, my pockets are empty." The whole bar had seen this. Not a single person spoke, staring at the space pirate as he holstered his gun, put a few voxels in front of the stunned bartender, and left.
  9. The New Voinese Republic Enlistment Site

    ///An official post, marked with the stamp 'Inquisitor,' appears on the post,/// I have returned from my trip to the Inner Galaxies. Requesting meeting with Blazko.
  10. The New Voinese Republic Enlistment Site

    -A second post would soon appear, in a much less formal manner.- Shawn, people are after Wiktoria's child. They are going to hurt her and the innocent baby in extreme manners. If protecting her makes me a wanted criminal, then rest assured, I will continue to help her whether I belong to Atlas, or Voinese, or neither. I will not, with my admittedly flawed conscience, allow her or her innocent baby to be hurt.
  11. The New Voinese Republic Enlistment Site

    An Atlas commander stripped me of my ranking after I spoke to miss Blazko, concerning her role in her new republic and my willingless to back her up. In this circumstance, I am still willing to be loyal to Atlas. They have been good to me. However, miss Blazko is a dear friend and former colleague of mine, and her safety is more important than my role in Atlas. If you really do want to mark me as a criminal, than leave the Voinese alone. I will turn myself in and suffer the full consequences once I am assured that miss Blazko's organization and child is assuredly safe. This is all I request. -Jason Steele.
  12. The New Voinese Republic Enlistment Site

    Name (First and last if possible): Jason Epsilon Steele Race: Novakid Age: 29 What position would you like to fill? (I.E. Military Police, Defense Force, Medical, Engineers, Intelligence, etc.): Inquisitor If you selected Military Police or Defense Force: Defense Do you require weapons training? (Y/N): No Do you require armor? (Y/N): Yes Do you require weapons? (Y/N): Yes Do you require a barracks? (Y/N): Your choice