Nick's Application

Steam Name: Nick.
Steam ID: I don't quite have it on-hand, but I'll happily update it.
Profile Link: http://steamcommunity.com/id/Lucy32/profile
Age: 19.
How long have you been rping? Too long.
How did you find us? With you prior, know Tug.
Have you been banned from Singularity Gaming? Nah.

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Name: LCDR. Nicholas Hart.
Age: 30.
Species: Human.
MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) : N7 Special Operations Officer.
You do understand as this is a private server and you have filled out a Application you can be removed from the Server or have your Character taken away within reason at any moment: Yeah.

Two Paragraph Backstory(For Returning players it is only one Paragraph), Five to Seven Sentences per Paragraph.

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"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them."

- William Shakespeare

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"Today, we're gonna stand tall and take over the galaxy from the evil alien menace, the Tur-re-ans, hah! We will kick them an' shoot them and blow them up, all of the invaders, and win the war! Woooohoooo!"

The ten year old chanted his war cry as he hopped upwards and down upon the star-covered sheets of the bed, waving his arms crazily. An Alliance helmet, scarred and worn, sat propped upon his head - clearly far too big for it - and he soon slipped back onto the pillow and stared almost dreamily up at the ceiling. The radio blared the announcement of war, a war that would later be known to many as The First Contact War.

But like war itself, time passes.

20 years

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Later

"Today, we are going to stand tall and take back what is rightfully ours," the Lieutenant Commander strode across what appeared to be a makeshift stage, set directly within a larger ship's stomach. The hangar had been packed with troops stretched across the sea of equipment and weaponry that had now been scuttled and activated. War was the agenda.

"We will NOT allow the Reapers to become our extinction. We will NOT allow them to snuff humanity--hell--the galaxy like some candle in the dark. No, no can-do." There was a mild pause, the crowd of soldiers amassed below held in suspense.

"We're going to burn bright, we're going to become the dying star they take us for and explode right in their faces." The crowd became unruly and now sharp whistling and screeching was heard, coupled with a clap here and there. Calls of 'that's right!' and 'hell yeah, sir!' were absently shouted within the growing sea. Within moments, they quieted themselves. Barely.

"I had an archaeologist come up to me the other day..." tension arose and sharp breathing could be heard from each of the men and women huddled below. "I had an archaeologist come up to me, and do you know what he told me?"

"Twenty thousand years. This? This is part of their cycle, ladies and gentlemen, a purge of all life every single twenty thousand years," Silence.

"Give or take a year, right?" Laughter broke out among those below, but one could tell it was nervous, it was fearful.

"But let me tell you something though. I'm not prepared to go down."

"I say we give 'em a twenty-thousand year war, we break this little cycle here."

"Now."

By now, once the megaphone was lowered down, the masses below began to go bonkers - flinging their caps, waving their helmets, slapping against one another and ensuring their weapons had been fully loaded and ready to work their magic for the ensuing invasion. Troops fitted themselves in the finest gear the budget could afford, mechanized assault vehicles were prepared for aerial insertion. Dropship thrusters were fired up, the landing boats now dormant, the war machine was lubricating itself.

But what was most important? What was it that each soldier had that day that many lacked?: Spirit. The feelings they carried in their heart, the words still ringing in their ears, the need to get back up after so much had been stripped from them and their families. No, no longer. They were going to do this, and do it right they would. Humanity would give the Reapers a fight.

"ALL HANDS, OPERATION LONDON BRIDGE IS NOW UNDERWAY. PREPARE FOR ORBITAL TRANSMISSION AND ASSAULT."

The intercom soon clicked off and a sharp applause tore distinctively through the hangar, echoing off the well-built and dense walls of the ship.

"You heard the lady," the Commander shouted.

"We have some tourists to attend to!"

Twenty years for this moment.

Twenty years in the making.

Twenty years in defining.

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them. But William, our dear Shakespeare, did not account for the other. The most indignant yet the most important:

"Some are simply born."

This was more of a summary of a speech and readying for war rather than a backstory, give it a check and if you could, drop the N7 I know its fun to play them but we have two at the moment, and im refraining from making my character one for just that reason, thanks man -Pending-