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Sun, 25 May 2008 22:10:30 GMT

[ooc] Meet the Linebacker

Sun, 25 May 2008 22:00:25 GMT

So, for kicks and giggles and general introduction purposes, here is Seijuro Shin's history and writing sample for hardboiled_rpg.

Stuck between an academically brilliant older brother and musical prodigy for a younger sister, it wasn’t until his freshman year of high school that Seijuro Shin found his niche. His father, an affluent doctor, and his mother, a society lady, were horrified at their middle son’s aptitude for football. Maybe he’d want to take another try at the violin?

But Seijuro loved the challenge, the dirt and the grit and the blood necessary. His coach was a huge influence on him, recognizing Seijuro’s natural talent and refusing to allow him to slack off in any way. Shin took this acknowledgement of his abilities seriously, almost to the point of obsession, and became known as ‘the perfect player,’ a combination of natural genius and hard work which made him a monster on the field. He was offered full scholarships to any college with a football program and accepted one to Notre Dame.

After years of studying what made the human body function in optimal parameters, Seijuro had developed a curiosity in how a person’s emotions and perceptions affected their performance. While his father did not find psychology a ‘legitimate science,’ he was relieved that Seijuro’s grades remained acceptable. Scouts for the NFL started making him offers by the beginning of his junior year. Seijuro put off answering them, saying he would like to concentrate on graduating and winning the Rose Bowl before making a commitment. He loved football, but studying the inner workings of the human mind also fascinated him.

December 7th, 1941 forever altered Seijuro’s plans. His country was under attack by a foreign power, an entire port wiped out in a single unprovoked attack. Everything he knew, everyone he loved was in danger, and he’d be damned if he just sat on the sidelines and watched it happen. Despite being only weeks away from graduating, December 8th saw Seijuro running to the recruitment station farthest away from Notre Dame. He signed his name without question and was shipped out within the week.

Boot Camp was just like an extended version of spring training, with the focus being on slightly different aspects of physical prowess. Seijuro devoted himself to becoming a perfect soldier with the same determination and capacity which led to him becoming a nationally known football star. Upon completion of training, Shin was awarded the position of Private First Class and quickly passed through the ranks.

He was assigned to the 6th United, and selected to be a part of their elite scouting unit, the Alamo Scouts, serving directly under Lieutenant General Walter Krueger himself. Looking at the faces of the men in his team, Shin made them a silent promise. Each and every one of them would get home. He would not leave a single man behind. Despite seeing action in some of the most deadly battles in the Pacific Theater, Shin kept his promise. Every single man in the Alamo Scouts returned home.

When the Alamo Scouts were disbanded in 1945, Shin was transferred by special request to the 8th United. There he served out the rest of his tour of duty as a member of General MacAuthor’s peacekeeping force. Master Sergeant Seijuro Shin returned home to Westchester with the Alamo Scout’s newly awarded Special Forces Shoulder Tag, a Soldier’s Medal, and a Silver Star to the great relief of his family. Finding their insistence on him returning to college and graduate stifling, Seijuro contacted a friend in the NYPD.

His experience as a linebacker had developed a keen talent for reading body language. The Alamo Scouts had taught him not only how to read people, but to read terrain as well. Shin put both these skills to good use and practiced them constantly until his use of them became unconscious. It was his uncanny ability to read people as well as his strong moral compass which made Seijuro Shin a prime candidate for Special Investigations. Whether he had dressed up like a hobo or a hobhead for narcotics or infiltrated bookie’s dens and lower levels of the mafia, Shin never lost his focus. When he became too recognizable, his superiors promoted him.

At first Shin wasn’t sure what to think of his promotion. He was used to being out in the field, as an officer he got an office, a desk, someone’s old coffee mug, and even more paperwork. It was only when he realized that he would be covering the backs of the men in the field that his position started to make sense. He would be there to pull them out if their cover was compromised, he would be there to insure that the arrest went down smoothly, he would be there to make sure that the perp was taken down and his man got out safely.

It didn’t take him long to rise to the head of his division, and once there Shin set about making policy changes. It infuriated him every time he turned over a dirty cop, every time one of the traitors betrayed one of his men. He has begun to work on creating an elite team within his unit, filled with men he would trust with his life; more importantly, filled with men he would trust with each other’s. He recognized that New York City was poised on the brink of a war of its own, and Shin refused to allow innocents to be caught up in it on his watch.

Bogged down with paperwork, Seijuro’s had to find creative ways of maintaining the rigorous training program he began in high school and maintained throughout his tour of duty. It’s become a common sight to see the Captain of Special investigations doing upside-down pushups on the filing cabinets or sit-ups hanging from the tops of the doors. He keeps himself on a carefully monitored diet, disciplining every area of his life in the pursuit of his goal. Seijuro Shin has determined to find a way to break the grip of crime on New York City, to protect the people from the war they don’t even know is coming, and each time one of his men is lost this silent war, the fight becomes a little more personal.

Somewhere, there had been a leak. Seijuro’d received the tip from one of his outside sources and called in the assist, but the local units were mysteriously occupied.

