Name Pronounced: Hor-ratio
Age: 53
Birthday: April 19
Height: 5’9”
Weight: 152 lb
Nationality: Nomékopite
What?: Human
Pocket Monster Representative: Noble Arcanine
Instrument: Accordion
Weapon: None
Favorite Color: Blue
Likes: Gardening; the songs of birds; the soft murmur of a brook
Hates: Rap music; decreasing morale
Dreads Above All: The thought of another viral spill
Most Valuable: His memory of his days as a member of S.T.A.R.S. Alpha team
Friends: Robert, Elena, Uranusu, Joyce, David, Rebecca
General Outlook: People just don't care anymore and it's terrible
Dreams: That the world will come to see its errors in turning from its former principles
Phobia: ???
Favorite Food: Butterscotch
Nitpicky Nitpicks:
Appearance: Traditional, middle-aged\older person: graying hair; wrinkled, gentle, smiling face; soft gray eyes
Had Not the Things that Happened Happened: He would have served S.T.A.R.S. for a longer time
~~~
History: One would never believe that Horatio used to be one of the top computer geniuses and sharpshooters of Special Tactics and Rescue Service. He’s so quiet, kind, and reserved now. He had quit the S.T.A.R.S. about ten years ago because a new responsibility befell him, that of taking care of his young, orphaned nephew.
He isn’t overly fond of speaking about his days as an Alpha—terrible things happened, conspiracies, the top bosses became corrupted. He was upset to see his S.T.A.R.S. go that way, especially seeing TEAM was utterly destroyed. Who then would society trust in a growing steadily more dangerous world?
Caring for his nephew replaced his heavy heart with a new worry and joy at the same time—the type of feelings good parents get. He and his sister trained him as well as they could, making sure they were completely involved, spoiling him a little.
As I said, Horatio is a quiet, humble soul with strong values and belief in quality and working hard, deserving success.
I’d been able to think of little else since my own call to S.T.A.R.S. AD. My devotion to the organization had made the apparent betrayal all the more bitter, like a bad taste in my mouth that wouldn’t go away. The S.T.A.R.S. had been my life for almost twenty years, had given me all the things I’d lacked growing up—a sense of self-worth, a sense of purpose and integrity…
And just like that, the lives of dedicated men and women, my life and life’s work simply tossed aside as if it meant nothing. How much did that cost? How much did the Rocket Gang have to pay to buy the S.T.A.R.S. honor?
I looked up at her bleakly, hopelessly, “I’m sorry,” I whispered, “All my fault…”
Terrified, on the edge of hysteria, Rebecca grabbed my shoulders roughly, shouting, “Okay fine, you’re a jerk, but if Wilhelm releases that virus, millions of people are gonna die!”
“Just your luck to meet me,” I said softly after studying the impossible situation. Rebecca tensed suddenly, pushing away from me and grabbing at Shizuku’s body, her fingers searching frantically through the dead woman’s vest. She laughed, a bright, hysterical snap of joy. She’d gone mad.
And she pulled out a dark, round object from one of Shizuku’s pockets. I saw what it was and felt pure amazement sweep through me.
“She carried it for luck,” Rebecca chattered out quickly, “It’s live.”
I took the grenade and held it behind my back, my thoughts racing again, assessing, the water to my waist –outer door pops, pull the pin and get in the cage, hold the latch closed—
We’d
probably still die. But if we could pull it off, we wouldn’t
go out alone.
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