Zolt, Trevor

[Guest]

...........................................................................
CASE FILE: Cretan Militant

Life's kinda like a blank coloring book, y'know? It take a lot of colorful friends to make it look beautiful.
...........................................................................

FULL NAME:
→ Trevor Emerson Alexander Althsbane Zolt

AGE:
→ 22

SEX:
→ Male

BIRTH PLACE:
→ Philly, Creta

RACE:
→ 50% Amestrian/ 50% Cretan

DEPARTMENT:
→ Cretan Spectre


DATE OF BIRTH:
→ July 17th, 1990

...........................................................................

HEIGHT:
→ 5' 11"

WEIGHT:
→ 215 lbs.

PICTURE:
→

Spoiler:

DESCRIPTION:
→ Trevor stands at a comfortable five foot eleven inches and from head to toe he's every definition of a well tuned soldier. Atop his head is a handsome few locks of golden blonde hair, his bangs reaching to his cheek as they're parted to frame his left eye, his right barely visible under the curtain of gold. His eyes are perfect cerulean blue, often shaped into displaying happiness or strained to aim down the sight of a firearm. His neck is muscular and broad, just like his shoulders and chest, well defined by the tight shirts he wears. His abdominal muscles are also very well defined; it is obvious he takes numerous hours from his life to keep his body in such great shape. His legs would be the same had he still had them. His original legs stem down to almost halfway down his thigh before fading into scarred tissue and suddenly stopping at stainless steel automail terminals connected to black, sleek, finely crafted combat leg prosthetic: The TN-76 Type Two Combat "Panthers", the only ones of their kind (description of such in weaponry app). His skin is a pale creamy color with a few nicks and scraps adorning it, mostly around his upper arms and his abdomen. He's often seen in a combination of cargo pants, a t-shirt, and military gear such as holsters, bandoleers, and other such items. He owns one suit, rarely does he wear it, but he looks quite dashing in the tuxedo accompanied with a blood red tie and snow white silk sash over his neck, as well as a fedora.

...........................................................................

PERSONALITY:
→ Trevor always has a positive outlook on life, even with the worst occurrences facing him. Trevor finds that being in a good mood instead of brooding helps with his psyche and therefore his social and business life (he typically aims better when he's in a good mood). This makes him a more jovial killing cyborg than most. He is very knowledgeable about his own skill and looks, and he uses them all to his advantage in his job. He also enjoys talking with random passersby, usually ones who stare at him. He's quite the charmer and he knows it; utilizing it to its greatest extents, especially when he's in trouble. He's not a man who will ask many questions since he tries to observe and answer them himself as he often does in the absence of those to provide answers. Even with his occupation as a "not" soldier, one who is expected to be free and alone, Trevor ABSOLUTELY can not stand being alone. That is, partially, why he named his guns. Speaking of guns...he loves those damn things. Taking them apart, back together, inspecting and improving every aspect of them is more of a lifestyle than a hobby. He finds guns similar to people in a way: several makes, models, but all different in their own ways, even if it's only in the serial number. He loves the colorful personalities and people of the world, except the assholes. He hates assholes.

With the flowing blonde hair, the rippling muscle, and enough armaments to take out a small battalion, Trevor could be seen as a "white knight" of sorts. A chivalrous man, he'll not tolerate unwarranted violence. In fact, it pisses him off. Considerably. That, my friend, is a can of worms and wombats that should not be opened, because behind Trevor's happy side is a rage that not even a woman's scorn could match. There are several levels of rage for him and several acts or things that register on this "rage scale" and people that know him well enough could probably name these acts in order. Mainly because when you see his reactions to these acts, you will not forget it. This rage and adrenaline cocktail bottled up inside him made him a tenacious soldier, an adamant fighter, and one to be left alone in times of anger. The flux to this anger is never very dichotomous, it slowly unravels and reveals itself like a scantily clad dancer.

LOVE:
→ Guns, Scotch, The movie "Taken", Nice conversation, nice women, his legs

HATE:
→ Assholes, Spicy chicken wing sauce, beer, his nubs when it's raining or cold, busting his legs

IDOL:
→ Liam Neeson

...........................................................................

HISTORY:
→ War. It shapes the future of many and has for centuries. When words fail, fists are raised, nation to nation, in a fight to the finish. A good soldier or two can mean the difference between surviving just another day, devastating the enemy, or emancipating one's self. Trevor Emerson Alexander Althsbane Zolt understands these concepts all to well. War is his life. War conceived him, war shaped him, but war has never broken him, but only in a mental and spiritual sense. Though, Trevor's association with war started many years before his conception.

Trevor was born to two Cretan militants. Andrea Vech, a IC-IC agent of 10 years and a Royal Task Force member named Johnathan Zolt. Andrea was an Amestrian born woman who immigrated to Creta in search of an escape from an overbearing family. She was an, for lack of better words, a brilliant, almost genius, computer programmer and in turn, hacker. Assigned to assist Johnathan as a ground control agent, the two became relatively close. Then became extremely close. Then Trevor happened. Soon, the two were married and started their small family.

