Sgt. Michael "Miles" Hicks

Michael looked down the scope of his M82A1 sniper rifle, laying in silence as he watched the location of a suspected terrorist arms trade. He sighed heavily, his eyes beginning to strain as he looked at a bleak desert landscape.

"Miles..."

Michael opened his right eye, looking at his partner, William "Locke" Lockheart staring into the spotting scope.

"Do you have visual? All I see is sand", Michael said quietly.

Michael could see Locke's head shake as he continued to look through his scope.

"No visual. No enemy combatants ... no vehicles, not even a fuckin' womp rat."

Michael forced himself to ignore his natural instinct to laugh, but let out an almost inaudible chuckle. It is not very wise, being deep behind enemy lines on a reconnaissance mission, to laugh boisterously at your partner's joke.

"You know Locke", said Michael as quietly as he could, "I do get the sense that we're on Tatooine hunting the Imperials."

Locke was unresponsive; Michael glanced at him again and could easily notice how tense Locke became.

"...have you ever wondered..." Locke said softly, so softly that Michael had to strain to hear Locke's soft voice; "...have you ever wondered if maybe we are the Imperials here?"

Michael was speechless; he had run into Marines that felt similar to Locke and never knew what to say to them. On one hand they were right, but on the other hand ... they were completely wrong.

"You know as well as I do that this supposed weapons shipment will be used against us and noncombatants!” Michael said, with an almost passion in his voice.

"Miles, don't you get tired of all the kill-"

Locke slumped over his spotting scope lifelessly, a split second later a gunshot. Michael's time perception began to slow down, a single second taking an hour. Michael had been here before, in this very instance; there was something surreal about the situation. Michael closed his eyes tightly and reopened them, hoping that the situation changed. Time moved even slower, his heart beat acting as an eerie soundtrack to the carnage in front of him. He moved a gloved hand towards Locke, turning him around to check his vital signs. As he turned Locke over a pool of blood oozed out of his chest, his jaw split open from falling on the spotting scope. It was a grisly scene. Michael's first instinct was to grab Locke's dog tag. As his fingers clasped the now bloodied tag, Locke grabbed his hand with a surprising amount of force.

"Why did you let this happen to me, Miles? What did I die for? What meaning does this life have for me?"

Locke forced his hands onto Michael's throat. His grasp slowly tightening as Michael grasped for breath. He looked into the lifeless eyes of Locke, sweat beginning to collect on his brow.

"Remember this feeling, Miles.” Locke said through gritted teeth. Michael felt something heavy on his chest, as if someone punched him in the heart.

Michael sat up with a shock, inhaling as much air as he could. He was in his bed, soaked with sweat. His vision began adjusting to the darkness, a feeling of disorientation soon followed. His heart began to race, and he noticed his cat looking angrily up at him from the edge of his bed. He looked next to him, remembering that Elizabeth Brisby was "sleeping" next to him. He knew that she was awake, but she would never allow herself to show him emotion, or give him the satisfaction to ask him what his dream was about.

"I had that "An American Werewolf in London" dream again." Elizabeth remained emotionless, ignoring the statement. Michael looked at her bare shoulders under the bed sheet, looking at the tone of her muscles and the pattern that her black hair created on his pillow. He always admired her, but at times wanted to beat her senselessly. She forced herself to be cold and heartless, even though he knew that deep down that she cared about everything she said she didn't. He could feel that she wanted to comfort him, or ask him more details ... but whatever "organization" she was working for trained her well enough to ignore her feelings; at least that's what he assumed. He knew better than to ask about her actual occupation, and she knew not to tell. As he lay looking at her, he knew she felt his eyes burning into her and he got a sick pleasure from knowing he was making her uncomfortable; memories of the first time they met began to flow into his mind. Of course, because of his Marine Corps training, he remembered every single detail of their brutal first meet.

His mind quickly went back to his dream, which he had almost nightly now. He felt his pulse steadily slow, but his adrenaline refused to let him go back to sleep. In the past he would call Richard and talk about his nightmares; but that all stopped after Richard's "heart attack". He reminded himself what Richard would tell him: “we all have nightmares; those nightmares mean you’re human.” These nightmares were getting ridiculous, and they seemed to happen much more frequently since Richard died. Michael turned to his side, getting tired of looking at the empty ceiling. Memories began to pour in from his past. From the time when he was in high school and was beat half to death by a local Miami gang. He grimaced at the memory, his jaw suddenly feeling the phantom pain from where the wires once were. He then remembered the tours of duty he did in Iraq and Afghanistan, the times he and Locke had to spend weeks at a time in the field stalking their various marks. He closed his eyes, seeing the faces of those he lost and those he killed. He needed to get up and do something, he was thinking too much. His cat meowed softly as he got off of the bed, the cat quickly taking over the empty space.

