[hider=Teddy Roosevelt]

[b]Name:[/b] Theodore R. “Ted” Parkhurst

[b]Age/DOB:[/b] 25 / 06APRIL1995

[b]Gender:[/b] Male

[b]Appearance:[/b] At a height of 5’11 and weighing around 160 pounds, Ted is of a rather inconspicuous physique; while his time in the military has forced him into shape, he is not an actively fit man by any means and maintains his physical health solely through a healthy diet and occasional visits to the local gym. His head does not stray far from the lean lines of his body. His face is gaunt, his cheeks sunken, his nose thin, his broad forehead kept out of sight only thanks to the messy tuft of hair shrouding his scalp like a black cloud or a bird’s nest. His brown eyes bulge out of his sunken eyelids, not unlike two wet billiard balls lodged in his face.

[b]Profession:[/b] CIA Global Response Staff

[b]Education:[/b] Alumnus of History, Georgetown University 

[b]Psych Eval/Personal Info:[/b] Born to a family of low-level bureaucrats in Maryland, Theodore Roosevelt Parkhurst had a fairly routine middle class upbringing, described by his teachers as one not necessarily asocial, but preferring to keep to himself. Thanks to his parents’ busy routine, most of his time out of school was either spent with his great-uncle Frederick, an eccentric antiquarian or playing video games. With his predilection for first-person shooters nurturing in him an affinity for all things military, and time spent with his great-uncle rubbing off on him, Ted decided early on in his life that joining the army as a way to support his dreams of college education would not be a bad idea and joined US Army not long after graduation from high school.

Theodore’s military career was rather uneventful. Applying for the position of a combat engineer (due to him thinking that the Hurt Locker was a good movie), he soon found out that the necessities of the job really appealed to him and took a shot at the Sapper Leader Course the moment he could. While considered to be a bit of a whiner, his vocal behavior was nonetheless compensated for by his quick wits and an aptitude for learning. Earning his Sapper Tab in 2015, he was due for deployment in Afghanistan after attending a live-fire exercise near Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri.

But that’s where things went awry.

Four dead, three wounded. Papers would blame it on improper equipment usage; court-martial would find at fault a neglected detonator. Theodore was (and is) fairly sure that it was otherwise. He remembers their charges cracking a hole in the ground itself; he remembers the change in demeanor over radio chatter. Confusion. Silence. Ropes brought, carabiners readied. A descent into darkness. And in the darkness, amongst the flashlights, a discovery. A bipedal body, curled up in the darkness, skeletal, fossilized. He remembers an onlooker joking about how they’d just found their own Ötzi. Someone joking about Dungeons and Dragons. Flashes from cameras. The oddities of the fossil. He recalls it looking like one of those lightning-spewing creatures in Dark Souls at Sen’s Fortress, the ones that would push you down those narrow bridges.

He recalls it hissing at the top of its lungs and pouncing onto Staff Sergeant Guzman. Fangs bared, dripping. Screams. Gunfire. Another hiss, something cracking in the air like a whip, a limb flying by. A spattering of fluids, black one moment and bright red the next with every muzzleflash. Powder burns on his face. Ears ringing. He recalls cursing and climbing out, his thighs wet, and he recalls stabbing a fuze into the block of C4 in his hand, and he recalls screaming down the pit for everyone to get out, and he recalls another burst of gunfire and he recalls silence and then a roar and then an explosion. He recalls waking up in a hospital with a bunch of pissed-off men and women waiting by his side. He was quick to memory-hole the less pleasant details of the incident. He was interrogated, over and over again, but managed to convince his interrogators (or at least, convince them that he would not be budging) that he did not recall much. For all he knew, he just got the hell out of dodge the moment things got fishy. 

