James "Scrappa" Fawkes Date of Birth: 03.09.799 AS Place of Birth: Planet Manhattan, New York system.
Background
Born thirty one years ago amidst the loathsome heaped slums of Manhattan, James Nithercott Fawkes was among the dregs and the rejects and the failures of society, like countless others before him.
He lived a life without the grace of a comfortable environment, with concepts such as stability and happiness for him and his folks seemingly always beyond his soot covered grasp. He had young parents, the kind who bred him without ever knowing what it means to parent or teach anything in this merciless dog-eat-dog world full of squalor, and nearly failed to find a reason to push it past of the age of ten, were it not for a riveting discovery.
Unlike his throat cutting and pick pocketing burglar peers, he was blessed with a gift, if there is even such a thing. His hands were nimble and crafty, his mind was in constant overthinking about the next piece of equipment he could haphazardly stack on top of another equally dangerous one, an itch to rummage gutted ships and trash bins alike for the next transistor he could turn into a spark bomb or anything that would cause bodily harm. The aptitude present in brutish overclocking techniques came to him with trial and error. His ambitions grew limitless after he handled his first gun, realizing that there are never enough ways to protect oneself in Liberty.
In a brisk pulse of excitement and hubris, a young James, now armed with a dangerously overtuned pistol held practically held together by duct tape and nails, was finally determined to pull the trigger on the detestable police and any passersby that would glare at their impoverished situations down in the slums from up above, spitting and throwing cigarette butts from their namby-pamby overpass views. It did not have any logicality behind it, except sheer ignorant psychotic rage. The human id made manifest.
After managing to grievously injure an unsuspecting LPI officer in the back, he was sent to rigorous and harsh labour in Sugarland, forced to ponder over his crime through ceaseless smelting.
But the heaps of industrial dregs and scraps only made his brain tingle with new possibilities, every single rusted object he would force his thin arms into the roaring furnaces was nothing more than an idea for another death trap he could implement another day. A day which never seemed to arrive behind the bars of Sugarland.
Years of scheming and avoiding interactions in the prison like the plague were cut short by the ruckus of other prisoners boarding a supply shuttle down the hall in an attempt for the umpteenth prison break. A golden opportunity he boarded, fleeing from the LPI sponsored forced labour camp for good.
In the packed shuttle, he overheard talk of two escapees planning to meet in the illusive Buffalo base, to seek aid from the Rogues, becoming grunts in their work force. With that in mind, he took transit cargo ships, one shadier than the next, to board the Rogue base and offer his services to any who would need a reckless tinkerer with a steady hand.
ooRP information How long have you been playing Discovery?
2016
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