<div class="floatleft">(http://s29.postimg.org/px60wtxxj/rsz_176095_far_cry_instincts_predator_xbox_360_s.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Jack Carver<br/><strong>Game:</strong>Far Cry: Instincts - Predator<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Jan 18th, 0900<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Killzone<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>N/A<br/><strong>Mentioned:</strong>All<br/><br/><hr/><br/><em>“WELCOME BITCHES! IT’S GAME TIME! WOOO!”</em><br/><br/>Jack simply stared at the black man.<br/><br/>Jack's yellowed eyes were flat, with a stoic expression that some long-dead sculpture artist could have etched into stone somewhere. Between the sudden message less than an hour prior that had come to him in the middle of a bar--it begged the question of how the silly-ass carrier knew where to find him in the first place--and the abrupt 'departure' from Micronesia that occurred the instant he touched the paper over its 'Yes' option, and<em>then</em>the lengthy trip he took to get there with something whose words he failed to understand... he was less than thrilled to find some random guy screaming at the end of his whited-out, flash-grenade of a journey. Maybe it was symbolic of how his time in this gig was going to go. Too early to tell, but his money was still on a yes. If he were willing to gamble it, anyway. Regardless, he did not speak to him; the loud man wasn't alone, and from what Jack could slightly feel via a gut impulse, he didn't seem to be all talk. None of the five others in front of seemed like underprepped combatants, he could look at them and tell that much.<br/><br/>Normally he would have turned down that outta-the-blue message--but he was one of the idiots living in this multiverse, so...one way or another, the issue would come to him. He'd rather meet it on his own terms, and hey, something lucrative could come out of all this.<br/><br/>...Eventually.<br/><br/>For now though, the 'Kill Instructors' that stood before him held his attention, and the lead guy laid it all out for them. Rules and regulations. What to expect. An obligatory warning that Jack narrowed his eyes at. Threats...he didn't take those well. But, as it stood, there was little he could do about it. His abilities were still there....he could feel it. Could feel that pulse-pounding desire for freedom and primal essence, still lurking in him. But it'd been awhile. Longer than he'd have liked to admit, and the mostly dormant power inside of him felt like being caged. There were things he knew he should be able to do, but couldn't. Repeatedly he expected to catch the scent of one of these people near him, but he could barely pick up anything other than the salt from the sea. Fucking hell.<br/><br/>These weren't even his clothes--the K.I.'s here had planned all this out pretty damn well. Whoever they could use would go on. Any liabilities would be cut away. Jack knew what side he was going to have to shoot for. Question was, how many liabilities were abound in this fresh squad of grunts about to meet the grinder? He had no illusions--he was one of those grunts, even<em>if</em>he had been in the military in the past. Everyone starts fresh in another world. In his case, that applied on multiple frustrating fronts, but he wouldn't let that annoyance show. His yellow eyes flicked to each introduced K.I., and then to the line of recruits he was part of. There was an urge to adjust his cap, that he did not attempt to satisfy. Hands kept at his sides, he was the first to speak, in his loud, but calm and controlled, voice.<br/><br/><strong>"I'm Jack Carver of Ubisoft, Montreal; And I'm here to learn how to fight again."</strong>Not particularly inspired or patriotic, but hey, it got his feelings on the matter across. He would look to those that spoke next, making an effort to memorize their names; though any particularly discerning features would be committed to memory as well.<br/><br/><hr/><em>620 words: 2 XP<br/><strong>[||||||||||]</strong> 2/10</em>