"Hopefully you'll sleep better than I did", Michael said to his cat with a smile on his face. He glanced at his watch, it was 2300. He had plenty of time to get ready before he started his day. After a quick shower, and putting on his blue jeans and a random T-Shirt he picked up off the floor, he picked up his sidearm that he always carried with him. He put the clip in his pocket and before he holstered his gun he made sure that his weapon was unloaded. He grabbed his keys and quickly left his house, which was conveniently located on the paintball field he partially owned. His house, which was shared with Elizabeth, was small compared to most other houses in Brunswick, Maine. It suited their needs though. It was remote and if needed, well defended. Ever sense Elizabeth started to live with him; he had a feeling that they would get attacked in the middle of the night. At least he knew Elizabeth was good in a firefight, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was dangerous to be around. Michael started his car and left for the Getty Estate.

Days before, before the apparent suicide of Estelle, Michael was asked to keep an eye out on her nephew. Because of the mysterious deaths plaguing their family, Michael took it upon himself to remain vigilant; half expecting a masked man to try and break into the estate. His eyes adjusted completely to the low light coming from the street lights that sporadically littered the street. He would kill for a pair of night vision goggles, he made a mental note to try and pick some up from the Portland Police Department. As he approached the estate, he noticed a few lights were still on; no doubt various servants were getting ready to retire to bed. He was glad that stalking Jacob had been uneventful and dreadfully boring. He had noticed a few quirks, and made a mental note of them. Throughout his stalking he had also noticed a young woman that seemed to live in a separate part of the house. She looked like a typical college student, and she did not appear to be a threat to Jacob or the estate, so he quickly dismissed her presence whenever he saw her. After a few hours of patrolling the grounds and stalking, he assessed that it was not likely that there was a threat to Jacob and made his way home. He was amazed at how little he actually saw Jacob, and it seemed like he would only leave the house when he went to work at a local bar. He knew, many times over, that Jacob had seen him watching him ... and Michael began to wonder what was going through Jacob's head.

Michael began to walk back to his car, noticing almost every detail as he did so. He counted every cigarette butt, every piece of litter and every leaf that had made its way to the gutter. His eyes darted about the road, trying to spot any changes to the scenery in the past few hours he was gone. His mind soaked up every detail, and as usual nothing changed. Everything was seemingly normal to the point that it was eerie. Michael sighed peacefully, happy in the fact that everything was safe and sound. His walk became a bit lazy, and he tried to view the scenery around him at face value; he tried his hardest to shut off his military training. He glanced toward the horizon, the sun just beginning to rise. It was quite a site to behold. Peaceful, serene and it seemed to calm Michael's mind. While he was enjoying the scenery, he noticed a slight shimmering in a tree a few yards away. He squint his eyes, and saw the barely visible shadowy outline of a person halfway up the tree. He quickly ducked behind his car, and heard a couple of popping sounds as something hit the roof of his car and the pavement behind him; three rapid shots, in quick succession. He glanced behind him, seeing a bright green paint smear inches away from him.

"Elizabeth", he said quietly. He stood up from behind his car, his hands raised in the air in surrender. He really was in no mood to play her cat and mouse games, which she enjoyed a little too much.

"Alright, Cato...” Michael yelled toward the tree, wondering if Elizabeth would even get the reference. For someone that is as old as he appeared to be, she really was sheltered. He often wondered how she never really seemed to pick up on any pop culture references he made; but he never asked ... because he knew it was probably something she would refuse to answer.

He could feel Elizabeth smirking, watching him through the sniper scope on her paintball gun. He smiled, helplessly, waiting for her to jump out of the tree. His smile was returned with a paintball round to the chest. The force from the round made him step back a couple of steps, the paint cold against his chest. He could already feel the welt starting to form. He grasped his chest, the paint smearing on his hand. Luckily she was nice enough not to crank the velocity high enough to knock the wind out of him, and for that he was grateful. He knelt down, breathing heavily, watching the paint drip down his shirt. Moments later he heard the light footsteps of Elizabeth. She stood next to him, her paintball gun resting on her shoulder as she carried it effortlessly, "I win", Elizabeth said in a sing-songy voice. Michael looked up at her; she was wearing baggy camo pants and a black tank-top; her face was painted carefully to help blend in with her surroundings. She looked happy, a huge smile on her face, "You know, Miles ... this kind of reminds me of our first date".

Michael looked at her and cocked his head, she rarely talked with so much emotion; and he was quite surprised and pleased that she started to open up around him.

