Conor Rourke is a freelance gun-for-hire working for various criminals, who also works as the "Drone Killer": a mercenary known for violent snatch-and grabs.
Name: Conor "Drone-Killer" Rourke. H,. He generally just goes by "Rourke".
Gender: Male
Age: Most people guess early 30's
Appearance: Conor is tall at 6'1". He's got the super-lean, wiry build that a malnourished fighter might have. He's got dirty blonde hair that's cut long on the top and closely buzzed on the sides, with scruff to match it. He has green eyes and a surprising lack of scars considering his chosen profession, but his nose is slightly crooked and he has a few faint lines around his eye socket from punches/elbows he's taken. His hands are rough with scarring all across his knuckles.
Personality: Conor's a very stoic individual, who prefers to takes a perverse pride in suffering silently. He's taken a beating from life, but he's eager for more. Although a personable and agreeable individual when conversation can be pulled out of him, he's very soft-spoken and doesn't speak much at all. He prefers to listen and think. Despite his quiet attitude and lack of overtly aggressive behavior, few have made the mistake of confusing him for weak. His eyes belie a quiet intensity and a zest for high-speed activity, On operations, "ruthless" wouldn't be the right description, but "ruthless efficiency" would be. He attacks his problems in systematic fashions, breaking down the objectives from the broad goal into immediate tasks and sets to them with vigor. He's an engineer in a warrior's body.
Skills and Abilities: Conor, first and foremost, is an expert in violent solutions to problems. He's a great hand-to-hand fighter, owing to several years in underground fighting. He's notoriously quick for his height and prefers to rely on speed. Conor is also great with small arms such as pistols and the like. He's an absolute ace with a submachine gun, choosing the AS-32 "Gurkha" submachine gun as his weapon of choice (High caliber, compact, controllable recoil). Despite his weaponry skills, his mastery of the submachine gun has led to Conor being very uncomfortable using assault rifles, finding them unwieldy. To the surprise of many, he's not that great of a shot with rifles of any kind. Conor really isn't great with any advanced technology outside of the equipment he uses regularly on operations.
What earned Conor the title "drone killer" is that he makes up for all of the advantages his well-armed cybernetic opponents have on him with instinct and quick trigger finger. He can read the area of engagement like a child's book, and uses this to his advantage win match-ups where he's outmanned and outgunned. He knows where to be and can do what he needs to when he's in position.
Background:
8:00PM.
Conor was almost done for the day. He was sitting in a well-worn chair inside of his studio apartment. All around him were enough illegal materials to get him locked up for a long time. Tons of arms and ammunition, mostly low-tech stuff. Wannabe cowboys got "disappeared" all the time after successful jobs when they couldn't resist the temptation of bringing home a corporate guard's high-tech weapon as a trophy, only to lead his friends right back to where he lives. There was also a small smattering of drugs, drives with valuable intelligence, and black-market augmentations. Most of them weren't his. He got paid to keep a lot of it there because Rourke's apartment was one of the safest places to store something in Cooper's Block.
Back in his chair, Conor was absentmindedly dragging his thumb across the sharpish ridges of an IPA's bottle cap. With his other, he methodically hit the refresh key on his keyboard. If he didn't get an email within the next minute, he'd be free for the night and free to open that beer. Ding. "Shit," he muttered. The gun-for-hire opened the email to see what contract he'd be getting tonight.
Drone Killer:
Ling's Noodles on the corner of Brock St. and Mill. 9PM. We want to discuss putting you on retainer.
-Courier for the Andrapaevs
How the Andrapaevs got his regular email was a mystery, but it didn't matter to Conor. An excited smile peeled across his face. The Andrapaevs wanted to put the Drone Killer on retainer, which meant a regular pay at a much, much higher rate than Conor earned doing protection work. Dzokhar Andrapaev was a savvy man, so he knew what a retainer contract would cost him, and he could afford it too. He'd seen Conor's work too, masked and taking a shipment of who-knows-what from the Russians with relative ease. Honestly, they had their idiots working on moving that shipment, but Andrapaev didn't know that and it made the Drone Killer look like a great investment.
This might be it, he thought, the broke kid from the ghetto might just be able to make it. From underground fighting in his teens to put food in his mouth that addict parents couldn't, to the misadventure that was four years in the military, to making a living and a name on the streets, Conor just pressed on with sheer survival instinct. Being on retainer for lucrative work could change that, changing the frame from indefinite survival to an escape plan. This beer will have to wait. He slid the IPA back a few inches and got ready for the meeting.