Exactly. That's the point. Do you know how long this deadbeat's been lying in your ward, barely speaking and draining thousands of dollars for each treatment? Is he even insured? This can't go on. Patient K-52 has shown significant signs of physical rehabilitation, right?. Turn the man loose! If he collapses from some heart problem in the street, that's his problem.
Here are the results from his psych test, the last scrap of information you need before the discharge. I want him out, Clyde. By dawn.
-Sarah
Patient K-52 Psychiatric & Sociological Report
Name: Born Samantha Reaver, but has gone by the alias "King" for most of his adult life. Yes, his. Give it a minute.
Age: About... 24 years of age? Claims he walked into his first casino at nine, played his first legal hand at eighteen, and had four years or so of a happy life followed by these past two on a hospital bed. Discharge strongly advised.
Gender: Male. Somehow confident in his sexuality with a name like Samantha.
Personality:
Shady? Perceptive? Where do I start?
Mr. Reaver is not cut from the finest cloth. Though, wait. No. Not quite the qualities of your average street thug. He more closely resembles a thug's victim: Quick on his feet, with eyes darting back and forth in a constant search for the next threat. The only time I've seen him at peace is when I made the mistake of leaving a deck of cards on my desk. When I'd come back, K-52 had a whole game of blackjack waiting for me. He gave an easy laugh and bet me his cast he'd win. He did. With ease. The rest of the time, subject fidgets with a stiff slip of paper hung around his neck: A lone king of diamonds, tattered and torn but still easily recognizable. This constant twirling and tugging of the card betrays his aforementioned nervous personality, and may be a symptom of a mild attention deficit disorder or something similar.
The man seems to be distracted by the slightest movement or action. If I so much as twitched a pinky after an all-day session, his whole body would snap to attention. Muscles tensed. He looked for all the world like a man-sized squirrel raring to flee. Despite this, he seems capable of an intense focus into whatever subject currently interests him: Cards, liquor, women. Mostly the former. Rarely the latter.
Subject does show some redeeming qualities. He comes off as worldly and learned, despite having no formal teaching. Addition and subtraction are his strong suits (particularly with numbers 1 to 12) as well as rapid probability calculations. Never once has he snapped back at me for prying too deeply, and he seems very open for someone with such a past. If he's hiding something, he's a very good liar. Unlikely, though, considering his tendency to avoid extended interaction without any stakes. Claims it's too boring.
K-52 has no obvious criminal record, aside from being involved with a questionable crowd like himself. Subject is mentally stable and normal apart from the previously mentioned mild ADD and an strong, ever-present gambler's fever.
Backstory:
As expected, K-52 has not led a perfect life.
His story starts with his earliest memories, around age five. He grew up in a ratty apartment somewhere in the inner city. His only family was father Michael Reaver, a construction worker on the east side of town. K-52... No, Sam. Sam recalls a constant stench of alcohol and tobacco around the house, with ashes and cigar stubs piled high in every corner. His father apparently beat him when disobedient. Sometimes when perfectly obedient. Frequently. Didn't matter, he said. The only (and I use this phrase loosely)"family time" was the incessant poker games his father played with thugs in the house. Sam would watch from a distance as chips changed hands. It's suspected that this is where his gambling problem began.
Side note: Though not nearly to the extent of present-day Sam, it seems the father was also somewhat of a gambler. He once bet a friend that his unborn child would be a girl, going so far as to wager "Samantha" as the child's name. He lost. Three guesses what happened to the child.
Years later, Sam managed to get into one of his father's games. Somehow. Maybe it was another bet from Michael. Maybe they needed more money in the pool. Who knows. Regardless, Sam seems to have swept the table in most of his games. His father, recognizing a talent for cash when he saw one, set Sam in every game. The league eventually broke up; Sam (and subsequently Michael) held all the cash. The poverty-stricken thugs just couldn't afford to play anymore. These tough, hardened poker players with years of experience had lost to a boy of 9. It must have been embarrassing. Michael must've been pretty damn intimidating, too, given that they didn't leave more... violently. Where was I? Right, talent. Father. His father was driven wild with greed after this episode. Here, in the palm of his hand, he had the answer to all of life's problems. Cigars, prostitutes, beer and cats: They could all be his, if only he squeezed every penny from this kid's skill. He took him on a tour of all the biggest and brightest casinos in the city. In each one, Sam made his father a fortune. Not that this benefited Sam. At all. His father beat him less often, if that meant anything, but his life was otherwise unchanged.
