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About Zacharie Waters

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  1. I'll take my merry leave from this game. Keep doing you, and have fun !
  2. Zac stopped at the entrance of the cafeteria, pressing his hand on the swing door, staring bewildered at the sight. "Tell me it's the painkillers that make me see that." His right hand was now caressing his weapon - he felt like an urge to shoot at the machines. Sticking a bullet between the eyes of the man lounging on the cart would probably fix the situation, but Zac wasn't sure anymore if he was awake or if this was just a dream. Was he going to wake up in the plane ?
  3. Zac was holding the cold pack against his left ear, but the right one totally heard the creepy scream screeching through the speakers. Putain, impossible to be quiet today. He rose up from the bed, stood on his feet. Wow, they gave me some good stuff. He was feeeling a little numb from the painkillers, but he had known worse, so he would deal with it. Voices on the right caught his attention. That was Jael talking to the doctor. Hurrying out of the room, he leaned on a wall, close by Jael and Dr. Foster. "Care to tell us what is going on ?"
  4. Zacharie jumped as the EMT's voice brought him back to reality. In an instant, too short to be measured, he was standing, not sitting, and almost stumbled into the worried EMT. Then he shook his head and apologized sincerely. "I'm sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his head with a teethful grin, "I must be a little disoriented after what happened." Am I high on acid ? Bordel... What's happening to me ? "Come again ?" The young EMT slowly sat him down. "I asked you if you knew where you were, sir." "Er... Judging by our flight path, and your accent, I'd wager somewhere in the USA, but no idea precisely where, to be honest..." He turned his head to the right, checking on Sezja and Jael. "Shelby Montana, sir. Hold on, is that blood on your left ear ?" He took Zac's head with one hand and began cleaning the blood with a clean tissue, then took a deeper look. "I'm gonna ask you to follow us to the hospital sir. We're gonna take care of that ear." Zacharie frowned. "What about the two big lads we brought back from the plane ? One of them had no pulse and-" "Someone is taking care of them, sir. Right now, you are my problem, not them." The EMT added with a soothing smile. He took a handful of notes on a piece of sheet. Zacharie was brought to to the ambulance into which Sezja was being loaded. Hopefully, he had had the time to throw his bag into thick bushes before anyone could notice. He'd come back for his stuff later. Right now, he needed to make sure that his payroll was not gonna fly to hell with his current boss.
  5. Zacharie offered him a fair grin. "You sound like my kinda people. You can call me Zac, that's three letters." He winked at him, and caught a mental picture of said 'Bastian. The kid was impressive. He had spartian-kicked an emergency door while carrying two bodies, and looked quite better than the state of his clothes would have suggested. He gave a discrete look at Jael, raising an eyebrow. "I think you noticed before me, eh, lovkyy... Fireproof stockpile o'meat."
  6. The said man wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night was slowly making his way, not caring at all about the darkness, and way more about the weight of Igor on his shoulders, added to the one of his bag. He still didn't understand why he would have to carry a dead pile of meat, but the young man seemed to care about it. He shrugged as he was getting closer to the small group, praying his knees would forgive him the mistreatment. He decided to put down Igor's body close by Anton's massive but limp shape, and once done, stared at both of them, his fists on his hips. "Quite the pair..." Then he turned to Jael with a sly grin, and slightly pulling down his sunglasses, he mischieviously threw : "You look like you could use a whole army o'doctors, eh, devotchka !" Ignoring any reaction from her, he put his sunglasses back to where they belonged -on his nose- and turned again towards the fake bodyguards and pointed at Igor. "I'd wager we won't be able to save him in time for his brains to get oxygen. Carrying him was a mistake." He then pointed at Anton. "He's got more luck, way to say. If one of you lads could... I don't know, do a heart massage, keep it pumpin' blood, and maybe he'll live long enough to wake up in a hospital bed. And that's me being optimistic. I didn't check on the pilots yet, but... well, the nose got pretty messed up."
