The very definition of “professional.” Does what he’s told without question or hesitation. Never negotiates – either the job is worth the money or it isn’t. Doesn’t talk much, doesn’t need to. Minimizes collateral damage and is proficient with a whole host of weapons. Quite athletic and good with his hands.
Terrified and panicked every second of the day, locked inside that stoic exterior, running from something he can never forget.
The Sixth World hasn’t been kind to Africa or the Middle East, and he was a part of the corporate and government land-grab that came after every disaster. Assassinations, demolitions, “accidents,” he had been a part of it all. Always did his job, never complained; the perfect corporate mercenary. His handlers didn’t even know if he was still human or if all the sleek augmentations had simply turned off his emotions. Either way, he got results and to the ones pulling the strings, results are all that matters.
The last official report has him deployed to an undisclosed location on the Ivory Coast, sent in with a small team for “research purposes.” Contrary to all corporate information, he actually made it out of there alive, but he wasn’t ever the same again. He tracked down his local handler, a feral, haunted look in his eyes, and broke down crying, huge gasping sobs, in her ramshackle hotel room. She had seen combat operators break before, but nothing like this. It took more than twelve hours for his wailing to stop and tremors to ease.
Two weeks later he found himself walking out of a cargo ship berthed in Puget Sound. “Nobody will find you,” he was promised. “Just be yourself and you’ll fit right in.” A commlink number and a few thousand nuyen was all he had to his name. It wasn’t long before a local fixer called him.
From there, his reputation just built itself, much as it had during his days in corporate life.
But inside, everything was different. Addicted to painkillers, using harsh downers to sleep, he was a mess, trying to run away from what he saw, what happened, in those dark African caves. The sounds, his teammates, what he saw in those flashes of gunfire.
What’s worse, he knows that whatever it was he saw knows he got away, and that they’ll never stop looking for him. He may look to the world as a steely, no-nonsense shadowrunner, but it’s all he can do to keep up the facade.
