[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/ryQkgH0.jpg[/img]
[hr]James Lockehart, SOLDIER Base, Residential Base[hr][/center]

"AAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH!!!" 

A man went flying through the air, crashing onto the cold ground with a resounding thud, skidding a few feet before he came to a stop, a low groan coming from the fallen figure. James, the one who had sent the man flying, walked overdressed in the cool black of the Cerberus under-armor, his crimson eyes staring down at the fallen figure with a frigid calmness as he walked over, holding out his hand to the beaten party.

"You done whining, or should I give you another minute?"

"Fuck off James."

Charles, the cadet on the ground, pushed James hand away, getting up with a slight huff before glaring at his ashen friend. "I don't see why I have to know this, I'm a goddamn sniper, so if the enemy gets to me that means it should be time to retreat."

"And what if the enemy is flanking from behind and happen on you first, would hat be the time to flee as well?"

Charles clicked his teeth, looking away from James with another huff, though he apparently moved too fast as the action was still followed by a low groan as his neck resisted the sudden movement. "You know, sometimes it's hard to tell if you're just a sarcastic asshole, or you really don't have a single emotion in your goddamn skull. Don't you feel anything when you kick the ass of one of your best, and if we're being truthful here, only friends."

James thought on the comment for a moment, tossing it over before he finally decided on an appropriate answer.

"Yeah, I feel like you need to work on not being crap at fighting."

"Like I said before, James, fuck off." Charles yelled in frustration, walking off in a mumbled haze of curses, complaints, and excuses. James watched him walk off with the same expression as he had throughout the conversation, a calm monotone that gave no indication of what he was thinking or feeling if he was even feeling at all. Once Charles had disappeared, James headed off in the direction of the archives, wanting to study some more on creatures before he headed to the mess to eat some lunch. After that, he wasn't quite sure what he would do, as he had nothing planned and his training partner probably would need more than a few hours to cool of from how easily he'd been thrashed. 

Cracking his neck, he walked off from the training grounds just as some idiot challenge Beatrice to a sparring match. He didn't have to watch to know that the man was going to get his ass handed to him, as the woman was not to be taken lightly, especially when it came to her specialty. When the two had faced each other in spars, the matches had been quite intense between the two hand-to-hand specialists, and while he believed they were currently tied, he could be wrong. Competition never really had any allure to James, so much of the posturing and bragging of other cadets was often lost on him. To James, all that matter was getting out of this confinement and hunting down something, anything. He was itching to do what he was born to do, he needed to hunt, he needed to kill, he needed to let loose the beast he held within.

Even now, as he walked past the foul-smelling pit of human filth that was undoubtedly the residence of Henry, an experience made even worse by his enhanced senses, he felt it scratching at the corners of his mind. He'd never told any of the scientists about the voices, the whispers, the dark musings he was often prone to by himself. he was often visited by strange hallucinations and daydreams, yet he could never fully remember what it was that he bore witness to during these flights from the mundane. All that stayed with him was the scents of blood and fear, as well as a dark exhilaration that at times brought a sinister, somewhat unstable grin to his face. These small moments of insanity always left him with a strange feeling, as if something far away was beckoning him to look for it. . . find it . . . free it. Whatever these feelings were, he never dwelled on them much, pushing them to the fringes of his mind just like he did the nightmares he'd had for nearly every night for as long as he could remember.

To this day, he could never remember them once he woke up, yet he had the strange feeling that they were all the same thing, and he would find his face to be wet with freshly fallen tears, without fail. In most others, such strange occurances would've brought questions and concerns, they just weren't important to James. he cared only about doing what he was told and getting stronger, nothing more, nothing less. He never worried himself with anything else, and that had served him more than fine in his life so far.

After a few more minutes of walking, he found himself in the Archive room. He often came here to study up on he known creatures that Dalmastice had encountered and documented, as a good hunter always make sure he knows what to expect from his prey. Yet, in all of his searching, he felt like a part of him was searching for something . . . specific. Another strange yearning, and thee only one he really followed, but it was usually for naught. He had read and reread as many texts as he knew of and had access to, but nothing ever seemed to really click, though whether that was because he'd never found what he was looking for or just wasn't able to recognize it from text on a page, he didn't know.

Just as he had set down a good stack of tomes to look through, preferring to read paper reports then swipe through the sleek digitized texts that had been made available, he noticed an unknown cadet approach familiar argentette. He already had a good idea of what would happen, and merely shook his head as he opened his book, hoping that he man would take the rejection with some form of dignity. Sadly, that wasn't the case, and the cadet soon learned the error of not properly seizing up his mark before attempting to strike. Looking up from the book, he might've made a comment, something along the lines of 'Can you kick his ass a bit quieter' or 'Kick him once more for good measure', when the speakers crackled overhead. James felt his body tense slightly, a small smile slicing across his features as a familiar sense of dark pleasure coursed through his body. [i]Finally. . . the hunt is upon us.[/i]

He was quick to lay down his chosen tome, feeling only the smallest of regrets at not getting to do his daily reading, but it was much over-shadowed by the feeling of excitement that buzzed in his veins. Getting up, he walked past Quill with a curt nod.

"See you at the Council Room."

He had made sure to memorize all of the numbers, names, and abilities of all the SOLDIERs of note that were currently in service, just incase one of them happened to go rogue. He knew the possibility was slim off such things happening, but it had happened before. 'Hope for the best, Prepare for the worst' was the old adage, and it was a good one to live by. His pace towards the Council Room was much faster than his normally languid pace, his crimson eyes seeming to shine brightly in contrast with his ash grey skin, casting a hungering look at invisbile phantoms that danced around him. Once he arrived, he took the stance and position, waiting like a good soldier along with the others their and those who were arriving, waiting to be addressed by their superiors. However, when Henry came bursting in with not a care for protocol, as was the norm with him, James couldn't help but gag a little as his heightened senses were assaulted by a nearly fatal musk of body odor radiating from the man.

"Henry, by God, when was the last time you used some fucking soap. . . or even showered? I swear, every time I'm around you, I feel like I need to wear a damn nose plug."