  7. It was all dark. Zac could not breathe. He was seeing - no, he was feeling, intense, gobsmacked, whole, and - a honk brought him back to reality. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. His ears were ringing. The scene offered to his eyes left him in a state of shock. He was standing in the middle of a highway, a good 40 feet away from the plane wreckage. He watched with amazement a young man rush into the plane, without hesitation, and coming back carrying two bodies on his shoulders. Shaking his head, he remembered something extremely important to him. Fumbling in his jacket, he pulled out a small case labeled in golden letters Serengeti, and opened it. After putting his sunglasses on, he felt anew. He began walking towards the plane, moving his sore feet with haste, not paying attention to the cars that stopped by and the drivers looking at him with their surprised gazes. When he finally reached the plane, he stumbled on a piece of debris and hit his head on the frame. "MERDE !" It definitely was a bad day for him. Taking a deep breath in, he rushed inside the plane, not caring for the heat. He had to be fast, he had seen the dark-haired lad rushing in again before he could arrive. He stumbled again, this time on a mountain of muscles carrying the limp shape of Anton. Zac's eyes were seeing stars, so he breathed out, breathed in... and coughed a little. "Blast this smoke !" Then a feeling hit him like a truck, and he looked at the tall young man in fear. There was something awfully... wrong about him. Then another thing appeared to him clear as crystal. He stepped back so the young man would have room to step out of the plane, and pointed a finger at Anton : "He won't survive long. Rescue better be quick." He could feel the fake bodyguard's presence slowly tailing off, and it gave him the creeps. Sebastian blinked twice, then swiftly moved out of the plane, before asking : "Excuse me, sir, but... Are with the rescue? Sir, there's however many more inside and I sure could use a hand. She don't look like she's gonna last much longer for she goes up in a ragin' heck fire." He did not look bothered at all by the heavy weight on his shoulders. Zac allowed himself a wry chuckle before answering : "One could say that..." He gave it a shrug and rushed inside, without looking back to the young man. He quickly found what he was looking for. His laptop was a ruin, but he managed to save the hard disk, and hid it inside one of his jacket pockets, making sure to leave no prints on the laptop carcass. His big bag had been thrown to the other side of the plane by the impact, but the G28 it was hiding -in pieces, of course- was intact, as well as its Scrome J8 scope. He took the bag and slided his arm under the handle, resting it on his shoulders, then began looking for Igor. He found the man, laying on the ground close by the pilots cabin. Bending over him to check for a pulse, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his left ear, covering it with his hand. Some blood was slowly oozing from it, and Zac let out a string of curses in french. The fire was still raging, he had not so much time to try and save the rest of the crew. He coughed again, cursing the smoke. Hearing the steps of the dark-haired young man entering the wreckage, he asked loud : "Did you take the two lasses out already ? I couldn't find them-" He suddenly shut his mouth, realizing how stupid he had been. Shaking his head, he focused again on Igor, but couldn't find a pulse. "That one is out..." He muttered to himself.
  8. Legal Name : Zacharie Durand Alias : Zacharie Waters, also known as « The Slug-Cat » Eruption : The Storm Allegiance/Affiliations : Money. Seriously, none at the moment. Appearance : A 5’8 tall man in his early thirties. An athletic build telling of regular physical activity, a white skin tanned by the foreign suns. His blue/grey eyes are often hidden behind a pair of Serengeti, his mid-length blonde hair swept back, revealing a not-so-unconspicuous scar running from his right forehead to his left cheek. Two tattoos slice his eyes vertically, black ink. A short but kept clean beard completes this rather handsome and sympathetic face. Zacharie has a weak spot for leather jackets and coats, but remains a practical guy in his dressing. Used to run away from a lot of things, he generally wears clothes allowing any kind of movement : cotton/canvas pants, T-Shirts, etc. Good habits have him using security boots wherever he goes, or hiking boots when he feels like having lighter feet. Shaped by the hunt and the bounties, Zac looks like a panther to whoever has good eyes to see it. He has a rather discrete demeanor, constantly gauging everything around him, as would a man who is as much of a hunted prey as a hunter. Temperament : Zac speaks very little of himself, focused on what is happening around him. Some psychiatrists could say he is some high-end paranoid with sociopathic tendancies. In reality, Zac enjoys his life as a hired gun, leaping from bounty to bounty, and the thrill that it procures : it makes him feel alive. In a conversation, Zac may appear completely lost and gazing around : even if it looks like he is not listening, he is, and simply shifted his focus from the one who speaks to his surroundings. Zac is a rather strange person to be around, as he can make the most gregarious uneased by his demeanor. Going deeper, Zac does what looks like mistakes, stumbling on something, etc, all the time. He looks clumsy when acting, and many would laugh at him if they did not fear cold lead in the chest afterwards. Known Powers : None at the moment. (I will keep this part updated when it needs to.) History : Born near Paris, in the suburbs, Zac had a rather agitated childhood. Fourth son of a poor family, he was no brilliant pupil at the lowly school he went to, but he showed unexhausting perseverance, and a taste for challenge and self-improvement. He gets excellent results for his bachelor degree, and, targetted by headhunters, earns a scholarship at the EPITECH school, computer and information science. After five years, shortly after receving his degree, he is left for dead in an incident involving his family and local gangs, marking his face with a scar. Saved by one of the gangs’ members from bleeding to death, he begins working as a technician for the said gang, and is trained by one of its extremists cells in the use of hand to hand combat and weapons. After half a dozen years spent in and out of France, Zac has become a dangerous man, and considers himself as a mercenary, renting his sharp mind and body to the best offers. Special Knowledge : Everybody considers that Zacharie’s last name is Waters, but it is actually Durand. In fact, Zac did his best to erase himself from any database and lives like a ghost belonging to no one. He forged himself a new identity, and this identity wore on him. One could say Zacharie Durand died with his parents when the gangs fought that night. In the mafia, he is known as the Slug-Cat. First, Zac can take a long time to deliver a complete contract, and that is because he is over-precaucious, and obstinated. Second, the few people who have seen Zac in action report he fights with the ferocity of an actual tiger. The tattoos on his face strengthen this impression. The jokes went on, and his martial art instructor began calling him « Pussy » to mock him while they sparred. The names slug and cat stayed for a while and married each other. Finally, Zac is a real musical, and learnt how to play the guitar on his own. He is not very good with it, but enough of a good shot.
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