Then it happened. Michael Reaver, age 42, shot dead outside of the largest casino in town. The authorities never caught a killer, but rumor has it the casino itself took down Michael to raise profit margins. He'd been too successful for his own good. He was found with only one possession: A deck of cards, 51 strong.
Where did this leave young Sam, then? He says he lived on the streets for eight years, from ages 10 to 18. Here he picked up his nervous habits. Here, he learned to run. Every night spent on the cold pavement, or in a back alley, made him wilier than the day before. He learned to protect himself. Fair fights? They were a thing of the past. Only the strong could afford to be fair. In this period, Sam left behind his old identity as an abused child and took on a new one: "King". Took the name from a single card he kept from his old life, the one he wears around his neck as I talk to him now. Not out of love or affection for his father did he keep this card, nor as a reminder for future revenge. He tells me that the card represents everything he knew of life at the time. Cards, chips, slots. The only things he had left.
Once he turned 18, Sa- I'm sorry, "King" was legally allowed to gamble on his own. And oh, boy, did he. He retained much of the skill from his previous life. If anything, it was improved. He could clean a table in only a few minutes. Bluffs, you say? Please. Bluffs didn't work on this man. He could spot a lie a mile away. King didn't made the mistake his father did; He moved around, letting the casinos recoup their losses before swooping back in to sweep another dealer. He bought an apartment on the nice side of town. Got a cat. Ate good food. Lived entirely off of his earnings. It was the happiest time of his life at the point, he said. Four years where everything was going right.
(Interestingly enough, he never took out a single insurance policy in this time of financial security. He said he'd take the risk.)
Eventually his actions caught up with him. As he left a particularly seedy casino one fine evening, he was ambushed by five armed men. Extremely aggressive. Two held clubs, two held spades. The other brandished a knife. One had an exposed check with the pit boss's name scrawled across. To King's credit, he took down two and nearly got away from the others. Nearly.
His memory was a bit fuzzy afterwards, so this portion is entirely from medical records. Excuse the break in continuity.
Samantha Reaver, age 22, was brought in to the King's Mill hospital at 4 AM on a Sunday morning. He suffered from multiple blunt strikes to the head (probable concussions), a broken wrist, three broken ribs, and a visceral stab wound in the chest. The blade had scraped his heart. Blood poured. This near-corpse spent weeks in intensive care before being moved to Dr. Gangler's ward.
Expected to make a partial recovery. Ribs and wrist will almost certainly heal fully, and concussions should have no lasting impact on cognitive function. Our largest concern is the stab wound. Permanent visible scar. Aside from that, subject has suffered severe damage to the left atrium. No artificial hearts available in the near future. Our only shot was an experimental drug, DiamOn, to regulate blood flow and mend tissue. It saved his life, but... it's extremely addictive. Not psychologically. Physically. Mr. Reaver's heart may cease to function entirely if he goes too long without a dosage.
It will be with him for life. And it isn't cheap. Insurance should cover.
Mr. Reaver had no prior insurance plan. No company on earth would pick him up now. He'll be paying large sums of money out of pocket for as long as his heart pumps.
Over the next two years Mr. Reaver recovered physically, though deteriorated financially. Psychologically he seems unchanged, but his gambling addiction has worsened with his withdrawal. He's picked up the habit of rolling a die or flipping a coin to make everyday decisions. What's for lunch? Six, pasta. Coming to Dr. Hember's party, Sam? Tails, no. At his lowest point, he flipped coins to decide on the daily DiamOn. Reaver literally put his life in the hands of probability for no reason other than entertainment. It's crazy. If he still makes these kind of judgment calls, he does them in secret without our knowledge. All oddities have ceased.
