Astronautics7

Oliver, last in the line, watched as the guy in front of him ran off, face scrunched up like a ******* gurner. He had to admit it didn't look fun, especially when one of the punches he swung at the bag took him to his knees. Then, he threw a few more hits, hefted the sack of weights and shambled off. Just watching made Shields feel sorry for the dude, and he couldn't help wincing when he fell. "Shields, you're next and last. Let's go." The words 'Oh ****' ran through his mind for a few seconds whilst he figured the direction of the punching-bag. His inner cursing was interrupted when his eyes began to burn like a thousand suns. He ran to the bag, biting his bottom lip, fighting the urge to scream, touch his eyes or even scrunch up his face. One of his buddies back on the playing field he worked for was a cop and had mentioned what pepper-spray was like. His description-work was a pile of ****. Shields slammed closed fists at the bag, trying his best to ignore the pain, which only put more effort into his punches. After four sets of one-twos and three sets of three-fours, he hefted the bag onto his right shoulder, the one he didn't use to shoulder a weapon, due to his left-handedness. Then, with the Staff Sergeants eyes on him, steadily jogged to the firing range, arm aching. When he got there, he thanked the heavens that his right eye was slightly less impaired than his left. He took the BR55 Geza handed to him and shouldered it, closing his left eye and bringing his right to the scope of the rifle. His first squeeze of the trigger let three rounds slam into the cardboard just outside of the outline of the figure. The next burst hit the target in the lower abdomen, the next slightly higher in the heart/lungs area. He missed the next shot, but scored a few more chest and headshots. The last shot he missed also and with that, he clicked the safety back on and handed the weapon back to the Sergeant. "Son of a..." Shields muttered to himself, keeping his hands a mile-and-a-half away from his face. He looked around at the fuzzy world, looking to see if others had rushed off to the sinks or showers.

Name: Oliver Shields Age: 18 Physical Appearance: Shields, 5'11, has green eyes and what remains of his shaved hair is a dark brown. He has a couple of small, circular scars from trying to rid of teenage spots, and sports two freckles under his right eye. Overall, Shields is a fairly stocky lad with a little muscle visible - he's nothing of an amateur body-builder, though. Rank: Recruit Uniform: Olive Drab Battle Dress Uniform Birthplace: Ezhtergom Personality: Usually, Shields is fairly friendly. He is used to working with others and getting to know people quickly (see career below). He can get on fine with or without people and is generally cheery and a laugh to be around. Quite focused and concentrated on the task at hand and grows a little impatient when his progress in completing said task is hindered. Used to have something of a mild anger-management problem, but has learnt to deal with it and put it behind him. Background: In 2534, Oliver Shields was born in Ezhtergom, to Mary and Charlie Shields. He grew up there until the age of twelve, when his parents decided to move out of the city to Manassas, due to some hostilities within his father's side of the family. Both of his parents found work rather quickly and the family settled into their new home. Oliver did fairly well at school, especially in Hungarian, and didn't need to study much because of that. He got some part-time work helping the janitor out at the local elementary after he had finished school in the evening. With the money earned, he bought video games and put money towards what could be described as 26th century Airsoft. He used replicas of the MA2B and the MA3 and wore a knock-off of the M52B vest, without the plating. After work on the weekdays, Oliver spent time with his mother, learning Hungarian at a night class. On weekends, he either went hiking with his father in the Highland Mountains, collecting blueberries and fishing, or to the "Airsoft" field on the edge of the city. Eventually, he got a job as a staff member, ditching his janitor duties. He was in charge of some of the teams and helped organise some MilSim games. Despite this experience, he never got to firing a real weapon, which annoyed him especially when his careers advisor suggested he join the military. In 2552, Shields did just that. Much to his dismay, his father was admitted to a hospital a few days before he was being shipped out to basic training. When he left, his father was very ill but his mother assured him that he would be okay. He hasn't heard from her since. Skills: Works well with people and, from his prior experience in his last job, is good at some combat situations. Speaks Hungarian quite well, also. [Greetings, everyone.]