Involuntary discharge, honorable. A form of hush money, he thought, but it was not refused. He carried on with his life as best he could, but it was easier said than done. His desire to understand what really happened would lead him down a crooked path. He sought a degree in history to make him more efficient at understanding the world unknown, following the rabbit hole to articles on cryptozoology, from there anonymous image boards, from there, obscure forums populated by high-functioning nutcases. Meme magic, Kabbalah, UFOs, every conspiracy theory imaginable. Scouring for references to past understandings of the supernatural in academic scholarship. But in the end, neither did the internet offer anything, nor did academia. He had this messy understanding of a world beyond the veil, but said world was more likely dreamed by schizophrenics than actually observed. He felt like he needed to go back to the scene of the crime. Get his hands on something concrete.

He did not go unprepared. A potato cannon was built, with an impact-detonated ANFO warhead. It would not be enough. He procured an M1 Garand. A semi-auto Beretta shotgun, a .357 revolver, a surplus NVG setup. Out there in the woods, in his homemade Rambo kit, he must have looked like a living, breathing spoof of all operators everywhere, but this incursion would not last long. Little wonder; heroic as he may have been, he hadn’t exactly accounted for a six-man spec ops team seeking out exactly the same thing as he in the premises. Caught like a deer in the headlights, he was blackbagged and extradited to god knows where in a manner of minutes, and interrogated in a manner of hours. With little reason to lie this time, he just poured out on what happened, why he was there, and why he was armed like Timothy McVeigh Jr. 

Next thing he knew, he was CIA or something. Son of a gun.

[b]Bonds: [/b]

-Franklin Delano Parkhurst, father, 60. Hasn’t been seeing his son much lately, thinks Ted’s lost in the scholarly busywork, or one of his many odd-jobs to keep himself afloat.

-Maryanne Parkhurst, mother, 58. She’s always been a bit naggy, and doesn’t like that his son doesn’t come as visiting as much.

-Frederick Parkhurst, great-uncle, 73. A fellow Fortean, he gets along with Ted fairly well, although thinks that he may be caught up in something.

-Rachele Salemi, girlfriend, 29. Having met Ted on a psychoactive substance forum, she thinks he’s part of this worldwide conspiracy and is absolutely enamored by the thought.

[b]Motivations: [/b]

-Desire to make sense of his past incident
-Belief in duty, more reliant on aesthetics than principle
-Compulsion to know 

[b]Fears:[/b]

-Loss of life and limb in a painful and/or ignominious way
-Loss of cognition and/or sanity
-Loss of personal integrity

[hider=Stats]
HIT POINTS: 41
STRENGTH: 11 
DEXTERITY: 17
STAMINA: 13
BUREAUCRACY: 2
INTELLIGENCE: 15 
WILLPOWER: 17
SAN/BREAKING POINT: 85/68
POWER: 85
[/hider]
[b]Skills: [/b]

Gifted:
Awareness 80 / Demolitions 75 / HUMINT 70

Adept:
Breaking and Entering 66 / Crafting 62 / History 63 / Marksmanship 56

Average:
Armorer 51 / Military Science (Land) 43 / Occult 40 / Stealth 55

Novice:
First Aid 25 / Hand-to-Hand 36 / Heavy Machinery 28 / Medicine 23 / SERE 25 

[b]Languages:[/b] Nil

[b]Special Training:[/b]

-Breaching  
-Hand Grenades
-Minelaying
-Mountaineering 

[b]Weaknesses: [/b]

-Talkative demeanor can grate others’ nerves in stressful situations 
-Twitchy
-Herpetophobic

[b]ADAPTATIONS:[/b] 
Violence: X
Helplessness: 

[b]Off-Duty Clothing/Equipment: [/b]
Clothing: Casual, perhaps a bit too casual. Tendency for colorful shirts and baggy fit pants.
Weapons: Glock 19 in armpit holster, folding knife, taser. Besides that, whatever can be procured. 
Tools/Equipment: Sports bag full of operational supplies and plausibly deniable ingredients for makeshift explosives.

[b]Operational Clothing/Equipment:[/b] 
Clothing: Whatever is required. Tendency for CBRN equipment. Will keep a gas mask and NVG handy.
Weapons: Whatever is issued. Tendency towards explosives. Venerates the M32.
Tools/Equipment: Sapper’s Kit, First Aid Kit, operational supplies.
[/hider]