Wash
24|6'0|O-
A P P E R A N C E
Pale, tired eyed, stubble strewn across the face, hair a ghostly white from stress. Wash looks about twenty years older than his actual age of twenty four years and feels at least forty. Reminiscent of scarecrows protecting the harvest tall and slender moving with a characteristic limp in the right foot. Tired eyes of gray are almost always hidden behind the same pair of aviators no matter what time of day. Teeth surprisingly straight impure in their color the white stained by a smoking habit he picked up when he was thirteen. Face a measure in discipline kept neutral and plain, an air of calm half a mirage and half a reality. Vocals tones rough and low like he spent half his time drinking gasoline and the other half gargling glass. Bare skin reveals a patchwork of scars in different states of healing seemingly no part of the skin untouched. Among the scars are the track marks and injection ports that mark a seasoned drug user in the Belt.
Clothes are simple. A seemingly infinite supply of black t-shirts that cling tightly to the body supplemented with simple denim jeans and a pair of solid workbooks. Old bomber jacket worn when the chill comes to the air, the leather cracked and torn at several places repaired with heavy black strips of electrical tape. Despite the limp he walks with the sort of premise of somebody either cocky enough to think that they own the place or sure enough that nobody is going to try anything stupid. Besides the injection ports the only visible cybernetics is the angry mess of wires above his right ear, an old Kelwin Industries K98 Series Neural Hub, an antiqued timepiece by most occasions.
O C C U P A T I O N
Vagabond
P E R S O N A L I T Y
A study in control. Reminiscence of the gentry of yesteryear either unwilling or unable to show much of a reaction to most things. He keeps a usual repertoire of mild boredom, detached interest, Dull Surprise or dignified disdain in that order. A mechanism of defense more than anything else more afraid of himself than the rest of the world around him. A firm believer in the actions over words side of the debate. So when he does speak each word is chosen with care and though speaking in a short detached manner. Despite the gruff mannerisms he's polite as all hell with a level of mannerism more at home at a royal wedding then the slums of the Belt.
To a point this levelheaded rationally makes him ideal in scenarios when shit hits the fan. But can also be surprisingly cruel walling to accept blood split in the name of getting the job done. The end always justify the means no matter how terrible those means might be. He's willing to cross whatever moral lines are needed to get the job done, to keep the people he cares about safe and most importantly to keep his own hide in one piece.
Ever still though there are occasions that his specks of humanity manage to break through the barrier. He doesn't see himself above others and isn't uncomfortable laughing at something actually funny or shedding tears when the time is right. He has a soft spot for dogs and kids, enjoys watching bad movies in his free time and even goes on dates of all things. But unlike some the moments are rarer and so when they do occur usually make people that know him stare. Cause for a moment you can see the kid there. The kid that was buried behind masks in an attempt to keep safe.
The damage lies underneath the surface though. Despite having left his jobs the scares of its existence still hold true. An inability to sleep, trembling hands, and other signs of heavy post traumatic stress. With no system in place to catch him, he fell in with heavy drug use, more smoking and copious amounts of hard liquor whatever was needed to dull the senses long enough for him to function.
B A C K G R O U N D
James Washington McFadden IV or Wash as most people would end up calling him was born in a upper class middle family in North London. His father started taking to the bottle heavily and became abusive eventually leading to a divorce when Wash was just three years old. The young boy and his mother than subsequently moved back cross the pond to the Belt in what was once the City of Boston. Here her mother met Wash's step father Alexander who the young boy would proceeded to despise for the rest of his life.
Growing up wasn't the worst thing in the world. His family made enough money to stay out of the slums and get Wash into a good school. Alexander being a producer one Agni News one of the biggest corporate back 24 hours news networks on television, and his mother working in fiancees. Wash was sent to a private school where he did well enough for himself, book learning coming easily enough for him. He made a cluster of friends and even took up track and field.
By the time graduation rolled on around he didn't right know what to do to himself. He ended up going to university because that's what everyone tells you to do, to go get a degree and a job so that you don't end up in the slums. He became quickly disillusioned and after spending his first year mostly skipping his lectures and doing psychedelics he dropped out. Looking for some sort of adventure and a paycheck he signed up as a contractor for Dynex Soultions, a small scale military contract firm.
He was sold on the idea of a life of adventure and excitement away from the crowds and the noise of the Belt. As a result he was sent to fight in the proxy wars in what was once Turkmenistan, now a hellhole between several corpoation proxy's all fighting over its bountiful natural gas reserves after they overthrew the government. From the ages of nineteen to twenty two he spent most of his time shooting at nationalist, other contractors and trying his best to stay sane among the constant shelling. Eventually his tour was brought to an end when his was caught in the blast radius of small IED. Shrapnel primarily damaging his right leg.
Sent home and dropped by Dynex as soon as his usability had run out, he was left with no way to pay for a cybernetic replacement. Instead he found other options in some back alley doctor that offered affordable prices. That could at least make the leg usable again. To help manage the pain after the surgery, the doctor gave him some high level opiates to help with the pain. In the end things only ended up getting worse from there. The drug use and general alcholism increased and soon what money he did have left over from the Dynex job was all gone.
Wash soon found himself in and out of prison on a variety of sentences. Constantly drifting he moved across the Belt taking on whatever odd job he could and used the money to get whatever high he could. He had just been released from a detention facility after a six month stint after he assaulted members of a riot response team sent in to quell the massive unrest that spark, when the train workers attempted to go on strike and got beaten down by strike breakers as a result. Out again and without work he goes wherever the wind takes him.
S K I L L S
Well Read: Despite being a wandering vagabound he still received a proper education and knows a surprising amount.
Combat Trained: Working as a solider for one time or another he knows how to defend himself at least from common thugs.
Grace Under Fire: Wash has nevers of steel able to keep calm under some very stressful situations.
E Q U I P M E N T
A beaten up guitar in an even more beaten up case.
Switch Blade
Empty Wallet
Kelwin Industries K98 Series Neural Hub: Used primarily for VR simulations but can still be used as an active link point if necessary.
N O T E S
Things