Trevor often didn't spend time with his parents because of their work hours, but he was able, when he was older, to go with them on base. Whenever Mom or Dad didn't have orders, they'd play and spend as much time as they possibly could before they were deployed again. With a family such as Trevor, he was raised in the cradle of the military. Regularly awoken by artillery practice, funerals every few months, and most importantly, "games" based around military training. He would be constantly taught everything about guns, vehicles, and CQC in his parents' discreet ways. "Wrestling with Dad", "Take this apart", "What car is this?", it was all training. And with all the missions his parents would tell him, Trevor's vision of the military was paralleled to superheroes.

During his days in high school, Trevor focused more on applications for the Army than his studies. But despite all his parents' training, they flat-out forbid him to enter. They didn't want to see their son see the things they did, but he didn't care. He absolutely needed to do something to put his skills to use. In his senior year of high school, Trevor dropped out, took what cash he had, and went out in search of a job. His parents would've stopped him, had they known he left. He traveled to Xing in search of an employer; a PMC called Dragon's Blade. It wasn't as nationally glamorous as being in the official military, but it made the best of his skill.

Amid the PMC, Trevor's psyche was put through the mill with the immense gore and tragedy, but backed by the bonds of comradeship he'd made with his fellow soldiers. They traveled across most of the mainland, in search of well-paying employers to best suit the skill. Trevor was never once shot, never had missed, and always stayed by his men. Though, all this was in the first year. The mission in the Great Desert was where his beginner's luck ran dry.

Bullets clashed and punctured the armored convoy's vehicles with intent at the fleshy targets on the other side. Trevor slung his gun around the windshield and returned fire just as intensely. He had only one comrade near him, Ringo, who was two Humvees away, loading his byzantine China Lake with another shell and pulling the trigger with a punch-like thunk followed by an explosion down range. Trevor needed to get to him fast. Ringo's partner, Xien May, was bleeding out into the golden sand and Trevor just so happened to have a first aid kit he salvaged from a decommissioned Hummer. He could do enough to patch the wound for now. He held his rifle close and tight, gathering his breath for the sprint. With all the power he could muster, he started running from Humvee to Humvee, getting closer and closer to Ringo. But the opposition had a trick up their sleeve; a high velocity, exploding trick. On the last stretch of the sprint, the RPG fired at the base of the Humvee, sending Trevor and it flying backwards.

He awoke later in a white light which dimmed to reveal a steel framed cot inside the cargo hold of their "base of operations", The Phoenix. A humongous carrier aircraft that staffed at least 40. 15 were missing when he woke up. As he sat up, a shock of pain gripped his brain in agony, but what was worse was the warm rush in his legs. Or what was left of them. In the explosion, the Humvee landed onto his legs, crushing everything underneath to a fine pasty substance which was now buried in the southern Great Desert. His legs had been drastically reduced, bandaged nubs were all that was left.

But thank the heavens for automail engineers! With what combat worthy parts were around the base, they crafted a modification on an old design which was originally made for sprinters and climbers. But after that incident, Trevor resolved that he needed to go back home. Though, home as it turned out was no longer home. Trevor returned to a devastating discovery. It wasn't impossible, but to Trevor it was unexpected. Mom and Dad, side by side on a hill in the Philly Cemetery. Trevor cried and cried, more than he had in a long time. He slept next to them that night and took up residence in their home. Trevor then made the realization.

There was nothing standing in his way of joining the military now.

...........................................................................

TRIVIA:
→ Trevor has an extensive knowledge on vehicles, firearms, and close quarters combat techniques
→ Trevor shaves with his combat knife
→ Trevor is almost useless in cold or rain, legs paralyzed in pain. The best he could do is just crawl and fire aimlessly.
→ Trevor enjoys eating a sausage pizza before missions.
→ Easily drives larger vehicles like Hummers, vans, and such
→ Is versed in the use of almost any category of firearms
→ Trevor speaks fluent Amestrian and Cretan and semi fluent Xingese

...........................................................................

ALIAS:
→ Kume

OTHER CHARACTERS:
→ Kit Estenial, Nevski Petrenko, Jocelyn Veska

CREATOR'S COMMENTS:
→ If there's a Queen's daughter that needs saving, DON'T ask this guy.

FACE CLAIM:

Code:

[b]BIOHAZARD[/b]/[i]Leon S. Kennedy[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
→ One Man Army

...........................................................................

[Guest]

I is done. Does Kume gets approves now?

[Csilla Angelis]

{APPROVED}

All's good here! Languages in the signature and don't forget the classifieds. Standard stuff for you, by now, haha.

Also, note here that 60 points were taken from Arte, per Aki.

[Sponsored content]