BLU - Samuel Marston, Medic

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BLU - Samuel Marston, Medic

Postby Samuel Marston » Wed Aug 31, 2011 11:48 am

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Name: Samuel Marston (Don't call him Sam), Repo
Age: 47
Date of Birth: February 28th.
Team Favorite Color: BLU
Class: Medic
Gender: Male
Languages: English, Latin, fractured understanding of German, French, Cantonese, Spanish and Italian
Nationality: American.
Ethnicity: Scotts irish.
Appearance:
Hair Color: Light brown, with grey along the sides. Hairline has receded into a high widow's peak, his short hair parted to cover one half of his forehead.
Eye Color: Light brown.
Height: Six foot, six, head and shoulders.
Weight: 210 lbs, with a little bit of a pot belly.
A relatively tall man, Samuel does not have a hard time intimidating his enemies. His eyes are soft and loving, though they can convey a wolf like hunger for human suffering. He wears thick lensed, narrow, black rimmed glasses. When not in combat, he wears black slacks, grey long sleeve shirts, and occasionally when he needs to a light grey doctor's coat. In combat he wears a long black trench coat, made of thick latex, along with a long black latex apron, and finally two full length gloves made of the same materiel, that clasp to his coat on the shoulders, twin rectangular BLU symbols just below the clasps. Atop it all, he wears a leather helmet to intimidate his patients, glowing blue lenses framing his eyes, a small reflective plate on the very top of the forehead, and a filtered mask covering his face.
Image (work in progress)
Loadout:
Primary: Simply a drill with a bit attached for making neat, clean, three inch wide holes in people.
Secondary: For what healing he must do, he has a small single handed Medigun. It functions for what it needs to do. It cannot ÜberCharge, nor Overheal, and functions much slower than other Mediguns. That's not why he's here.
Melee: Wields a myriad of different melee weapons, the small thin lazer sharpened blades sheathed in all different nooks and crannies in his outfit. He prefers his double ended scalpel to all the others, though he does flow from blade to blade easily.

Personality:  Having long ago died on the inside, Samuel is a shell of his former self. He kills when he must have to, and once he gets going, he is likely to be VERY difficult to stop. Outside of battle, he's rather tame, spending more time pondering a cup of coffee than conversing with others. His personalities are rather abruptly different, able to switch back and forth from old doctor to deranged killer quickly. He despises the thought of fulfilling his contract with BLU, much rather hoping to die eventually and not respawn.
Sexuality: Morella. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Strengths:
-Moves very quickly for a medic
-Supreme skill and dexterity, both with his hands and his whole body.
-Has no regard for human life.
-Is not afraid of anything. Not brashly, simply has nothing left to fear.
-Supreme knowledge of anatomy.
-Great singing voice
Weaknesses:
-Is still obsessed with his dear departed.
-Has to be worked up into a rage, otherwise he's simply a lump of dotting old man.
-Refuses to use guns.
-Cannot ÜberCharge, or Overheal.
-Has trouble continuing a rampage if he is reminded of his daughter or wife.

History: Samuel was born to a mother and father living in suburban Baltimore, Maryland, and lived a young life of obscurity. He did his school work, and always had a fascination with the way the human body worked. He didn't make many friends during all of his schooling, being seen by other people as something that is to be repulsed by. He knows not why, but it is how the cookie crumbles.

Fresh out of medschool, Samuel started into his career as a surgeon at a local hospital, fitting nicely into the niche of coroner, his skilled hands allowing him to flay and separate the nasty little bits of people into neat little jars and piles. Spending a lot of time in the basement of the hospital, he never got to meet very many people, but one day he was assigned a partner, a young woman named Morella Price. With no other women around to quell his manly desires, he fell madly in love with her, though sadly, she was already involved with the aging chief of medicine, Paulo Migliaccio.

