[hider=Pleasant's the name, killing's my game.]
[center][h3]Roland Pleasant[/h3]
[img]https://tse4.mm.bing.net/th?id=OIP.k5D1TC6JYKe6oUuYGdI47gHaGu[/img][/center]

A 32-year-old veteran has seen a lot of things. Like, a [i]lot[/i] of things. Who could blame him then, when at the time of the bombs in London, he finally decided fuck it? Not in the slightest. In the chaos, it was easy for him and his squad to sneak away with L118 Light Gun and enough ammunition to keep themselves supplied for a century if needed. Now, all it takes is for one toss of a laser designatior and a position'll be barraged faster than you can say 'improper use of military hardware' three times backwards.

Beyond a bloody big gun behind him, Roaland also bothers to lug around a lot of bullets. Far more than he himself needs, as a matter of fact. Instead, most of his rucksack is free for people who need spare ammo to grab a magazine or three... Just so long as they toss some dosh his way. He isn't running a charity, and the prices for an in-fight pick-me-up aren't bad in the slightest.

For killing people with more precision than a 105 howitzer shell, he also carries around a L85A3 standard issue assault rifle, and an equally standard L105A1 handgun. Plenty of firepower, plenty of stopping power, all in neat packages. In case things go really south he carries an L3A1 (lots of L's in the British army,) bayonet- perfect for stabbing people when they get too uppity.

The man himself... Well, he does tend to get a bit hammy sometimes. His faint-but-still-audible Scottish accent, the fact that he easily has the heaviest firepower amidst all the mercenaries and his combat experience means that he's generally the most obvious sound on the battlefield... And, to be frank, off it too. 
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