Name: Jacob Straw "Gutter"

Major Skills
Agility: 2
Strength: -1
Influence: -2
Alertness: - 3

Minor Skills
Accuracy: 6
Weapon skill: 5
Driving: 0
Acumen: 2
Adrenaline: 1
Medical knowledge: 1

Profession: Hit Man

Loadout:
Deagle .357; 10/9; 4/4 mags; 60 loose rnds
Barrett M82 .50; 6/10; 2/2 mags; 20 loose rnds

Items:
Communicator
Night vision w/ auto-lightness, distance meter, and battery display.
Silver Cigarette case
Zippo lighter that says The Grand Canyons on the side
A new hotel card with a phone number on the back with Monica written above it, and hearts next to her name.
Duffle bag
Cleaning kit
$800

Background: Jacob was always into making money, hell he'd do just about anything to make a quick buck. He was doing well until "That fucking time" as he puts it. Nobody really knows what went wrong except for him of course, he was found in the ditch (hence is why everyone calls him "Gutter", and his nose fucked up, his body broken, left for dead. He doesn't want to talk about it in detail but will sometimes bask on the job that almost was. Now he's doing what he can to survive, if he was to kill someone, he'll do it he doesn't care, just don't make him drive. He fucking HATES to drive and is really bad at it. His real weakness is women of course, he'll put himself inside anything that will spread 'em, as long as they look alright. He loves guns, its something that he takes pride in, is being able to pick off targets without wasting precious bullets. It has been instilled in him through his family, who seemed to think WW3 was around the corner and kept the place nicely stocked. Since "that fucking time" though, he hasn't had much in firearms, everything was stolen from him. He's now working on restocking his arsenal for some revenge. He's not a bad guy, he'll say hello to you, wave maybe, he likes to go to clubs get drunk and try to fuck women. Trying to seem like your average Joe to keep the heat off himself. Currently he's looking for a place to live since his last burned down.

He's done his work for the Italian mob, he's a mutt though, his family has too heritages, he knows he'll never he high up in the system since he's no "trueblood". He doesn't care, he just wants to get paid.

Physical appearance: He stands at a little over 6 foot tall. 225 lbs, his body is in somewhat decent shape he tries every now and then to hit the weights. His nose is slightly bent to the right from the beating he took, it never healed right. His hair is a dusky brown; it grows a little long, just slightly above his eyebrows and somewhat shaggy. He wears mostly nice jeans, and a collard shirt of some type, he tries to make himself look clean, somewhat business casual. He keeps his face shaven and smooth.

He can't stand anybody with a bad accent most notibly Russian ones, he'll go out of his way to say something to anybody that talks like that. He thinks people should sound AMERICAN.
___________________________________________________

Name: Daniel Stratford

Skills:
Agility: 2
Strength: -1
Influence: 4
Alertness: 2

Minor Skills:
Accuracy: 2
Weapons Skill: 0
Driving: 1
Acumen: 0
Adrenaline: 3
Medical Knowledge: 1

Profession: Informant

Loadout:
HK USP .45; 11/12; 4/4 mags; 48 loose rds
Beretta 8000 9mm; ?/?; 11 mags

Items:
Communicator
Watch
Notebook with notes on mob activities
Cell Phone with Don on speed-dial
Box of Toothpicks
The letter
$2000
~$1000 (has to be counted)

Background: Have you ever been to a club and seen that one guy sitting by himself in the corner? The guy whose eyes shift around the entire dance floor as he sips a glass of wine? If you live in LaGrange territory, that guy was probably Daniel Stratford. Daniel is one of the don's most trusted men. When he needs information on anything, he sends Stratford out to investigate. He is often in a constant state of danger, but fortunately his mouth is able to help him out of a lot of situations that would otherwise leave him dead. Daniel isn't a real charmer, however. He usually gets piss-angry at anyone that dares to disrespect him. Intimidation is a dangerous game to play with some of the gangs out on the street, but so far he's been lucky. Daniel knows that his luck will eventually run out, so he carries a weapon every time he goes out on the streets.

Mob Affiliation:
Before working for the LaGrange family, Daniel used to run drugs for a small city gang that eventually tore itself apart. When fighting started within the gang, Daniel bolted and left town, knowing that the gang members would kill each other. He became known as a snitch, and gave out information to various sources, for a price of course. After helping out the LaGrange family numerous times, he was offered a position in the organization. Daniel accepted and became a trusted informant of the Don's.

Physical Appearance:
Daniel is a skinny little guy, and only measures about 5'10", which is pretty short for his age(27). He weighs around 130 pounds, and some of the bigger guys in the LaGrange organization could probably break his bones with ease. Daniel sports blonde hair and a clean-shaven face. While at home with the family, he'll often wear t-shirts and jeans, but when he is on assignment, he will put on a suit coat and black slacks. He figures that by dressing like a typical Mafia member, he'll keep many people from asking questions.