Morella pitied the poor man, and gave him a leg up one night after they had dissected one particularly difficult organ donor, but what had started as a pity fuck actually ended up with Morella falling in love with Samuel, his normally cold and sheltered exterior falling away to show his passionate, caring soul. Soon Morella decided after some consideration that Samuel was the better of her two lovers, and left Paulo. Angry and vengeful, and his ex lover a type 1 diabetic who received her insulin through the hospital he ran, Paulo started spiking her medicine with arsenic. Not enough to kill her outright, but enough to cripple her, and eventually have her die of lethargy. Little did anyone know, Morella was pregnant with Samuel's child.

Once Samuel heard that Morella had missed her period, he proposed to her, and quickly they were wed. But sadly their happiness was short lived, the arsenic in her heart making her worse and worse, until just days before their daughter was to be born, Samuel proposed a radical way to cure her diabetes, presuming her worsening condition was because of it. The treatment was supposed to be safe when used in tandem with the medications Samuel was giving her. No one ever said anything about it reacting with arsenic. And accordingly, she had a heart attack. Moving quickly, Samuel could only save one, and working on the very same cold slab they first made love on, cutting open the only thing in this world that he ever loved, he saved his daughter from certain death.

But before Morella's body was even cold, in came Paulo, blaming Samuel for Morella's death. The hospital, a leader in organ transplants, was having trouble finding suitable organs to use, the people being more and more fearful of organ donations, and the ones that did simply were not up to par. Paulo knew that perfect body after perfect body went through Samuel's skilled hands, receiving simply an autopsy and a signature. But Paulo wanted more. He wanted money. He wanted patients to stop dyeing. Most of all, he wanted to make Samuel pay for taking Morella away from him. And so, they made an agreement. If Samuel were to steal the organs from every suitable corpse that goes through his dextrous hands, Paulo would not inform the authorities of the brutal murder.

And for seventeen years, this worked.

For seventeen years, Samuel's secret was hidden, Morella's preserved body stored in the walls of the home he raised his daughter in.

For seventeen years, Paulo's hospital boomed, the quality and quantity of organ transplants flying through the roof.

For seventeen years, Samuel raised his daughter alone, the type 1 diabetes having passed on to her from her mother, along with something a bit more sinister. He kept her away from the world, fearing that if anything were to harm her, he would lose the last bits of Morella left to cling to.

For seventeen years, Samuel poisoned the insulin he gave her, crippling her to keep her exactly where he wanted her.

But after seventeen long years, Susan decided to stop being a daughter, and become a woman.

One day, Susan snuck out to read at her mother's tomb, an attempt to get close to her mother, Morella, and was surprised to see a group of heavy metal kids. Raised on nothing but classical music, Susan was intrigued by this new music, and the young men who were so enslaved by the somber tones of Ozzy Osborne. Swept up in the tornado of drugs, sex, and alcohol that these young men were more han happy to supply her, she quickly became resentful of her overbaring father.

Time and time again, Samuel told his daughter outright that he did not want her leaving, but time and time again, she disregarded him. Frustrated and with no where to go, Samuel focused on his work, more and more of his time spent in front of Morella's preserved body, begging for advice. Eventually Susan settled on just one man, and shared with him all of her secrets, all of her desires, all of her dreams. Knowing of his girlfriend's sickness, and not an outright tool, he proposed to his father to see if he could find a cure for her. Gladly, Paulo agreed.

In a twist of fate, the very same cure that killed her mother seemed to work for a short time. And Susan felt like she was on top of the world. Her independence certain, she told her father off, screaming that she would never listen to him again, that she had her own life now. Filled with rage, ready to kill the only thing he had left in the world, he left her alone, taking a long walk. Deciding to talk to the one man who had ever been remotely close to a friend to him, he walked the long walk to Paulo's house.

A block away, he saw in the distance Paulo's son, his tongue tonsels deep into the mouth of his daughter. And before he could look away, out walked Paulo, and welcomed the teary eyed Susan into his home. Something in Samuel snapped. Quite violently.

