| Achilles |
| Chris Hemsworth as Achilles |
| Name: | Achilles |
| Alias: | Achilles |
| Age: | ~23 |
| Hair & Eyes: | Dark Blonde & Sky Blue |
| Faction: | Resistance |
| Position: | Unknown |
| Colony: | Unknown |
| Play Times: | Play Times |
| Timezone: | Time Zone |
Biographical Info
History
Official records show individual placed in system PHD -07 years. Point of arrival noted as transfer from Aerileon.
Born Hector Achmund, known to most as Ach, the man who has become known as Achilles grew up in a Colonial Military family. His father, a renowned and respected Colonel who trained Special Operations units as well as tactical training for Battlestar Operations raised his son with the full intent of Hector being a Battlestar Commander and Admiral. Many within the military organization saw qualities in Hector that led them as well to believe and support this position.
An attack upon a training group led to a spiralling chain of events forcing Hector to decide between two paths. Choosing a path, he ended up accused of murders and spending time in the Styx Prison colony. During transit to his execution, Warday occured.
Styx. Prison colony for the 12 Colonies for the sickest of the sick, the worst of the worst. A space depot outside of travelling lanes, Styx is mostly rumor to many. Whereas political prisoners get kept in maximum security facilities, those sent to Styx are the murderers, rapists, serial killers of the society that have to be removed and kept seperate. Styx is the river of death, the waiting point before crossing over. Dark and dreary, many prisoners die upon the station before ever coming to their execution time and this is accepted as it is simply the natural consequences. To be sent to Styx, not only are the crimes committed of a capital level, many times over, but the prison system at large must be shown to be incapable of containing the prisoner. No one escapes from Styx.
Idiom: Dipped in the River Styx refers to a prisoner who has been sent to Styx while waiting for their execution date.
Family
Official Records show individual has no known living relatives.
Colonel Abraham Achmund (Deceased) - Highly decorated officer of the first Cylon War. Having entered into service at a young age, Abraham quickly ascended ranks and was promoted quickly due to consistant effective and decisive actions during the war. After the war, Colonel Achmund would spend time training Special Operations units of the Colonial Marines and Fleet Operations. In addition Colonel Achmund taught tactics in OCS as well as Battlestar Tactics in Command Schools. A strong advisor to Admirality and considered in line for promotion should he seek command again. However, Abraham was quite content educating the leaders of tomorrow.
Colonel Achmund died in a terrorist attack on Gemenon 7 years ago. The details of his death and incident are classifed at the top levels.
Abigail Achmund (Deceased) - Abigail Achmund (Morrow) was selected in an arranged marriage to be the wife of Abraham Achmund. Although such practices are generally frowned on, the strong military lineage of the Morrow familiy made for an appropriate match for Abraham. Abigail's life is relatively unknown even to the family and she is believed to have simply been a housewife. After the loss of her husband and son, she allegedly succumbed to cancer a short time later.
Admiral Arturo Achmund (Deceased) - Attained the rank of Admiral during the First Cylon War commanding the Battlestar Troy. Most of the military records surrounding his work are classified.
Education
Official records indicate individual has standard Colonial Education.
Subject Hector "Achilles" Achmund was early student in Colonial Military special operations and advanced tactics training due to nature of relationship with education commandant, Colonel Abraham Achmund. Due to this, exemptions were issued regarding standard classification of requirements allowing participation of the minor in training exercises at request of Colonel Achmund. No official records of training for subject exist.
Individual "Achilles" has participated in many classes from the University of Caprica, focusing on Psychology and Abnormal Behavior Analysis. These classes were issued by distance education at the request of Colonial Military. At present student requires thesis paper to complete degree process.
Individual "Achilles" has attained standing with group for work with his displays of gardening and plant grooming. At current he is considered a strong candidate for Horticulturist of the Year due to the recent submission of the Lavender Display presented to the group. Unfortunately, individual was unable to receive the reward due to being unable to attend the awards ceremony. All submissions from this member have been via distance.
Reputation (or Mil. Service)
Official records indicate individual classifies as a Type VIII security threat. Handle with extreme caution and privvy to potential classified information of the Colonial Military.
Subject Hector "Achilles" Achmund has proven to be resourceful in the expectations laid out by the planning of the Colonial Military. At present the subject is appropriately detained and under control however these controls have shown to be inadequate at most times as every security protocol has failed at least one time. It is the judgment of this council therefore that the level of threat generated by the subject outweighs potential benefits of continued utilization and therefore subject is to be terminated.
Distinguishing Features
Records indicate subject has required identification targets. Identification tattoo has been imprinted in addition to tracking chip. Additionally, subject possesses facility identification.
Trivia
Skills
On the Grid
Known Associates
Achilles' Journal
It has been some time since I wrote in this Journal. I did not think I'd ever be writing in it again to be completely honest. There is much to share and fortunately plenty of time to do it. Since this journal may be picked up I will be keeping several things quiet just in case eyes read this that I do not desire to read it. Let this be a warning to whoever reads this, the mysteries of the dead should be remaining as mysteries.
