Origin of Sargent Psycho.




Note: When i created the character I spelled it "Sargent" but unfortunatley this is incorrect. Correct spelling used in story. Also I'm not sure if this i situation, it's slightly graphic but doesn't go into to extreme detail Anyways here it goes:

Sergeant Psycho’s Back-story.
I see their faces every time I close my eyes. Souls screaming for Justice. Not the kind of Justice that comes through a court and a trial.
Eye for an Eye, Tooth for a Tooth.
The kind of Justice that comes from the barrel of a gun, a swing of the sword, or the blade of an Ax. Quick justice, Final Justice. I see all their faces, from the latest victim of Paragon’s streets, to the villagers of Viet Nam.

My name is… was Michael Sikowski. Now they call me, Sergeant Psycho. And this is my Story.

That day will haunt me for the rest of my life. The first village to go up in flames was horrifying enough - there’s something about seeing the charred remains of another human being that guarantees you’ll be a vegetarian for life – but that second village... was far worse.
My unit had been deployed to capture an NVA commander who had been raiding and terrorizing the locals into submission (including burning one of the villages and all it’s occupants to cinders), for the good of the people as their rhetoric goes, and it was our job to stop them. Contrary to popular belief, the soldiers of Viet Nam were not baby killers; those were the people we were fighting. The village elders were they first ones to greet us. They smiled at us and welcomed us into their homes. The other villagers treated us like honored guests. The men of my unit quickly came to know them as friends. Several days after I arrival, we were out on patrol made contact with a number of NVA soldiers. In the ensuring fire fight, we were able to rout the enemy back into the jungle, but not until I saw our objective among their ranks: the NVA commander. I had him right in my sights. One pull of the trigger would have ended it all but….
But I had definitive orders to take him alive at all costs. Not only would taking him alive yield a treasure trove of intelligence, but they’d be able to get a propaganda victory for forcing him to trial for his crimes.
And so, I held my fire like the good little soldier boy. And he got away.
Several days after that, we were running another patrol through the jungle. When we got back, I saw something I would never forget. The huts and buildings of the village were all on fire, but there was nobody hurrying for water. No body fleeing the flames or trying to but them out. Then it dawned on me: the NVA had watched us the whole time, and waited till we were gone. Then they had rounded up every last man woman and child into the huts and set them on fire. People we had come to think of friends, people we liked almost to the point of affection, had met the most horrible death imaginable. The next thought that hit me was that it was my fault, if I had killed the Commander when I had the chance, none of this would have happened. The feeling of guilt hit me like a bullet through the abdomen. I’ve never forgiven myself for my mistake. It’s a burden I’ve had to carry all with me all these years. The Commander who ordered them burned was never caught and was awarded a medal for heroism after the fall of Saigon in 1975.
I saw a lot of this kind of thing as my years ‘Nam dragged on. Mostly it was the NVA or the VC who committed these atrocities. For awhile I thought I was simply the wicked nature of our enemy (and by implication, the just nature of our cause). But then rumors of massacres like My Lai came out and I knew it wasn’t a simple matter of our way verses their way. It was a matter of criminal and victim, robber and robbed, murderer and murdered. This wasn’t about ideology, it was about Justice.
After the war, I enlisted to a SEAL Team. I spent the period from the early 1980’s to the late 90’s helping to fight the so called “War on Drugs” in South America. Most of the guys we took pains to capture alive were able to see the light of day again. There was always some way they got off. Some times they bought a jury. Some times they black mailed a jury. Hell, they even threatened a jury. You’d be surprised out easily you can get an innocent verdict if you recite a person’s home address along with the name and address of their kid’s elementary school. All via an untraceable phone call of course. And then of course there were the lawyers. They always found some stupid loophole or technicality. Once a guy - who I know killed several people- got off because we had to go into the ladies’ room to find several pounds of coke.
And then it all came to an end. In 1998, I was in a mission in Peru. We had chased one of the big guys to his villa in the middle of a jungle. I followed him into his basement where he promptly gave up. Unfortunately for him, there was a farmer and his family in the basement. Except they had all been lined up against a wall and shot. I couldn’t let this stand. They might court martial me. They might even hand me a blind fold and a smoke and say “this is it”. But I wouldn’t let this stand. Not even giving it a second though, I put my rifle to the drug lord’s head and pulled the trigger.
I was labeled a disgrace to the SEALS and dishonorably discharged. It was only my record of loyalty and service for countless years that kept me from getting worse. After that I was became something of a drifter until they came.
Nobody really knows anything about them. But they all know their name, the Ritki. For reasons unknown, they came here from some other world, blasting away at every one and everything. I was able to get some weapons off the black market, and I became a guerrilla fighter of sorts. I’d fire a well aimed shot here, lay a booby trap there. Nothing major, just doing my part to help the human race. After the war, it became apparent that I was what I always had been. A soldier. I decided to take my skills and help clean up the trash of Paragon. Of course I do it my way. Unlike some of the other “Heroes” of Paragon City, I don’t spin the wheels of a broken justice system. I dispense Justice right on the streets. I remember the first thug I took out. After he tried to surrender, my final words were: “Surrender? Do I look like a cop to you?” And then I did my duty as Judge, Jury and Executioner. I pulled the trigger.