Reaver is psychologically sound and cleared for discharge. I recommend shipping him away to some desk job.
In fact, I hear there's a government agency recruiting in London. Safe, boring, dull... A federal job is exactly what Reaver needs at this stage. He seemed excited about it, too.
Parahuman Regulation Bureau Submission, for the Employment of Samantha "King" Reaver:
Mr. Reaver, also known as King, has exhibited exceptional street smarts and clever notions. His physical combat skills are not exceptional but certainly above average. Reaver's past shows him as accustomed to adversity and hardship, the majority of which he has overcome. He is highly perceptive in even normal environments, as well as swift and agile on his feet. Occasionally he shows a deep focus for his current task, able to tune out most of what's going on around him. His mind is sharp. No formal education, but lightning calculations of probability and the like. Physically fit and healthy except for a daily drug dosage.
Willing to take risks.
Likes:
Cards, dice, and luck.
Dislikes:
Predictability, hearts, and fuckers that call him Samantha
Anything extra:
Rambly thought process if you're interested:
-Gamble. Luck. Dice and cards. Gambler? Sure, gambler. Arrested. Wait, maybe put in coma? Coma would be from a customer if I was a dealer, or if I was a player in a seedy casino another player or the casino itself would come after me accusing me of cheating. Lends itself to a small non-power perk, such as "Good at cards" or "Lucky" or some shit. Could even apply to a broader topic like "Good at reading people". Like that one guy from Skorpion. Ayy! Found my basis or not. No, make it original ya prick. Think Two-Face, where I'm so addicted to gambling that most every decision I make is based on luck and probability. Maybe addiction is the wrong word. Yes, to some extent, addicted. Maybe because I'm so good that I always win? No, that makes for a boring character! I need flaws. Perhaps I took a large risk in the past and lost out on it. Possible physical disability resulted. Yes, I like that. Make it so.
-Name! Something related to gambling if I want to do that. Maybe make it some weird-ass name, say my father took a bet I'd be a girl and lost it, so I ended up as Frimble or some shit. Runs in the family. Reading back that line with Frimble made me laugh, so: Self! Take some of this draft and splice it into the final CS.
-Personality: Oh, so many ways to go with this. Cool & detached? Calm confident leader? Big aggressive guy? Oh, ha! What if I do the Colbert-type character with an incredibly inflated ego? Would that even work with a gambler? It'd be fun, perhaps, but it'd be tough work to keep up and may get repetitive. Colbert's conservative only worked because all of the stuff he said was blatantly (brilliantly) arguing the liberal side, which wouldn't really happen much in an RP. Like, what "other side" do I have? The GM? Oh, Jesus, don't make this a Deadpool. Fourth wall breakers need to be so incredibly funny or weird or just zany to be generally accepted.
Anyway, though, that rambled. Thing! Personality. Well, judging by that post, I'm easily distracted. Boom, one down. Hey, butterfly! Focus. Methhead type clinging to what little wealth he has left, ready to shell it out for gambling? SIDE NOTE AMAZING. Somehow, don't care how, this PRB is his next big gamble. Huge. Biggest gamble of his life. End amazingness. An easily distracted character would be great in that it lets me fill up spaaaaaace like this, but it also carries a certain image. Specifically a thin, fidgety white guy. Fuck that. Fidgety? I can go for that, maybe. No. Certain times. When he's excited or angry or under pressure or something, he fidgets with a special deck of cards or pair of dice or coin (coin may be too much like Two-Face). Yes! Like it. Fuck it's late.
And we're back with added preparation. Reading through all the character sheets, I realize a conman criminal gambler would be way too similar to Frosted's guy. Damn. Cam I make the character work? I really don't want to give up so soon on him. Let's see... Criminal past. Does he have a criminal past? If so, it really shouldn't be for cheating and conning. Goddamn, he used loan sharks in the backstory too. FROSTEDCAMEL! *shakes fist* I guess I've got to add some morality, then. Ugh. Hm... How about he was a normal guy that developed the Vegas fever and watched himself destroy the life he'd lived? Ah, no, that would imply regret. Maybe regret. No, no negative feelings attached to this. I want this guy taking every excuse to whip out a deck of cards and play a hand for cash.
