Name: Jerid Ebrahim

Age: 25

Appearance: Tall and lanky fellow, although not much muscle tone athletically build. He has curly dark brown hair and his dark brown eyes are fixed in a bored stare. His face is perfectly sculpted, no scars or any evidence of plastic surgery. His ears are pointed like elf ears and both have several surgical steel rings in them.

Crime: Medical malpractice, grave robbing, connections to several crime syndicates, possession of illegal narcotics.

Personality: Smart, uncaring, thrill seeker and artist. Will do anything to keep himself from getting bored.

Bio: Grew up in a large family, second generation american. He was always pressured by his parents to succeed better than his siblings, as were they. Most of the siblings thrived under the pressure and aced many tests so they went to good schools. To Jerid's dissatisfaction, he was among them. He went to an expensive private medical university carried by the grants and funds people were throwing at him. His parents couldn't be prouder, his siblings couldn't be more jealous. And he couldn't be more bored. With all his fellow students bending over backwards and him uninterested to follow the lectures he struggled to find something fun to do. That's when he got into the surgery class. He fell in love with the cutting and pulling. The precision work was in his heart. He rushed trough school, skipping several years with ease.

Once he had his paper he got a job at a plastic surgery clinic where he started doing more and more complex operations, until the most dangerous and useless body modifications had become routine to him. Anything more would be illegal. So he practiced on himself, and once he was done with that on cadavers he stole from the morgue at the local hospital.
When the police got close to finding out what he did in his spare time he bolted and ended up on the other side of the country giving dangerous body mods to hardened criminals. He had joined a large crime syndicate he couldn't bother remembering the name of. Every day there'd be thugs on his table, crying like babies over several bullet wounds. But from time to time there were projects. One guy wanted a shotgun where his amputated leg used to be. Another got LEDs under his skin triggered to light up blue in tribal patterns when a button behind his ear was pressed. There was even one guy who had small metal scales, about an inch long implanted under his skin all over his body.

Then the crime syndicate went down due to some heroic reporter who was sleeping with the boss to get to information. Jerid had plenty of time to prepare, but there was no running. The police had a list of every person in the cartel, apparently the big guy did his paperwork. Before the police arrived Jerid had time to stuff a surgical steel scalpel and a few needles in a plastic package, and hide that under his skin at his thigh, too well covered to be noticed.