Name: Simon Güeybaná,
Guayaba Race: Human
Gender: Male-Bodied
Age: 46
Class: Infiltrator/Commando
Appearance: Simon stands at a similar height to most men. His shoulders are broad, his torso angling in until falling to his hips in straight line, giving his upper body a thick, boxy look. Due to the nature of his work, Simon is especially muscular in his arms and thighs, though his core has softened over the years until a gently curved gut. When Simon was enlisted he was the clean shaven, finely toned sort who considered his physique a testament to his commitment.
Over the years as that naivety faded how he worked his body changed, as did his feelings about basic characteristics such as hair. Simon has allowed his beard, now a mix of deep black and grey, to curve his jawline. His hair is no longer short, but is dreaded atop his head and shaven down the sides. The dreadlocks fit well under a helmet when tied down and back, but let loose, dangle down to his shoulder blades. Besides the hair and changing body type, Simon has changed most in his face. Years of stress and doubt leading to now have etched deep lines under his eyes, which sink below his brow, and above his brow. They say 50 today is 35 a century ago, but in all reality, he feels age coming on and welcomes it.
Background: Simon was born to a space-faring anthropologist and decorated soldier. When their son was born, the couple chose to settle down on Earth until he was fully grown. The family had dreams in the stars, however with a child, those dreams were delayed. The anthropologist secured in a local university, the soldier offered her services to protect against ever-increasing tensions along the border. While the mother felt herself pulled toward other areas -- the prospect of working and returning to her family each night did not hurt either.
As an adolescent Simon split his time between studying with his father, going shooting with his mother and her comrades, and sneaking off with the local youth. He found other cultures interesting, but not as fun as hitting the streets with friends. Meanwhile, his mother insisted on taking him shooting with the other soldiers and law enforcement. Every other day he lined up with officers and displayed his talents on the range. The display was always short, ending in the boy lowering his head and cringing. After a few laughs, an officer would offer him a few pointers, have him try once more, and after an hour or two his mother would let him be. Simon loathed looking a fool, but every time the lessons seemed shorter. Besides, after being released he would always find his friends waiting for him. The bored bunch would pass time exploring the rougher neighbourhoods, daring one another to do this or that.
Nearly an adult, the family structure changed. Simon's father took a job consulting for the new-found Alliance as they investigated sites for new colonies in the Utopia System. Perhaps in coping with the distance, his mother made a habit of taking on more ambitious investigations as well. Violent crimes were making the news more often, Simon knew this, but he still saw her absence as a personal affront. The young man coped alongside the same friends as before. This group of young adults took on a rougher look, walking aimlessly, yet always with stern looks and some hidden rage. One day Simon followed the group to a seedy shop that stocked mostly liquor and other intoxicants. They entered, but something felt off. Simon walked close behind a friend, ready to block the view of the shop-keep as they grabbed a few bottles -- nothing new, nothing big. It took a second. When the two returned to the front of the shop ready to beat feet, they found one of the youths pointing a pistol at the shop-keep. Another shouted for cash and the so-called "Good Stuff", whatever that meant. Simon stood there without a word in shock. Time passed slow for him, and before he knew it, two officers had arrived. He recognized the older one, a close friend of his mother's, the second was a new recruit. That's what they called Simon too,
recruit. The officers ordered the kid to drop the the weapon, but all he did was scatter the group. Two of the youths stood fast, however, the one with the pistol, and the one who'd jumped the counter to search for better, more expensive stock. Simon stepped back, but like the others surprised by the quick escalation, he still stood, perhaps too close to the danger. The youth behind the counter must have found a weapon, because like that, the shop-keep's head burst. Blood, grey-matter, and hunks of bone speckled Simon's chest as the keep fell and the officers rushed. When his friend's pistol fired too, Simon broke from his trance. He fell to his belly and crawled to the back-door of the shop. A young woman he'd known for years dashed out of the same exit and Simon watched as a hidden officer gave chase. By the time he made it to the door the two had left his sight, the door completely unguarded. Simon ran a few blocks before tearing off his jacket, wiping his face, and running home. He spent the day bathing. Listening to music. Just trying to forget what he'd seen. When his mother arrived home she sat him down, and with swollen, red eyes, she told him an officer had been killed -- an old one, a close friend.
Shortly after the incident Simon made plans to visit his father on a temporary station in the Utopia System. While he had still not been connected to the botched robbery, the guilt he felt was unbearable. He said goodbye to his mother and went aboard the ship that would take him to Utopia. While the ship made its journey, Simon began his own. Night terrors had grown from the occasional dream to shrug off into a regularly day breaking affair. He saw himself with his friends at the shop. The very same friends he'd left without a word or second thought, the very shop in which he'd led to a man's death. Each night the visions stirred him, perhaps a bit skewed on some, but always deeply disturbing. During a routine supply stop Simon disembarked along with the rest of the crew. He took a seat in a seedy watering hole that allowed him to enter and sit. The space was dark and felt spacious despite the many huddled crowds laughing too loudly. For a while he just sat, letting the noise push out his thoughts. Eventually a voice stirred him. A man dressed in a weathered pea-coat with many an added symbol stitched on the chest and sleeve appeared with two drinks. The man put one in Simon's hand before promptly clanging the glasses together. Despite a bit of froth spilling onto him, Simon couldn't tear his eyes from the man. There was a feeling about him. A freedom. By the time the drinks were half gone Simon had described his dreams fully. He'd laid out weeks worth of pain and strife only to have man cock a brow and laugh, "Do or die and at the end of the day, commit to your choice."
It was then that Simon realized he would not reach Utopia.
Simon was welcomed alongside the man like a pupil. The man was crass, brutish in action, and yet also strategic in his decisions. All this made the man's work as a smuggler and pirate somehow acceptable to the youth. As humanity stumbled upon the Turians, the Citadel, and fully recognized the true vastness of space, so too did the boy grow. What skills he'd learned as a youth developed and he took to the crass pirate's ways quickly. In the days he'd work alongside the men readying for raids and other jobs, by night he would drink and partake in whatever drugs the crew shared. He continued in this way for years until the man he admired became the man he mourned. Simon replaced shots and mind-benders for a tumbler of his mentor's preferred scotch. He drank in memory, in hope, and as he was taught, in acceptance.
After twenty-some years dashing about space freely, Simon felt a yearning for more. When he learned of Siame Industries and their goal to eradicate his lifestyle, he stood up less in protection of his people, and more as a way to fill the gap he'd felt grow over the years. Freedom was a nourishing feeling of course, however, without ideals to stand by, it seemed dull and pointless. Siame made the perfect enemy. With that, Simon was happy to dedicate himself to ending their threat by any means.
Equipment: M-97 Viper (Matte Black), M-3 Predator (Matte Black, Worn), Recon Hood, Modified Kassa Fabrication Armour - Sections have been swapped out with ballistic fabric in increase mobility by sacrificing protection (Matt Black), Combat Knife, 2 Tactical Smoke Grenades, and a basic Omni-Tool (Primarily for communication & logistics)
Powers: Up to five or six different powers your character will use. Tech powers are restricted to Engineers, Sentinels, and Infiltrators. Biotics are restricted to Adepts, Vanguards, and Sentinels. I’m pretty easy going with the rest of it.
Andreyich