Quickly he returned to the hospital and donned his full operation attire, taking up a full armament of scalpels, bone saws, drills and needles.

Hours later, the authorities arrived at Paulo's home, all four members of the Migliaccio family skinned, each of their organs organized on the floor underneath each of their stretched out and drying pelts. And in the middle of the carnage knelt Samuel, holding the dead body of his child, Susan, weeping over her form. It seemed that the very fate that had befallen Morella had taken Susan. All for the sake of desperation, and love.

Arrested by the authorities, and thrown in a sanatorium, Samuel was content to spend the rest of his days rotting away, his only motivation to continue breathing utter guilt. He had taken the life of the one thing he thought most fitting to live. He lived because she could not. But BLU had other desires for him. Seeing great promise in a man who could maim and repair human flesh, all with no regard for human life, they had him freed, and release him onto battlefields where they feel there is a need for pinball.

And for five long years, this has worked...


First Person Sample: My hands do not shake as I carve into the soft flesh. I have done this a million times over, but still something tugs at my heart. The cold knife in my hands, gradually warming as I swing it slowly back and forth, pulling slowly apart the meat. A sigh escaped my lips. It used to be, there was no need for all of this. It used to be someone else's job. But now it is mine, and mine alone. Cutting off a piece small enough to be manage able, I press the thin plate of stainless steel into it.

Carefully holding the little bit of steak on the tip of my fork, I press it tenderly into the mashed horseradish, and then into the ojous. The steady rattle of the train track underneath me make it difficult to keep my hands steady, but after almost missing on some particularly bumpy bits, I finally manage to bring the soft bit of prime rib up to my mouth. Slowly I chewed, relaxing, letting the savory, spicey, almost sweet flavors fill my mouth. The cornicopia of wonderful flavors fills my mouth, but I will myself to chew, slowly, steadily until finally swallowing. Opening my eyes I look up to see the stewardess, standing, her mouth agape. I smile and point with my fork to the slab of meat at my fold out table, “This steak is wonderful ma'am. Thank you very much,” but she simply nodded, before walking, pushing her cart. She must think I'm crazy or something...

Third Person Sample:  His hands did not shake as he carved into the soft flesh. He has done this a million times over, not a single reservation left in him. He spun the blade between his fingers with a flourish, before driving it into the still screaming form of the young scout, the thin membrane of his diaphragm splitting under the pressure of the blade. The pressure on the boy's lungs gone, his screams hissed to a series of barely audible whispers, his entire chest spasming to try and make him breath. Working with quick precision, he carved out the young man's lungs, his heart still pumping weakly, his head slowly lolling back and forth.

Standing up slowly, the doctor, dressed in all black, took each one of the lungs, and set it carefully down on the soft grass at the still twitching feet of the young bostonian, along with all of the other precious goodies left at his feet. And finally, taking his scalpel up one last time, he cut precisely at each of the viens and arteries that still connected the weak little heart to the young boy's body. He smiled under his mask, before setting it gently on the scouts lap. Packing up his tools, he hefted his doctor's bag, and walked back to base. BLU had not willed that the RED scout die. He had no need anything from the young boy. But that bastard had made fun of Baltimore! Said that Babe Ruth was the only good thing to come out of it! And he had to teach him a lesson!!!
Image:
Attachments
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Last edited by Samuel Marston on Thu Sep 15, 2011 10:49 pm, edited 7 times in total.
Samuel Marston
 

Re: BLU - Samuel Marston - Medic

Postby Tom Cucinotta » Sun Sep 04, 2011 5:42 pm

Accepted!
Tom Cucinotta
 

Re: BLU - Samuel Marston - Medic

Postby Samuel Marston » Sun Sep 04, 2011 5:49 pm

Tom Cucinotta wrote:Accepted!

YOU. ARE. GOD!!!!

Thank you!
Samuel Marston
 


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