That more than anything told him that the tip had been accurate, and the sting was going down tonight. It was just some two-bit bookie ring, and Seijuro’d sent the rookie on the case to get his feet wet. He hadn’t expected it to undercover connections between the races and city hall politicians, and he certainly hadn’t expected the bookies to be so well backed that they were able to occupy half the prescient with a traffic jam on 34th. They were much better coordinated than he’d been given any reason to believe, and now Mark Simon was about to pay the price.

If he had to go in alone, he would. He wasn’t leaving his man out to hang. Seijuro grabbed his radio so he could call in the location once he arrived on the scene. Maybe there’d be a few suits close by who hadn’t received the call for a redirect. Unfortunately for him, just as he was about to call in the cross street of the alley, the radio fizzed and died. He paused for a precious second to stare at the thing, why did this always happen to him, before throwing it away. He knew from experience that there would be no fixing it. And now it looked like there would be no backup as well.

Seijuro turned off the relatively well-lit main street down the beginnings of a labyrinth of alleys. He paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust, automatically scanning the area, committing to memory the details and searching for something that didn’t belong. There was a glint of metal from the shadows in the corner, and Seijuro moved.

He caught the lookout by the collar in the process of pulling out his heater. Lifting him up, Seijuro body-slammed him against the brick wall, knocking the roscoe from his hand before he managed to get off shot.

The force of the impact knocked the breath out of the goon, and Shin met his eyes evenly. “You are going to be very quiet.”

The goon gulped and nodded. His body had gone stiff with fear and his eyes were wide. Good. Kicking the gun away, Shin grabbed a pair of cuffs from his belt and latched one around the man’s wrist. He stepped back. “On your belly. Quietly.”

The goon twitched and Seijuro saw his shoulders tense, the quick intake of breath which indicated he’d decided to make a run for it. Useless. He let the goon take one step forward and then moved fluidly behind him, latching onto his shoulder and forcing him down to the ground in one smooth move.

He heard the man’s muted hiss of pain as his chin connected to the hard pavement. He should have listened. Not once pausing, Shin bent the man’s foot up and shackled it with the remaining handcuff to the opposite hand. That should hold him for a sufficient amount of time.

“Remember,” Seijuro said, brushing his hands off on his suit pants as he stood up, “keep quiet. I’m not the only one on these streets.”

The lookout whimpered, but he was no longer Seijuro’s concern. The goon knew even better than Seijuro did just what would happen if any members of his gang came on him in such a compromised position. His only hope now was that Shin would return to arrest him.

Seijuro drew his Browning from his shoulder holster and held it in both hands as he flattened himself against the corner. He’d have to be quick. There were thirteen shots in his clip, and he had no idea what the situation would be once he turned the corner. No one was shooting yet, and he could hear the low murmur of voices, too low for him to distinguish if one was Simon’s.

Things had been simpler when he’d been expected to go in shooting. Seijuro concentrated on the shadows cast by the street light. He could discern three figures and one slumped form. It could have been a person, could have been a backpack. Then one of the shadows moved to stand beside the lump, drawing out what could only be a gun and pointing it at the top of the shorter shadow.

“NYPD, freeze!” They’d been simpler when he hadn’t had to announce himself too, he thought, firing off a single shot as he ducked back behind the corner to the sharp rat-tat-tat of gunfire.

There was a curse, and the shadow which had been holding a gun to Simon’s head slumped before falling to the ground.

“‘eh, pig! We’ve got your stoolie here. We’ll put ‘im on a spit if you don’t throw down your gun and come out real quiet like.”

“You don’t want to die today,” Seijuro responded. “Put your guns down and come out with your hands up.”

There was a shot, and Simon cried out in pain.

“That was his kneecap, copper. The next one goes right between his pretty eyes.”

Shit. “All right. Have it your way.” Seijuro crouched down on the ground slid the Browning into the streetlight with one hand, simultaneously retrieving his back-up from his ankle holster. The smooth handle felt familiar and easy in his dry hand. He sited the perp’s positions by the shadows, and once again stepped out into the alleyway.

This time, he didn’t pull any of his shots, extra paperwork be damned. Two in the chest of the goon who held the gun to Simon while Seijuro ducked the shot of the other, falling to the ground and shifting his hands to put three into the second shadow’s torso. The dead men fell to the ground.

Seijuro kept his gun out and grabbed his other gun with one hand. He kept both guns in his hands, one trained on the corpses, one behind him, just in case, keeping his back to the alley wall as he approached the kneeling and bleeding UC.

“Good to see you, DT,” Simon gasped. His hands were tied behind his back and his left leg was bleeding. His lip was cut and his right eye was swollen shut.

“Simon,” Seijuro said, finally satisfied that the area was secure, he holstered a gun in his shoulder holster and crouched down in front his wounded man, meeting his eyes. “You’re all right.”

The statement was half question, and Simon took it like a man, nodding with his teeth clenched.

“We need to move you from here before their friends show up. We’ll get to a phone and call in a bus.”

“You here by yourself, DT?”

“Radio broke,” Seijuro replied, shifting to lift the other man in a fireman’s hold.

Simon hissed between his teeth. “Figures.”

Seijuro made sure Simon was secure and kept his gun waist level as they walked. Simon’s blood was hot, and he could feel it leaking through his suit jacket. Seijuro clenched his teeth, his eyes narrowing. “We’ll find the snitch that did this to you, Simon.”

“I believe it, sir,” Simon said, his voice strained. “I believe it.”