Actual thinking occurred between this paragraph and the last. Here we go: Life started badly, alcoholic father (with a similar, yet smaller, addiction to the slots and such). Father hates kid. Says he's useless, only gets in the way, regular beatings. One day, through some reason that has nothing to do with the father's being nice to him in any way, he "gets" to tag along to a poker match with his dad's buddies. No, regularly. These guys are pros, and he grew up watching them. Yes. Good. By some miracle he gets into a game with them, these battle-hardened casino pros, and beats them all. Somehow. Father realizes the kid can make money, takes him to the big league casino. Goes well for a while. Casino eventually catches on, seeing this deep cut to its profits, and kills the father believing him to be the "head of the snake", as it were.
Child turned out on the streets. Nowhere to go. Life of risk and danger, fighting for every meal, never giving up the fever. Perhaps a physical reminder? Not to attach him to his father or anything, but rather to this new life of cards and slots. Like, uh, a deck of cards. No! A single card. Ha, if it's a jack I could call him Jack. Heh. No, focus. Oh... But hm. He could've taken on that name in his time on the streets, after clinging to the card for so long. Yes! Great. Where was I? Aha! Once this badass (more of a street urchin?) is old enough to gamble again he goes "professional". Sort of. Goes to seedy casinos and works his way up, maybe even living luxiourously for a while. Ages, mid/late twenties. Goes back to the casino that killed his father, thanks them, and proceeds to bleed them dry at a poker table every day. Mobsters come after him. Severely injured. Multiple stab wounds, fractured wrist, broken rib. Few concussions for good measure. He survives, of course, but racks up some exorbitant medical bills for past treatment and a regular dosage of some kind of drug. Realizes that, though enormously profitable, gaming the casinos was dangerous. So he takes the biggest risk of his life: Entering a high-level organization with no prior (traditional) work experience. PRB. Fuck yeah. I only had to write five novels to get here! Brilliant.
Whoa, I'm ready. Sweet. Might have to fill in a few gaps with likes/dislikes, personality, and "Why would they want you", but otherwise I'm set. Awesome! Now to write it up for real.
Exactly. That's the point. Do you know how long this deadbeat's been lying in your ward, barely speaking and draining thousands of dollars for each treatment? Is he even insured? This can't go on. Patient K-52 has shown significant signs of physical rehabilitation, right?. Turn the man loose! If he collapses from some heart problem in the street, that's his problem.
Here are the results from his psych test, the last scrap of information you need before the discharge. I want him out, Clyde. By dawn.
-Sarah
Patient K-52 Psychiatric & Sociological Report
Name: Born Samantha Reaver, but has gone by the alias "King" for most of his adult life. Yes, his. Give it a minute.
Age: About... 24 years of age? Claims he walked into his first casino at nine, played his first legal hand at eighteen, and had four years or so of a happy life followed by these past two on a hospital bed. Discharge strongly advised.
Gender: Male. Somehow confident in his sexuality with a name like Samantha.
Personality:
Shady? Perceptive? Where do I start?
Mr. Reaver is not cut from the finest cloth. Though, wait. No. Not quite the qualities of your average street thug. He more closely resembles a thug's victim: Quick on his feet, with eyes darting back and forth in a constant search for the next threat. The only time I've seen him at peace is when I made the mistake of leaving a deck of cards on my desk. When I'd come back, K-52 had a whole game of blackjack waiting for me. He gave an easy laugh and bet me his cast he'd win. He did. With ease. The rest of the time, subject fidgets with a stiff slip of paper hung around his neck: A lone king of diamonds, tattered and torn but still easily recognizable. This constant twirling and tugging of the card betrays his aforementioned nervous personality, and may be a symptom of a mild attention deficit disorder or something similar.
The man seems to be distracted by the slightest movement or action. If I so much as twitched a pinky after an all-day session, his whole body would snap to attention. Muscles tensed. He looked for all the world like a man-sized squirrel raring to flee. Despite this, he seems capable of an intense focus into whatever subject currently interests him: Cards, liquor, women. Mostly the former. Rarely the latter.