When I awoke after the crash of the transport I was in the woods. I began to make my way north as that was where high ground was. High ground offers views, and vantages points. Father always insisted I focus on maintaining the high ground in any confrontation and it has served me well. So I went North, and up.
I was greeted by the smells and sounds of other humans that had survived. A sort of hunting lodge location where I was greeted and treated warmly. Imagine that, someone treating me warmly. I had not spoken in years or attempted to be… civil… in nearly a decade. My skills at such were, are, rusty and it is not made easier by my broken mind. As time progressed I came to learn the proprieter was named Harkins, an elderly man. His assistant a young woman named Angelica. Also present were some that had been vacationing or had found their way to the location.
Realizing survival was important, I quickly worked to simply be as decent as I could. Afterall, these people were decent to me, I would return the favor. I often found myself going out to locate food such as vegetables and fruits wherever I could. Radiation threatens to seep into the mountains which makes the gathering of such things now important. As time progressed and moved along, some treated me like a human despite my… issues and quirks, others quite bluntly wanted to put me down like a rabid animal.
Ironic that the one most vocal about putting me down reeks of the same places I have lived, well, had lived until I proved too much a handful. He goes by the name of Frank. Should this Journal be found read and I'm dead, odds are it was by this individual. He claims to be a police officer, it is quite obviously a lie. Scorpian police are not allowed to have their hair carried in such a manner, in addition no trained official opts for a knife and bare hand fighting while they hold a gun. No, he carries himself much like I would if I were him and he were me. There is something familiar as well about his odor, I can't quite place it… they think I'm eccentric because I smell people. If they only realized their odors tell more about where they've been than any words they blubber out.
The gathering here is.. unique to say the least. A quorum member who is idealistic if not naive. A Colonial Marine… he is what he says he is but I would venture he has never seen real combat. Father would have eaten him to shreds. He wants to deny knowing anything is happening so he doesn't have to act. I wish I could use that alibi, I deny knowing anything so I don't have to do anything except push ups. Harkins is an intelligent man who reminds me an awful lot of father. Perhaps its because he doesn't see me as something to just be put down. He knows… a bit about my history and accepts it. Oddly he and Angel who I have both told accept it but do not believe I did the things I have. It is unusual, either they are delusional or perhaps there is redemption left in me.
Half the group gathered desire to go out and recon, begin to fight back against the Cylons. That is what the attackers were identified as, the cylons returned. While I can appreciate the sentiment and am truthfully a little upset that they attempted to supercede my own goal of destroying civilization… which I will address in a moment. Back to the issues of this resistance, half want to scout, half don't. I suspect that if they do head out it is a matter of time until they drag the cylons back to our hiding spot. In addition I suspect the Cylons will end up here anyway. I am quiet on these matters. No one wants to hear from me and I do not feel like revealing enough of myself to attempt to sway their opinions. If my dog tags and identification had not been burned from me upon my incarceration this perhaps would be a much easier task. But I do not seek to lead or guide these people, they must learn on their own as I did.
What I do concern myself with is learning to accept that I have been gifted with a second attempt at life. Days ago I would have sided in belief that humanity most likely deserved to be destroyed. Not just for what has happened to me, what they did to me, what they made me, but also due to what I have seen from them. Many of the species simply don't deserve existance. But.
But then there is Angel… she is the example of why existance for humanity is necessary, why it is important and why it will be allowed. If my life is all that is dark in this galaxy, Angel is all that is light. The counterpart to my existance and for that? That I will fight. I did not expect I would ever feel again, much less feel life… but to know life once more and to know love? This is unexpected and an irony from the Gods. To destroy everything and in that moment grant one such as myself new opportunity to live. Angel is as broken as I am in a different way and yet there seems to be a way we make each other whole, to repair by presence alone.
I am still broken, I will not ever be whole again this much I know. Too many experiments, too much torture, too much suffering. But perhaps I will know enough of myself and find enough of myself through Angel to at least find a semblence of who I was before it all. The mighty Achilles, destroyer of life, has in fact found his heel. And it is a diminutive, beautiful, kind girl on the backskirts of the last remnants of humanity. And the truest irony is?
She feels the same.
It has been nearly thirty days since my last entry. Why so long? Because I have grown complacent, we all have. We carry on as if we are on a vacation of some kind and not facing the very legitimate reality that at least on Scorpia, all human life has suffered significantly. The fact that this long and there has been no Colonial presence means a significant strike must have been made to a large portion of the Military. If the others have realized this they have not mentioned it and I will not break the news to them. A simple spark could set off the powder keg that has built up due to uncertainty.
I do not blame the others for their complacency, I myself have become such. Growing fat while sitting around. Not fat in body but fat in spirit. That I, a sinner as great as I am, should find contentment and happiness is quite obviously a fluke. But that is not the concern, my mind is the concern. While fighting for survival the mind sharpens, it hones itself and forces perfection. I am not fighting to survive now, I am simply existing and the mind weakens. With what my mind has endured, it is breaking apart due to that lack of focus. It wanders and drifts. There are times that I do not even recall who I am or where I am, simply having faded to memories and lives past. How long until it fades to the wrong spot or the wrong time and an unfortunate occurance happens?
