◄ 31 ▎ MALE ▎ 5 feet 9 inches ►

P R O F I L E

You got your drivers, then you have your Drivers, with a capitol D, and you gotta have the D folks. Lemme tell ya. And then you have the Drivers who are pretty much one with their vehicle. Riggers. This is what Johhny Buzzkill did to become a better Driver. Installed a data jack and a slew of software that he could connect with any vehicle with a computer in it. Got it in chrome to boot. The lanky mohawked young man with pale white skin doe shis best work when he's behind a steering wheel of one of his tricked out vehicles, carefully kitted to give the best performance for a given situation.

Normally calm and collected, and always has his mind in several places at once. Slaved to the vehicle, or off in the air in one of his custom made drones. Fiercely intelligent and as much of a gear head as you might expect. He spends thousands to keep his garage of vehicles in top condition.

If he's not in a vehicle he's making repaired and doing his best to make sure he's prepared for the next run, red, blue and yellow mohawk, on display like the crest of a bird, grey eyes set for whatever he's doing at the time. Often enough that might be the next thrill, as he holds the record for fastest augmented speed records on twenty two different speed tracks in and around the warehouse he has bought to house his vehicles.

D A Y S - G O N E

Johnny started small, and without his augmentations. He'd always liked speed. And when he had the money he bought a beat up old muscle car and started with illegal street races at first. He took on every challenge he could manage. He lost just as often as he won. And as time went on he used the money from the races to get better cars, trick them out, on and on.

As time went on things got a little more interesting. His thrill seeking ways took him along a new path. Between races, he began to take smuggling and/or errand jobs, taking items or shipments to places and avoiding the cops. He began to make a name for himself little bit by bit. Trust worthy, punctual and didn't take alot of shit. You either paid for what you had shipped or you didn't get it. Only times he ever flipped was if one or the other side tried to pull a fast one. Which lead to his making a name as a get away driver. And a surplus of interesting loot and swag from jobs where one side or the other tried to fuck him over.

As time went on, he realized the only way he could get better is if he started to chop pieces of his head open and installing something to make his cars more responsive. A black market chop doc opened his head and spine up, attached a mini cranial computer, a data jack and the proper software to run it all. Soon his vehicles and him were more like one and the same. It took money, but he was making it by then.

Then there is the Dead Presidents...the present and recent past is all legendary...

M O R A L S

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◄ 34 ▎ MALE ▎ 6"0 ►

P R O F I L E
Kurt wants for nothing more than money, and occasionally to make things go bang. Due to this he often would spend times in the mountains where people would just assume the explosions were parts of mining operations.
The love explosions all started watching the classic Michael Bay films with his father (a successful chemist for the Augmentation Radial Development Clinic Corporation). That love didn't die off as he got older, even just gaming the explosion was always his favourite part. The look, the controlled power, the magnificence of it all. It drove his initial studies of chemical reactions, and it helped that his father understood the reactions and helped to drive the passion thinking his son would become a special effects tech, or maybe a valued arms designer for Corporate protection. Yet obviously this backfired.
Kurt was driven feeling the heat and power of his explosions. This led to an unfortunate "accident" in college, where he managed to create an effective concussive commonly used in gas grenades when blended with chlorine, nitrogen, and tungsten happened to create a massive burning fireball. At the volume tested it was enough to detonate not just the lab, but the entirety of the science building.
Kurt was smart enough to know what was about to happen, and was already going out the window by the time the cylinder burned through.
The police presumed him dead, the heat of the blast was enough to vaporize most who were in the lab. It was a fair assumption, yet now Kurt lives on as "The Dragon", ordnance developer and arms dealer.



D A Y S - G O N E
After the Science lab incident, Kurt stood back to admire his handy work. The power he wrought, the heat and power. He needed more.
He quickly moved to an abandoned mining operation. At this mine he met his first introduction to the underworld, Demi "the Dragon" Desoto, an anarchist seeking to topple the powers in the capital. After a short conversation Kurt was in, not due to a hatred of the government but because he knew he could work on his explosives in peace. All at the expense of another, until Demi turned to leave Kurt as the scapegoat.
Kurt was arrested, booked as "The dragon." They didn't even know his specialty device yet. He asked politely and got a piece of gum from his outfit, that shred of humanity was their downfall. Once placed in his cell, Kurt chewed until the gas release was enough, and at a click of his tongue the wall came crumbling down, the blast drew a lot of attention yet Kurt ran fast and far as he could. Each breath hurt as his jaw was severely damaged, and his body ached from the recoil.
With luck and another click of his tongue at the fence he escaped thanks to the fear of the police. He turned his back on the capital but his face was now known. A blessing and a curse, it brought business people looking for weapons a solid point of sale, though others came as anarchists.
All he could do was set them up to do the job, yet it led to people believing he was the mastermind the whole time.
The hunt for him was fierce for years but after enough puppet jobs he's faded into the darkness again on the terror front though many suspect he is still behind it. For years the weapon trade was enough to satiate his money need, yet he wanted into a refined money job, the upper class of crime.

He found the Dead Presidents shortly after turning 30, initially he was still hot headed, yet now his temper has tamed. Now he's just looking forward to the next score, ready to turn his skill to the refined craft.

M O R A L S