Subject does show some redeeming qualities. He comes off as worldly and learned, despite having no formal teaching. Addition and subtraction are his strong suits (particularly with numbers 1 to 12) as well as rapid probability calculations. Never once has he snapped back at me for prying too deeply, and he seems very open for someone with such a past. If he's hiding something, he's a very good liar. Unlikely, though, considering his tendency to avoid extended interaction without any stakes. Claims it's too boring.
K-52 has no obvious criminal record, aside from being involved with a questionable crowd like himself. Subject is mentally stable and normal apart from the previously mentioned mild ADD and an strong, ever-present gambler's fever.
Backstory:
As expected, K-52 has not led a perfect life.
His story starts with his earliest memories, around age five. He grew up in a ratty apartment somewhere in the inner city. His only family was father Michael Reaver, a construction worker on the east side of town. K-52... No, Sam. Sam recalls a constant stench of alcohol and tobacco around the house, with ashes and cigar stubs piled high in every corner. His father apparently beat him when disobedient. Sometimes when perfectly obedient. Frequently. Didn't matter, he said. The only (and I use this phrase loosely)"family time" was the incessant poker games his father played with thugs in the house. Sam would watch from a distance as chips changed hands. It's suspected that this is where his gambling problem began.
Side note: Though not nearly to the extent of present-day Sam, it seems the father was also somewhat of a gambler. He once bet a friend that his unborn child would be a girl, going so far as to wager "Samantha" as the child's name. He lost. Three guesses what happened to the child.
Years later, Sam managed to get into one of his father's games. Somehow. Maybe it was another bet from Michael. Maybe they needed more money in the pool. Who knows. Regardless, Sam seems to have swept the table in most of his games. His father, recognizing a talent for cash when he saw one, set Sam in every game. The league eventually broke up; Sam (and subsequently Michael) held all the cash. The poverty-stricken thugs just couldn't afford to play anymore. These tough, hardened poker players with years of experience had lost to a boy of 9. It must have been embarrassing. Michael must've been pretty damn intimidating, too, given that they didn't leave more... violently. Where was I? Right, talent. Father. His father was driven wild with greed after this episode. Here, in the palm of his hand, he had the answer to all of life's problems. Cigars, prostitutes, beer and cats: They could all be his, if only he squeezed every penny from this kid's skill. He took him on a tour of all the biggest and brightest casinos in the city. In each one, Sam made his father a fortune. Not that this benefited Sam. At all. His father beat him less often, if that meant anything, but his life was otherwise unchanged.
Then it happened. Michael Reaver, age 42, shot dead outside of the largest casino in town. The authorities never caught a killer, but rumor has it the casino itself took down Michael to raise profit margins. He'd been too successful for his own good. He was found with only one possession: A deck of cards, 51 strong.
Where did this leave young Sam, then? He says he lived on the streets for eight years, from ages 10 to 18. Here he picked up his nervous habits. Here, he learned to run. Every night spent on the cold pavement, or in a back alley, made him wilier than the day before. He learned to protect himself. Fair fights? They were a thing of the past. Only the strong could afford to be fair. In this period, Sam left behind his old identity as an abused child and took on a new one: "King". Took the name from a single card he kept from his old life, the one he wears around his neck as I talk to him now. Not out of love or affection for his father did he keep this card, nor as a reminder for future revenge. He tells me that the card represents everything he knew of life at the time. Cards, chips, slots. The only things he had left.
Once he turned 18, Sa- I'm sorry, "King" was legally allowed to gamble on his own. And oh, boy, did he. He retained much of the skill from his previous life. If anything, it was improved. He could clean a table in only a few minutes. Bluffs, you say? Please. Bluffs didn't work on this man. He could spot a lie a mile away. King didn't made the mistake his father did; He moved around, letting the casinos recoup their losses before swooping back in to sweep another dealer. He bought an apartment on the nice side of town. Got a cat. Ate good food. Lived entirely off of his earnings. It was the happiest time of his life at the point, he said. Four years where everything was going right.