Since the last entry we travelled into a nearby town, encountered some looters and recovered a few necessary materials. I do believe I solidified my reputation for being utterly insane during this trip not that I blame nor discount their ascertations that I am such. What I do know however, is that I am not dumb enough to bring a knife to a gun fight. It is a different world out here. Interestingly enough I have apparently proven value enough to the others that they no longer look completely askew of me or carry themselves with the non-subtle implications that a 'slip up' and they would attempt to kill me. Again, a sign of complacency.
New arrivals have ceased and broken off. I wonder if this is because they are all dead or if they have fallen in with other groups that exist such as ours. The likelihood that we are the only cabal of survivors is slim. The question then becomes if they, like us, have not seen the aggressors in this holocaust, will they fall into the old habits of humanities struggle to control humanity? Will we end up finishing the work the aggressors started for them? Even in the most ideal of times, Diplomacy never works. Corruption, greed, the seeking of power always leads humans to domineer over humans. Whether it is based on the planet you are from, the religion you follow, the color of your eyes or the economic status of your family, humans will find a way to rule over humans usually using this guise of civilization to do it.
Civilization is dead. It truly is. We have been reduced to the simplest of creatures, hunting and gathering for survival whilst hiding this fact under a continual cloud of dilligence to the traditions of the past, the traditions that brought us here. We are anarchists, we do not hold a government nor any rules other than the rule of the gun. He who has the guns, makes the rules. The only combining factor is this lost dream of civilization. A dream I gave up long ago, hence why they do fear what I represent, even if they do not fully realize it. What happens when the last bastion of organization, Harkins, fades? His time is approaching, death can be smelled growing within him as time approaches. The ravages of this savage existance one he is quite familiar with are still taking its toll. What then? Do we turn to the woman who was elected on another planet but has the capabilities of a rock? To the liars who present false claims to hide something of their past? Or does democracy attempt again to take hold. A council that votes, to leave those who disagree to do their own thing regardless? Because for any system to work there must be consequences, and there are too few humans for consequences such as death to be effective. We are in anarchy… and soon they will realize it.
The approaching tide that will be turning brings strife for myself. Not merely due to the loss of an individual who supported me, but due to the extreme pain and suffering that will come for my beloved Angelica. Were it not for her, the anchor of my mind to this reality, I would have broke sometime ago and most likely have lived out my days in solitude further in the mountains. But the awakening of my heart has reawakened the concept of loyalty and friendship. Were that all there was it would be sufficient but the abundance of what she provides dwarfs even those two miraculous gifts. To hear, and be addressed, and have the confession of love from another brought to me was not meant to ever be understood again.
It is only appropriate that the being known as Angel is precisely that. Not in some harlequin novel sort of method used to swoon young women into false ideals of romance. But in the purest sense. Angels who grant grace unconditional from the Gods. I have been shown this forgiveness for past transgressions without question or hesitation. I know in my truest self and in moments my heart is alive, that I could confess any and all to her and there would be nothing but forgiveness. This is why the past is dying for me, this is why my mind may be breaking as it attempts to shift to a new anchor rather than the isolation and solitude that had carried me forever.
I have hypothesized that it may be possible Chamalla Root could be utilized to break my mind from the trap it is in. The Root is known to have a hallucigenic property. The fear is if the mind breaks which side of the coin does it land in. This side? The coherent side or the other brutal side that had been locked in a dark closet for years with weekly food. Angel claims she does not mind, it is who I am. Is it fair to her? Is it just? She deserves someone not broken who can help her, yet that is definitively not me.
You see, we are bound. Through fluke, grace, the Gods, or any other aspect one may wish to assign, we are bound together. It is a matter of time, I have accepted this, before the entwining of our lives is integral to existance. This surpasses romance, it is not some flighty emotion. It surpasses lust and other physical realities. Those can be lived without. No it is the recognition of the completion of the soul. I do not anticipate the reception to this reality for others may be well taken. They will see it as a claiming of a female for breeding purposes. If they only knew the reality of those situations themselves. They will see it as competition, the loss of a potential mate.. something many others would seek just for a momentary gratification of a flighty physical need.
As the anchor to my reality, the importance of Angelica cannot be understated. But my instincts scream at me to move, my instincts scream at me to prepare yet I grow fat and contented like a cow before the sacrifice. It is time to begin to work. For if there is to be a future, it must begin soon… each passing day whatever is not here, grows in strength while we weaken. While I weaken. So the choice must be made, and can it? Can I continue to glutton myself on love at the potential sacrifice of not being prepared when the time comes? Or must I forsake all that I have gained to provide a chance for tomorrow for the one that has saved me?
Perhaps, I pray, it can be both.
Quotes
Misc
- Like long walks on the beach? Add it.
- Stuff you hate. Bad! Bad!
- Goals here, dood. Whatchoo want?
Gallery
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