Asset Skills: Firearms, Survival, Stealth

Insomnia: Donahue often has horrific nightmares when he sleeps, and so he subconsciously avoids sleeping at all. R+C to fall to sleep after stressful situations.

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Specialities:

Firearms (Rifles)
Stealth (Sniper's nest)
Weaponry (Combat knife)
Crafts (Bullets)

XP expenditure

+ 10xp for Morality Drop
- 9xp for Brawl 1,2
- 10xp for Intelligence 2
- 3xp for Survival 1
- 2xp for Status (Taskforce: VALKYRIE) 1
- 6xp for Huginn Visor
- 6xp for Indomitable
- 2xp for Fighting Style (Spetsnaz Knife-Fighting)
- 2xp for Quick Draw
- 2xp for Etheric Rounds (M24)
- 2xp for Etheric Rounds (M1911A)

Description: A man of 34, Donahue stands at 6'2, with broad shoulders, a heavy chest and powerful muscles. His eyes are dark brown and hooded, constantly moving and hyperalert. His sandy brown hair is in a neat crewcut, and he is always cleanshaven.

He'd be a relatively good-looking man if he smiled more, but he always seems to be scowling, and his eyes are always ringed with black. He dresses in comfortable combat pants and vests mostly, although he's most comfortable when suited up in his VALKYRIE BDU.

He has a unit tattoo on his left bicep, just above his RDIF chip scar. It is a bald eagle, its wings spread open, clutching a rifle in its talons. There are dog tags around its neck.

History: Donahue was born in New Haven, Connecticut, to a hard working electrician called Franklin Mason and his wife, Mary-Anne Mason. He was the fourth of eight children in the poor, but loving family. He did moderately well in school, but excelled in sports. At age 18, after graduating High School with modest grades, he entered into the Army.

With firm structure and discipline, Donahue excelled. Naturally proficiency with firearms combined with a light touch and an affinity for stealth resulted in him being trained as a sniper. He served several tours, spending time in Japan, Germany, Afganistan and Iraq. He bonded well with his unit, until the day he missed.

He'd seen the man as he moved through the crowd. He'd seen the bulk of the explosives under his coat. He'd had a clear shot and he'd squeezed the trigger. He was never sure where exactly the child had come from, but he could see every detail of the boy's face as his chest exploded from his bullet.

There was an inquiry. He was cleared of any wrongdoing. A tragic accident. But he dreamed about the boy's face after that and became withdrawn and quiet around his comrades. He was given medical leave, psychiatric counselling and returned to deployment in the Philippines. He felt that he'd recovered from the accident, although he tried not to think of it at all.

The nightmares died down, until the day his squad were out in the rainforest on training exercises. He'd found a comfortable overlook with the least restriction to his vision. A wargame. They were hunting another squad, with whom they had a friendly rivalry on base.

He'd seen the first man lurching out towards his comrades. He'd known there was something wrong, but in the moment, he'd hesitated to try and see what was wrong. Someone screamed incoherantly into his radio. He heard someone firing- live ammunition. Bullets exploded across the lurching man's chest. No blood flowed. He didn't fall to the ground. The corporal was screaming, struggling in his grasp.

Donahue realised that the man was dead, must have been dead, but he was walking. His fingers reloaded his rifle with live ammo without thinking, and as the creature, yes, because it was a creature, not a man, bit through the corporal's throat, he put a bullet between its eyes. It fell to the floor.

More of them came. He had little live ammunition. He radioed back to base, hollering for support, saying the word insurgents because he couldn't fully vocalise what he was seeing. He kept shooting, headshot after headshot until his clips were empty. He drew his knife as they came towards him.

His squad was dead. His friends were dead. They were all dead. And as he watched, they got back to their feet and came at him. He ran, fighting them off as he heard the choppers overhead.

One of them caught him and in the struggle, he fell over the edge of a sheer, volcanic cliff. His ribs were broken. His legs were broken. The creatures surrounded him and he knew he was going to die.

He woke up in a hospital, months later. His legs had been set and his ribs were healed. He'd been in a medical coma, fighting a fever. He'd survived, just. There were men and women in suits near him, and they offered him a choice. Join them or else. He'd be serving his country in a way he'd never thought possible. They needed heroes.

He agreed, and they put a chip in his left bicep, just above his unit tattoo. He accepted it. It was a relief to know that whatever it had been that he faced, it was real and the Government knew about it.

VALKYRIE arranged for him to be honourably discharged on medical grounds and registered him with the local veteran's association. He also spent time with various psychiatrists, as the trauma of lying in the rainforest, his legs broken, the creatures coming from him haunted his dreams and left him unable to sleep. He fears that one day, he will wake up and find himself face to face with a monster.

In his spare time, Donahue works on crafts projects in the small shed behind his house. He likes building furniture, although when he has to, he makes special bullets. Iron, silver, others. He knows how guns work.

He is apparently an unemployed veteran, his only work for VALKYRIE. He feels secure in his house, although he always barricades himself into his room and sleeps with his weapons on hand. He has a pet German Shepherd called Clark.

He would never admit it, but sometimes he collects comic books and fantasises about being a superhero. It would be nice, he thinks, to be powerful and invincible, and to be able to save everyon. If he was Superman, he'd have been able to save his men. But he's not, and he never will be.

On his worse nights, he drinks and finds himself brutally angry at everyone and everything. Sometimes, he'd like to burn the world down if it means those damn things out there will leave people alone.