(Interestingly enough, he never took out a single insurance policy in this time of financial security. He said he'd take the risk.)
Eventually his actions caught up with him. As he left a particularly seedy casino one fine evening, he was ambushed by five armed men. Extremely aggressive. Two held clubs, two held spades. The other brandished a knife. One had an exposed check with the pit boss's name scrawled across. To King's credit, he took down two and nearly got away from the others. Nearly.
His memory was a bit fuzzy afterwards, so this portion is entirely from medical records. Excuse the break in continuity.
Mr. Reaver had no prior insurance plan. No company on earth would pick him up now. He'll be paying large sums of money out of pocket for as long as his heart pumps.
Over the next two years Mr. Reaver recovered physically, though deteriorated financially. Psychologically he seems unchanged, but his gambling addiction has worsened with his withdrawal. He's picked up the habit of rolling a die or flipping a coin to make everyday decisions. What's for lunch? Six, pasta. Coming to Dr. Hember's party, Sam? Tails, no. At his lowest point, he flipped coins to decide on the daily DiamOn. Reaver literally put his life in the hands of probability for no reason other than entertainment. It's crazy. If he still makes these kind of judgment calls, he does them in secret without our knowledge. All oddities have ceased.
Reaver is psychologically sound and cleared for discharge. I recommend shipping him away to some desk job.
In fact, I hear there's a government agency recruiting in London. Safe, boring, dull... A federal job is exactly what Reaver needs at this stage. He seemed excited about it, too.
Parahuman Regulation Bureau Submission, for the Employment of Samantha "King" Reaver:
Mr. Reaver, also known as King, has exhibited exceptional street smarts and clever notions. His physical combat skills are not exceptional but certainly above average. Reaver's past shows him as accustomed to adversity and hardship, the majority of which he has overcome. He is highly perceptive in even normal environments, as well as swift and agile on his feet. Occasionally he shows a deep focus for his current task, able to tune out most of what's going on around him. His mind is sharp. No formal education, but lighting calculations of probability and the like. Physically fit and healthy except for a daily drug dosage.
Willing to take risks.
Likes:
Cards, dice, and luck.
Dislikes:
Predictability, hearts, and fuckers that call him Samantha
Anything extra:
Rambly thought process if you're interested:
-Gamble. Luck. Dice and cards. Gambler? Sure, gambler. Arrested. Wait, maybe put in coma? Coma would be from a customer if I was a dealer, or if I was a player in a seedy casino another player or the casino itself would come after me accusing me of cheating. Lends itself to a small non-power perk, such as "Good at cards" or "Lucky" or some shit. Could even apply to a broader topic like "Good at reading people". Like that one guy from Skorpion. Ayy! Found my basis or not. No, make it original ya prick. Think Two-Face, where I'm so addicted to gambling that most every decision I make is based on luck and probability. Maybe addiction is the wrong word. Yes, to some extent, addicted. Maybe because I'm so good that I always win? No, that makes for a boring character! I need flaws. Perhaps I took a large risk in the past and lost out on it. Possible physical disability resulted. Yes, I like that. Make it so.
-Name! Something related to gambling if I want to do that. Maybe make it some weird-ass name, say my father took a bet I'd be a girl and lost it, so I ended up as Frimble or some shit. Runs in the family. Reading back that line with Frimble made me laugh, so: Self! Take some of this draft and splice it into the final CS.
-Personality: Oh, so many ways to go with this. Cool & detached? Calm confident leader? Big aggressive guy? Oh, ha! What if I do the Colbert-type character with an incredibly inflated ego? Would that even work with a gambler? It'd be fun, perhaps, but it'd be tough work to keep up and may get repetitive. Colbert's conservative only worked because all of the stuff he said was blatantly (brilliantly) arguing the liberal side, which wouldn't really happen much in an RP. Like, what "other side" do I have? The GM? Oh, Jesus, don't make this a Deadpool. Fourth wall breakers need to be so incredibly funny or weird or just zany to be generally accepted.
