Name: Oliver J. Holland
Age: 32
Height:5'10
Weight:187 lbs
Likes:Hard Liquor, Cigarettes, Guns, His Job, Tig ol' Bitties
Dislikes:Having to Wrap Himself Everyday, Criminals, Corruptors, Manipulators, Young Punks, Blondes, Short Petite Ladies
Party Trick: If you need a drink mixed, come talk to him.
Profession:Drug Lord
Bio/Personality:"Fuck this city. Nothin' but a bunch o' ingrates who go around looking for a reason to stir up trouble. Do you know why the crime rate in this city is so low? No? Well, I'll tell you.
ME.
Fucking useless police, the private eye dream was a falsehood all along. You need no boundaries, no restrictions, no red tape; to get things done you need to look for a permanent solution. I've killed a fucking notorious psychopath. I fucking
burned myself alive for these people. You know what? I'm done. I'll take what I deserve, it's time for my cut. You break the law, you die.
But...gotta protect the little guys, you know? Shine City is but a sack of shit thinly veiled by a glossy sheet of aluminum foil. So, I turned to more productive ways to unfuck these people. Drugs.
But the catch? It ain't illegal. I'm talkin' antidepressants, pain killers. All at a cheap, cheap, cheap price."
Oliver mumbled in a drunken stupor, slouched over the bar like some inebriated weeping willow. There was nothing to be happy about anymore. Happiest city on earth his ass, this place is miserable.
He took another sip from his drink.
"Fuck everything."
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