Side Notes:
Because of all the information rattling around in Daniel's head, he is in a state of paranoia 24 hours a day. He often worries that he'll be the victim of a kidnapping, and insists on protection when he goes out on an assignment. Despite the intimidating personality that he gives off, Daniel is afraid of pain. Both he and the Don know that if anyone ever tried to beat information out of Daniel, they would make him crack in no time. Daniel has also developed a nasty habit of chewing on toothpicks whenever he is nervous. At this point in his life, he probably has a few splinters in his tongue.

___________________________________________________

Name: Jacob Doe

Major Skills
Agility: 3
Strength: 0
Influence: 0
Alertness: -2

Minor Skills
Accuracy: 3
Weapons Skill: 5
Driving: 1
Acumen: 0
Adrenaline: -1
Medical knowledge: 0

Profession: Explosives expert

Loadout:
Mac-10 .45ACP; ~15/32; no mags
M-79 40mm; 1/1; no mag; 4 shells on belt
Mollies; 4 left
$300

Appearance: Jacob is a slim man of average height. His face is dominated by an unkempt red beard that is apparently only trimmed by being accidentally set on fire on a biweekly basis or so. Whenever in possession of dangerous things no sane person would willingly equip, Jacobs face lights up with a broad grin, in which the lips are more apart in their corners than they are in the middle. His eyes are of a dark shade of brown and his often slightly charred hairline is quite far back, at times making him look almost twenty years older than he is.
He typically wears cheap jeans and a cheap long-sleeved shirt. Over the shirt, he usually has a combat vest, littered with pockets of which most are likely filled with second-hand explosives, flamethrower fuel or the ammo for his latest long-ranged explosive-lobbing device, making hitting him in melee a very foolhardy act.

Behaviour: As a person, this particular bugger is not one to be loved. He is quite cocky and insane to the point where the first impression would lead one to consider him suicidal. Mr. Doe, due to his rather eventful life, fully believes that something is controlling what happens and that all he can do is try and have fun. Because of that the bugger spends his money almost too freely, usually on items that can toss things that explode, or whatever can be made into an explosive. Pretty much everyone thinks he could be a lot better with his explosives, but he constantly rushes his jobs and does them in a half-arsed manner, to get to the pretty boom faster. So far, only his talent has kept him from turning into a pile of gibs.
The only thing going for him is that he is as loyal as a dog, likely to protect his ‘friends’ until he blows himself (or possibly the rest of the city) up.

Background: Jacob was born on a small ship, as the child of a couple of bank robbers, one from Ireland, one from England. Apparently the British police had gotten fed up with them, so they fled to America. As one can guess, neither was too bright outside their area of expertise - taking money away from people who made it in a legitimate way.
When the boy was five, his parents were low on money again. As they got back to usual business, the young criminal-to-be learned to love helping his father make explosive charges.
The duo was captured, however, and promptly sent to jail. So Jacob’s situation changed and he was forced to grow up in an orphanage, quite often bullied around by bigger kids. When he got twelve, he had successfully made something similar to what he had seen his father make a long time ago. Blasting away quite a portion of his orphanage.
Having escaped the orphanage, he stumbled around the streets, dabbling more and more with pyrotechnics, a natural talent for this teenager. His life changed again when he accidentally blew up the stage of a black metal performer four and a half years later who had seen one of his smaller displays and hired him. A small-time member of the LaGrange family, who never really liked the music, helped him get away, interested in the kid.
By now, Jacob Doe has been working for the small mob for almost six years. He recently celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday by spending a lot of money on making a lot of fireworks, of which some promptly blew up in the face of a group of policemen who were gathering for a raid, hoping to bag some of the mobsters at the party.

___________________________________________________

Name: Matthew Baker

Age: 25 years old

Major Skills
Agility: 1
Strength: 2
Influence: 0
Alertness: 2

Minor Skills
Accuracy: 1
Weapons Skill: 2
Driving: 4
Acumen: 1
Adrenaline: 1
Medical Knowledge: 0

Loadout:
M1911A1 .45ACP; 4/7; 5/5 mags; 132 loose rnds
Mac-10 .45ACP; no gun; 3/3 mags;
Cleaning kit
$1350

Items:
Communicator

Possessions: His father's four door 1967 Ford Mustang. Needless to say, it's seen better days, even though it's held together with basically love and duct tape, it still runs fairly well, his most prized possession; a picture of his parents, which he keeps on the flip down sun blocker thing in his car; many packs of cigarettes and a lighter.