"Do you remember that day? You ... me ... the desert, a glorious battle that seemed to last for days...” Elizabeth sighed happily, lost in her own memories.

"I remember you trying to kill me, is that what you were talking about?" Michael said with a bit of a grimace on his face.

Elizabeth frowned, and kicked him playfully in the side. "I was trying to be romantic, asshole; God damn. And I told you a thousand times that I'm sorry for trying to kill you! I thought you were an Iraqi arms dealer!"

"What do you mean that you thought I was an Iraqi arms dealer?! Why would an Iraqi arms dealer wear a GI uniform? I had a patch of the flag on my arm!” Michael scolded.

"You're just mad because I spotted you", Elizabeth teased.

Michael grew a little agitated, wondering if Elizabeth really felt romance as she recalled the details of their first meeting in her head. "If I remember correctly," Michael said calmly, "I won that match".

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed, her lips pursing in anger. Michael smirked a little bit, knowing that she always conveniently forgot what happened at the end of their little engagement. As Michael, still squatting in front of Elizabeth, began to stand up he saw Elizabeth quickly aim the paintball gun at his chest. Not having nearly enough time to move out of the way, Michael felt another paintball strike his chest. Because of the close range, he felt himself completely lose his balance and fall backwards. He gasped deeply, forcing air into his lungs. This time, she did cause the air to get knocked out of him. Michael tried to get up, but his efforts were met with a foot to his chest. He looked up, seeing Elizabeth towering over him. Her fake rifle pointed at his face.

“You know, Miles, usually our little dates are more fun. This was by far the least exciting one that I can recall. Well, aside from that time you took me to that Italian restaurant.” Elizabeth smiled wryly, and removed her foot from his chest and offered him her hand. He accepted her help, and stood on his own two feet. His chest still felt as if it were on fire from the round to the chest.

“You owe me a new shirt” Michael said with a teasing smile on his face.



Basic Information about Sgt. Michael “Miles” Hicks:

For anyone that has a contact in the Marines, they would know that:

Michael enlisted in the Marine’s at the age of 17 and served as a Scout/Sniper in the US Marine Corps. According to his professional record, it is unclear whether or not he is actually retired, due to ambiguous text in his records. A lot of the information on his record is classified, available only to some of the top brass. There are a few things that can be uncovered, however. Michael was wounded by shrapnel, in combat, and has a scar on the right side of his face. He tries to cover this up by leaving slight stubble on his face; this of course does nothing to hide the scar. Michael’s military career is quite impressive; he received many accommodations and merits for classified missions (and other actions that were censored), and was known to be one of the USMC best snipers. Michael has shown above average skill in strategy and tactics.

He operates a paintball field called “The Field of Dreams”, in a wooded area in Brunswick. It is popular with the college students, and is frequently busy during the spring, summer and early fall months. The field shuts down from October 1 – March 1 during the cooler months. His home is located on the edge of the paintball field property. He only has one other employee, Elizabeth, who also lives with him at his modest home.

Michael also works part-time with the Portland Police Department as a sniper specialist on the SWAT team. Because Portland is relatively safe, the SWAT teams are rarely called. Michael often visits the station to practice his shooting and work out at the police officer gym. Many of the people that work with Michael like him and find him amusing. There are rumors, however, that he still works for the Marine’s for various assignments. This has never been confirmed though, because none of the officers have the courage to actually ask Michael about his stint in the USMC.

Michael is known to give free defensive lessons to some of the local kids, and has stopped his fair share of bar fights. He has a sort of “superhero complex” and tries to help anyone that he can, if he is able.

Michael prefers that people call him Miles, which was his nickname in the Marine Corps.

He frequents the local movie theater a lot. He loves movies, especially comedies, and frequently makes reference to them throughout the day. He rarely quotes actual movie lines, though … he always finds it to be a bit tacky and gets a little annoyed when others do it. After every movie he sees, he goes to a random bar for a drink.

Anything that happened in Michael’s life before he joined the Marine’s is unknown.

Michael is known to have very good intuition and can read people very well. When asked how he is able to judge a person immediately, he always states: “when you watch people through a scope a mile away with absolutely no audio … you begin to realize a lot about human interaction and their true intent.”

Michael walks very quietly and can move quickly when necessary. When not on an assignment, he usually walks very lazily. At first appearance he does not have the demeanor of a Marine, however when he is on assignment his professionalism takes over his demeanor.

Physical Appearance:

Age: 28
Height: 6’ 3”
Weight: 193 (lean muscle)
Eyes: Dark Brown
Hair: Brown