Post by SpanishBoye on Jan 6, 2018 21:51:50 GMT -5
NAME: Emilio Velazquez
APPEARANCE:
PLACE OF BIRTH: Spain
AGE: 27
HEIGHT: 6'6
PERSONALITY: Manipulative, Harsh, agitable.
FIGHTING STYLE: El Juego de Garrote
ORGANIZATION: None. Ex-Mishima Zaibatsu
HEALTH STATUS: Sickly - Gravely Injured - On Meds
CHARACTER RELATIONS:
Mishima Zaibatsu - Hated
Tekken Force - Hated
BACKSTORY:
APPEARANCE:
PLACE OF BIRTH: Spain
AGE: 27
HEIGHT: 6'6
PERSONALITY: Manipulative, Harsh, agitable.
FIGHTING STYLE: El Juego de Garrote
ORGANIZATION: None. Ex-Mishima Zaibatsu
HEALTH STATUS: Sickly - Gravely Injured - On Meds
CHARACTER RELATIONS:
Mishima Zaibatsu - Hated
Tekken Force - Hated
BACKSTORY:
Ch.1: Early Life
Emilio Rico Maximiliano Velazquez. Born into an average family, that lived in Costa Brava. From young childhood, to early teens, nothing that was too different from other teens happened. He hung out with friends, went to school, went to sports class, and generally horsed around alot. Once puberty hit, he started to pick fights quite often with other students. Playing fair however, was never really an option for him. If need be, he'd grab something that was nearby and pummel on his opponent if his fists didn't cut it. Upon looking into ways of improving his fighting, he found a very obscure fighting style online named "El Juego de Garrote", which involved the using of knives, fighting-staffs and sticks, garrote's, and more. A good fit for how he usually fought. Practicing stuff he saw online at first, he eventually signed up for a few courses at an old gym a few towns over, which he found out about online.. Which is what started his training in the fighting style.
Ch. 2: Mishima Zaibatsu Debacle
Once he aged up to the ripe age of 20, he went to Japan on a martial-arts exchange program, and ended up attracting the attention of a Tekken-Force talent scout there, and was introduced to Mishima Zaibatsu there. Seeing a future in this well-off military career, he decided to go on with it. Joining the TF after his training was finished. He went on several small raids and skirmishes with a squad of seven, and ended up getting to know his entire squad pretty well. Eventually, on recommendation of his superiors, he learnt how to fly a jet. He enjoyed it.. High in the sky, save from danger. He felt at home here, surrounded by new friends, in a good job, with a pretty decent paycheck in the mail every month.
But, all good things must come to a close one day..
He got a new assignment. There wasn't much information.. All he knew is that he had to bomb a certain location in Spain. It felt.. Weird. Returning home, only to cause havoc. But, he went along with it nevertheless, not one to deny orders. Soldiers have to follow orders, afterall.. And so, the bombing raid ensued. Once his group closed in on the target, and he got his buttons ready, he noticed something odd. It was a church.. With people. Not fighters.. Not rebels.. Just ordinary people. Some sitting outside, just infront of it.. A wedding of sorts. Sadly.. This was noticed too late. He smacked the last button, and, just like all the other jets, his missles flew through the air.. Causing a direct impact on the church.
He tried his best to shake the thought off, but.. He felt sick. Sick to the core.. Once he finally landed his jet, the first thing that came off was his helmet.. He just needed some fresh air. He killed before, during skirmishes, or raids, but this was different. These were just ordinairy civilians.. He couldn't accept this. He had to do something about it..
Ch. 3: Betrayal At Dawn
Velazquez was always a man of morals.. To a certain extend, atleast. One thing you could always count on, was loyalty to his friends, and superiors. So when he approached one of his superiors with complaints about the raid, he was suprised that he got silenced. "It's just the same as any other day.. You'll get used to it." He was told. "Used to what? Killing civilians? This can't slide!" However.. They didn't like his tone. It was a few days after that, that while he was dressing up into his suit, he was suddenly grabbed and taken along by people who he once considered his friends. They dragged him out.. They gagged him, and dragged him out to the firing range. The giant hulk of a man was quite hard to take along, but eventually, they managed.
Then, out came his Superior.. Joining them on the firing grounds. The officer drew his nine-milimeter pistol from his side-holster. Instead of a firing squad, the officer decided to execute him himself. The last thing he saw through his green-collored eyes, was the black hole of the barrel a few inches from his head.. Followed by a white-yellowish flash of light, and then.. Pure darkness.
