Name: Carter Reed
Age: 32
Occupation: Currently unemployed, formerly a cop who used the power of his badge to hurt bad people.
Political Leanings: Something has to be done, and if words won't fix it, blood will.
Important Family Members: His brother, a successful surgeon upstate.
Assets: A small, rather dingy apartment. It has a living room with an ancient TV, a kitchenette containing nothing more than a stove and a mini-fridge, a bathroom with old tin appliances, and Carter's bedroom, which is really only an air mattress, weight lifting equipment, and a punching bag. He has an old full-sized Dodge Ram Van parked out front.
Personal Belongings: A pair of mirror aviators and a platinum chain, a brass money clip and key ring, a lead-weighted sap kept in the glovebox of his van, a street-made .38 machine pistol he keeps under a floorboard beneath his mattress, an unmarked North American Arms .22 LR revolver kept in his boot, and a stiletto-like automatic switchblade kept in his pocket. Ten rounds of copper-plated hollow-point .22 Long Rifle rest in a duffle bag in his van, the equivalent of two reloads. A 50-round box of semi-jacketed soft point .38 Special lies next to the machine pistol under the floorboards.
Cash on Hand: $275
Background: Carter grew up into a man dissatisfied with his country and those running it. The injustice faced by the average person in their daily lives inspired him to become a cop at the age of eighteen, but after thirteen years on the force, when Carter was thirty-one, he was fired thanks to all of the allegations of officer brutality going around during his employment. Most of them weren't made in error; Carter more than once used his gun and his badge to dish out a little more justice than the system would care for. A year later, and he's jobless, living in his shitty apartment, with two guns, a knife, and a blackjack replacing his officer's badge, and a quick death to the scum of the city replacing the clinking of handcuffs.
BAM. Good?
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