[hider=Lt. Charlie K. Jackson]
[i]“Y’all got some issues, don’t Addison pay for shrinks?”[/i]

[b]Name:[/b] Lt. Charlie K. Jackson, formerly of Her Empress’ Royal Navy

[b]Race:[/b] Human

[b]Age:[/b] 25

[b]Sex:[/b] Male

[b]Appearance:[/b] At 5’9”, Charlie’s built solid. Not like a bodybuilder, all about mass, but like someone who’s used to working summers outside. He didn’t have any problems with the fitness reqs in the Navy, that’s for sure. His brown hair used to be regulation length but he grew it out a little on the trip in from Chi Herculis, though it still isn’t much over average length. The man seems to have a pretty permanent stubble, despite any efforts on his part to keep clean-shaven.  His green eyes are set above a smile that’s irrevocably etched on his face, and the effect comes out not much shy of handsome, if you ask the man himself. There are a few fading scars across his torso, if you were to catch him with a shirt off, and the trip to Sol system left him a little paler than he used to be.

Charlie dresses pretty casually, now that he’s out of the military. Slacks and a black shirt, usually under his old flight jacket. Combat boots, too. May not be military anymore, but certain habits just don’t really go away. The same can be seen in his bearing if a situation turns serious, a certain steel in his gait where he’s usually pretty relaxed. He can dress up just fine, if the situation calls for it, but it ain’t really his preference.

[b]History:[/b] Charlie was born in the Chi Herculis system, a hair over fifty lightyears from Sol. His home planet, Hercules after the system, usually just “Herc” by natives, is an Earth-like planet on the very edge of the Empire’s reach. Not a place that sees a lot of trade. The system is fairly insignificant, so settlers were mostly reliant on their ability to live off the land. Lots of agriculture, as you’d expect. The system is mostly self-reliant in terms of resources, and its economy largely sustains itself on exports like Herculean whisky and raw materials mined from the system. Extra crops help support neighboring systems, though not many get sent back towards the core of the Empire. Herc was one of the closest planets to the Earth that used to be, so its settlers thrived without too much difficulty after a few years to get used to it.

Charlie grew up the oldest of three children on a farm south of the capital city, and he was helping out as soon as he was old enough to use a tool. It was just the way life was. Pa Jackson made sure he knew how to do his share of the work, and Ma Jackson made sure he knew his manners. Life wasn’t [i]easy[/i], but it was idyllic enough that folks from further into the Empire were known to retire somewhere peaceful on the planet. Downtime was spent exploring the sort of wilderness that hadn’t been seen on Earth in hundreds of years. But, living on the frontiers had its dangers; pirates [i]loved[/i] the edges of inhabited space. Too far out for the Royal Navy to care too much, and plenty of relatively undefended worlds to raid. Local branches of the Royal Navy sprang up quick, even before Charlie was born, to try and prevent such raids. As idyllic as Herc was, the truth was that not a whole lot happened. If you wanted to try and make something of yourself, beyond just continuing the family farm, the Navy was your best bet.

So Charlie, and a few of the guys from his town, enlisted as soon as he was old enough. With more than a little sweet-talking and some excellent sim scores he managed to land himself a seat behind the cockpit of an Imperial [i]Saber[/i], workhorse fighter of the Royal Navy. And he was good. Out on the edges of Imperial space he saw more action in his first year than most pilots back towards the core saw in three, and his superiors were duly impressed. He worked his way up the food chain, going from piloting fighters to piloting bigger and bigger craft. Always took a while to adjust, but no matter what set of controls they sat him behind he found a way to make ‘em dance. He was pretty content doing just that; pilot the ships, take any training opportunities that came his way, one day retire with a nice benefits package. 

Until a better offer came in. Addison Corporation, one way or another, had laid hands on his service record and knew his current service period was coming to an end. One of their representatives made their way out to where he was stationed to offer a very, very generous employment opportunity if he put his skills to work for them when his service was up. 

Charlie wasn’t raised to pass up an opportunity when he came along, so as soon as his service was up he was on the next ship bound for Mars. 

[b]Personality:[/b] Charming as hell. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone that especially disliked ol’ Charlie Jackson. The Herc native is all around a friendly guy, though not without his flaws. The man’s got a bit of a competitive streak to him, and his confidence can border on the cocky from time to time. One gets the feeling that he was never exactly dissuaded of the notion that he’s invulnerable. Stubborn like nothing else, too, when he sets his mind to something. But he’s got a good heart; no Jackson was ever raised without their manners, even if he’s not exactly the sophisticated sort. Charlie’s by no means dumb, quite the opposite; the ability to reason in three dimensions without regard for orientations like up or down takes a hell of a mind, let alone what it takes to excel at it. But for someone with Jackson’s dialect, upbringing, and relative lack of education it’s an easy assumption to come to. Not that it's an assumption he takes kindly to; Charlie is [i]driven[/i], in large part by a refusal to fail. He excels because he can't bear to fail, surpasses expectations because the idea of being a footnote is his idea of hell. No one remembers you after you're gone if you take second place. This makes it difficult for him to let go of control if he thinks he can do it better.

He’s a little out of his element in the central worlds; big cities are pretty alien to him, even if the people in ‘em aren’t. People are people, after all. And if there’s one thing Charlie knows for certain, it’s people. 

[b]Allegiance:[/b] Addison Corp

[b]Occupation:[/b] Pilot, Addison Corp Payroll

[b]Personal Effects:[/b]
-[b]Isurugi Industries Lightweight Body Armor:[/b] Charlie’s under no delusions of the dangers his job might hold, even compared to his time in the military, so he tried to come prepared. Isurugi’s lightweight products are designed to provide survivability against most weapons up to a shot or two. Anything anti-armor is going to punch through it without much issue, but additional composite plating over vital organs provides decent survivability against pretty much anything anti-personnel.
-[b]Herculean Arms Six-Shot Rail Revolver:[/b] Electromagnetically propelled slugs of the .45 variety. More than tough enough to punch through anything short of military-grade body armor, let alone soft targets. Holstered on his right.
-[b]Lockheed Munitions 9mm Pistol:[/b] Something a little less conspicuous, when the situation calls for it. Also something that’s not about to punch holes in pressurized environments. Kept in a concealed holster near Charlie’s left ankle.
-[b]Manticore Arsenal Home Defense Model Shotgun (Sawed Off):[/b] Lives near Charlie’s bunk on the job, and near his bed when he settles down long enough to rest his head somewhere that’s [i]not[/i] a ship. Civilian model. Typically loaded with buckshot, though capable of loading explosive shells. Useful for defending whatever counts as home for the moment.
-[b]Royal Navy Standard Issue Combat Knife[/b]
-[b]EMP Grenades x3[/b]
-[b]Military-Grade Earpiece Comm Unit[/b]: Resistant to interference, encryption-ready.
-[b]Herculean Whisky[/b]: A couple bottles brought from home, carefully transported and cherished. Frequently used to fill a small flask.
[b]Other:[/b] (Anything else you want to note.)
[/hider]