Background: Matthew's father raced cars and became a mechanic after Matthew was born, Matthew grew up around cars and his father taught him everything he knew, which was quite a lot. Matthew's mother died from complications of childbirth, so Matthew and his father lived alone in the city. They lived a fairly comfortable life until disaster struck when Matthew's father was killed as a result of Mafia related incident at the hands of the Russians. He was 16 at the time and now he was a witness to the crime; they wanted him dead. Matthew spent the intervening years living on the streets in his father's car, a 1967 Ford Mustang, hopping from city to city before landing in City X and meeting up with the LaGrange family. Now he sees this as the chance to exact revenge on the people who killed his father. Guilt, however, plagues him day and night, he can't explain it, but he feels at fault. In his dreams his father's blood drips from his hands. He smokes to ease his nerves.

Behavior: Matthew is a nice person, polite, kind, both virtues his father ingrained in him at an early age. He is uncomfortable with death, but sees it as a necessary sacrifice, especially if the murdered person was one he deemed as a "bad" person. He would describe himself as a bad man killing bad people, that would be his rationalization, although he hasn't been placed in that position yet. He has a tendency do something without realizing the consequences until after the deed is done when acting on his own, but he follows directions well. He doesn't like violence, but rather sees it as a necessary evil. Also, he gets very agitated when his cigarettes cannot be found, watch out for that

Appearance: Matthew is a slender person of average height. He has short, spiked up hair and has a smile on his face most of the time. In the winter and at night he wears a knee length overcoat that also once belonged to his father, it is worn, but kept in fairly good condition. Other times he usually has a collared shirt on with khaki pants, never jeans, he says he looks better dressed up.

___________________________________________________

Name: Connor O'Brien

Profession: Previous Soldier

Major Skills
Agility:  3
Strength: 1
Influence:  -1
Alertness:  2

Minor Skills
Accuracy: 4
Weapon Skill: 3
Driving: 1
Acumen: -1
Adrenaline: 1
Medical Knowledge: 2

Loadout:
SiG 551 .223 Rem; 18/30; 4/4 mags
P-223 .38; 8/8; no mags

Items:
Communicator
4 packs of Russian cigarrettes
Zippo lighter
REALLY big knife
some awesome combat boots
silver cross
Russians stuff;
wallet
notebook
cellphone
pager

Background: Born and raised in Belfast, Connor was the seventh of nine children, but only one of two who lived past 12. Illness, weather, and the fighting claimed all of the rest. His father and mother had always tried to stay out of the troubles, but Connor was a fiery youth who could not bear to see his people suffer under the oppression of foreigners. He began like most children in his position, throwing rocks at soldiers and defacing buildings, attending demonstrations and the like. And in due time, he was noticed by the right people, who decided he could become the sort of person they needed. Young Connor was trained and indoctrinated and eventually put into the IRA as one of it's paramilitary commandos, where he achieved distinction as a dangerous and level-headed customer in combat, while a believer who enjoyed what all proper Irish enjoyed out of it.

As Connor rose in the ranks, he became the second in his cell, and was then introduced to the Russian contacts his group maintained for arms and monetary support. He grew to like them for the most part, and soon learned the language and acquired a taste for Russian cigarrettes. But the years of dead comrades and countrymen with naught to show for it ate away at Connor's zeal, and he found himself questioning his calling. Certainly, at this point in his life he had no other skills besides his training, but there had to be options a man like him could take that didn't involve blowing up churches or shooting children in ghettos. He decided to follow in the footsteps of some of his smarter ancestors, and emigrate to a place where there were certain to be those who could appreciate a person of his talents.

Appearance: Connor is medium height (about 5'9), and on the thin side of medium weight (about 165 lbs). He has short dark blond hair on the verge of being brown, cut close (about an inch and a half), and he typically has a few days of stubble on his face. He wear an old, faded brown leather jacket, jeans, dark t-shirts and smokes unfiltered Russian cigarettes. Connor wears a heavy silver cross around his neck, usually hidden under his shirt, and has a pair of really nice combat boots that he stole from a dead SAS trooper. He has a number of scars across his chest and back, from bullets, shrapnel, and knives, but his face is unmarked. Connor's eyes are a very light blue, and generally twinkle a bit with merriment, except when he's doing his job.

Side Notes: Connor is religious without being too religious (Catholic). He has a heavy Irish accent, speaks fleunt Russian, but has terrible dislike of Communism due to bad memories. He likes his boots a lot and is very protective of them, considering where he got them and the fact that he's unlikely to get another such pair if these are ruined. He's mostly a loner these days, missing his mates and what he calls "proper folk", but he's friendly enough when he's not working and enjoys a round at the local drinking establishment.