Anyway, though, that rambled. Thing! Personality. Well, judging by that post, I'm easily distracted. Boom, one down. Hey, butterfly! Focus. Methhead type clinging to what little wealth he has left, ready to shell it out for gambling? SIDE NOTE AMAZING. Somehow, don't care how, this PRB is his next big gamble. Huge. Biggest gamble of his life. End amazingness. An easily distracted character would be great in that it lets me fill up spaaaaaace like this, but it also carries a certain image. Specifically a thin, fidgety white guy. Fuck that. Fidgety? I can go for that, maybe. No. Certain times. When he's excited or angry or under pressure or something, he fidgets with a special deck of cards or pair of dice or coin (coin may be too much like Two-Face). Yes! Like it. Fuck it's late.
And we're back with added preparation. Reading through all the character sheets, I realize a conman criminal gambler would be way too similar to Frosted's guy. Damn. Cam I make the character work? I really don't want to give up so soon on him. Let's see... Criminal past. Does he have a criminal past? If so, it really shouldn't be for cheating and conning. Goddamn, he used loan sharks in the backstory too. FROSTEDCAMEL! *shakes fist* I guess I've got to add some morality, then. Ugh. Hm... How about he was a normal guy that developed the Vegas fever and watched himself destroy the life he'd lived? Ah, no, that would imply regret. Maybe regret. No, no negative feelings attached to this. I want this guy taking every excuse to whip out a deck of cards and play a hand for cash.
Actual thinking occurred between this paragraph and the last. Here we go: Life started badly, alcoholic father (with a similar, yet smaller, addiction to the slots and such). Father hates kid. Says he's useless, only gets in the way, regular beatings. One day, through some reason that has nothing to do with the father's being nice to him in any way, he "gets" to tag along to a poker match with his dad's buddies. No, regularly. These guys are pros, and he grew up watching them. Yes. Good. By some miracle he gets into a game with them, these battle-hardened casino pros, and beats them all. Somehow. Father realizes the kid can make money, takes him to the big league casino. Goes well for a while. Casino eventually catches on, seeing this deep cut to its profits, and kills the father believing him to be the "head of the snake", as it were.
Child turned out on the streets. Nowhere to go. Life of risk and danger, fighting for every meal, never giving up the fever. Perhaps a physical reminder? Not to attach him to his father or anything, but rather to this new life of cards and slots. Like, uh, a deck of cards. No! A single card. Ha, if it's a jack I could call him Jack. Heh. No, focus. Oh... But hm. He could've taken on that name in his time on the streets, after clinging to the card for so long. Yes! Great. Where was I? Aha! Once this badass (more of a street urchin?) is old enough to gamble again he goes "professional". Sort of. Goes to seedy casinos and works his way up, maybe even living luxiourously for a while. Ages, mid/late twenties. Goes back to the casino that killed his father, thanks them, and proceeds to bleed them dry at a poker table every day. Mobsters come after him. Severely injured. Multiple stab wounds, fractured wrist, broken rib. Few concussions for good measure. He survives, of course, but racks up some exorbitant medical bills for past treatment and a regular dosage of some kind of drug. Realizes that, though enormously profitable, gaming the casinos was dangerous. So he takes the biggest risk of his life: Entering a high-level organization with no prior (traditional) work experience. PRB. Fuck yeah. I only had to write five novels to get here! Brilliant.
Whoa, I'm ready. Sweet. Might have to fill in a few gaps with likes/dislikes, personality, and "Why would they want you", but otherwise I'm set. Awesome! Now to write it up for real.
Yes, I did, but I also noticed that if there us no anime pic, that something could be made. I did state this aswell, that I did not find an adequate picture of an anime looking character.
Yes, I did, but I also noticed that if there us no anime pic, that something could be made. I did state this aswell, that I did not find an adequate picture of an anime looking character.
An FBI agent would need permission from the British government to carry a firearm around. Even if Lincoln was here to liaise with frigging Scotland Yard he usually wouldn't be allowed: US law does not apply to the UK and an FBI agent has no law enforcement jurisdiction across the pond. If guns are illegal, guns are illegal, whether he's here for business or pleasure.