Ch. 4: Last Rites
Darkness.. The empty void of nothingness. This void was all-consuming.. No light was being let in. That was, until.. A stinging pain was felt. Just pain.. A pain like no other. A red-hot searing pain, that cannot be described in mere words. Then.. Light. Just a little. Not much, but.. Enough to realize he wasn't dead. Vision slowly returned on the right side of his head.. The left side was in pure, antagonizing pain, and had no vision.. No light.. Nothing.
Then.. Voices. Talking to eachother.. He vaguely overheard something.. He recognized the voice. His superior.. Something about faulty ammunation, that didn't fire all too hard.. Probably due to having not enough powder in the powder charge.. And how he was suprised it killed soneone. After that, he heard some footsteps fading.. With another set coming closer. He shut his other eye again.. Mostly due to a combination of wanting them to think he was dead, and just being way too tired to keep them open..
It was cold. Very cold.. His body was cold. The metal he was laying on was cold.. The fact he could feel it must mean he was stripped of his armor, but, it was only the chest part that had been taking off. He head someone move.. Then, felt some fiddling around the bottom part of the armor.. Opening his eye slightly, he saw someone in a white and grey outfit, struggling to remove the safety clasps on his armored pants.. He looked to the right, without moving his head.. Seeing some tools. One of which, was a scalpel.. Feeling had returned to his body, when he heard the man unclicking the clasps. When the man went down to take off his shoes, he moved.
Suddenly lashing out, he first reached out to grab the scalpel.. Prompting a terrified shreek from the man, as he wasn't expecting a presumably dead guy to suddenly move. After he got hold of the scalpel, he reached out to grab the man.. Jabbing him right in the center of his throat with the scalpel. Moving.. It hurts. He felt himself letting go of the man, who fell backwards, gurgling and spurting on the floor.. He slowly got off the metal examination table, and stood up straight. His head was spinning, and he could swear there were two scientists on the ground.. No, wait.. He was just seeing double.
After shaking his head, he felt at the painfull side.. Blood. Lots of it. Dried up, for the most part.. he also felt a small stick-on patch over his eye. Presumably, they removed the bullet for examination, and were going to torch his body. He was in the medical area.. In the cremation room.
The scientist, who was now dead, laid on the floor.. Blood gushing from his throat's open wound. He pulled the scalpel out, and tossed it to the side.. Having an idea, eventhough his mind was blurry, and pained. He first took off all his clothing, including his underwear.. Seemingly, he had wet himself. Probably upon dying for a short while.. One tends to do that if they have no bladder control.. He wanted to steal the man's clothing, but noticed the size difference was too great to not attract suspicion.. So instead, he undressed the man, nicked his underwear - Which was also too small, but it was better then nothing - And placed him on the table. He looked nothing like him.. And since he realized the doctors would recognize a collegue, he decided to slide the body into one of the burners, and turn it on.. writing up a fake toe-tag with his own information, and dropping it infront of the furnace, to make people think it was him. The only think he put back on were his shoes.. He wanted to move quietly, and those heavily armored pants would make lots of noise. The standard-issue combat boots a whole lot less. Luckily for him, his combat-knife was still in the boot holster on the side.
While still in pain, he peeked through a door, into the medical facility.. Just his luck. Nobody was near. He went through, and actually managed to steal some painkillers.. Taking two small pills, and opening a window to climb out. Luckily, it was on the bottom floor. Since it was early dawn, and it was still somewhat dark out, he had to take it slow to get through. He quickly snuck out of the small compound, and make his way through a hole in the fence that he knew they haddent fixed yet. Running off into the forests that the small base was located in..
Ch. 5: Cold, Alone, And Forgotten
Today, Emilio is still alive. He somehow managed to make it back all the way to Tokyo, and used his fighting skills to easily knock out and rob people, until he had the money for medical care.. Which, luckily for him, only took two weeks after the accident. He almost got caught several times, but he managed to evade police.. Which wasn't easy, seeing as how he was a bloody almost-naked guy that stuck out quite alot above the usually much smaller asian people of Japan.. Not that so many robberies would go unchecked, afterall. First, he bought some clothing.. Then, went to the hospital. Once he paid for his medical procedure, his wounds were stitched up properly, he was put on perscription pain-medication, and went quiet for a while. Sleeping around alleys, and using the last of his money to occaisionally buy food.
Now, he just roams the streets.. The only possible sign he should be able to get recognized as an Ex-Tekken Force, is if someone can identify him by the boots he wears.. Or if they knew him from service. To anyone else, he just looks like another bum.. Roaming the streets. He still has his knife hidden away in his boot, and under the leg of his pants..
A few years, he's 27 years old. The shot to the head made him lose memory of his first 15 years alive.. Only having memories of his service, and stuff about himself. His clothing is raggy at this point.. And dear god, does he need a shower. He isn't very approachable. Carefull of strangers, he tried to stay away from people.. Mostly for survival reasons.