Languages spoken: English, Intermediate Spanish, Beginner Russian

Weapons: Aftermarket guns, personally owns a Glock 22 with night sights, concealed holster, .40 ammo, ten magazines.  Capable of acquiring weapons off the books through his business connections.

Occupation(s): Current occupation is Street Racer, lieutenant for the De'vir Family in Miami

Past Occupation(s): Errand boy for De'vir Family, Booster, Repo Man.

Special Abilities/Skills: Trained in several forms of hand to hand combat, takedowns.  No particular affiliation to any form of martial arts.

Activities/Organizations: (racing crew name here)

Hobbies: Surfing, Working on his car, Hiking, Running, Weight Lifting, Swimming, Collecting Knives

Interests: Weaponry, Philosophy.

Serious Problems/Flaws/Addictions/Disorders/Disabilities: Has a light Criminal history, works for a dangerous organization, addicted to adrenaline (mild case), and almost too laid back.

Citizenship: U.S. Citizen

Place of Birth: Where, city and province or state, was the character born?

Now lives: Miami, Fl.

Lives with: N/A

Family:  No blood relatives.  Two self-adopted brothers and a deceased adopted Father.  Matthew De'vir (brother), Alexander De'vir (brother), Valek De'vir (Father figure-deceased) 

Other Biographical Remarks (History):

 

"So you want to know everything about me?  You've come this far and you feel you deserve to know the 'Word on the Street?'"  He would smile softly, as he had heard the joke so many times before and had owned it.  A chair was dragged close and turned so the back faced you, and he settled down, crossing arms over the back of the chair to get comfortable.  "Once upon a time..."

 

     The story is a long one, the story of how Christopher Aiden Scott became Chris Street, how be fractured from one man into many.  The story begins as most do, when a Daddy loves a Mommy and they express that love a child is often times a result.  Christopher was born January 20th, 1986 to two proud parents, Monica and Jeremy of Texarkana, Texas.  Years passed and a happy family prospered until hard time befell the picket fenced trio.  One stormy night would set the course of the young man's life from there on.

     The Man of the house prowled into their home, opening a bottle of whiskey and pouring a small amount into his glass.  Opening the closet he pulled down the large case hidden away from his adorable son, a small box taken in hand as well.  Settling into the couch he opened the box and pulled his shotgun from its protective shell, cradling it a moment as the memory of his last hunting trip filled his mind.  He was a good shot, he remembered what to do, and with a shotgun one need not be a marksman anyhow.  Slowly he opened the box and with a steady hand he fed the weapon until full, like a child.  The unmistakable sliding click as he racked the weapon, feeding a shell into the tube.

     Rising to his feet the Father moved down the hall way, leaving an un-touched glass of whiskey in his wake.  Moving to the door of his son, a small dinosaur drawn in class a week ago hung from the door, and he pushed the door open.  Standing in the doorway he looked upon the mound there atop the bed, lowered the shotgun at the bed and fired three shots into it.  Casually the man turned and headed to his bedroom.  His wife took sleeping pills, so it was unlikely she would be coherent.  Crossing that room he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before taking two steps back and leveling the weapon.  Again three blasts filled the home with the sound of thunder.  Moments later one last shot was heard and the house was still.

     The son, however, was not in his bed.  He had giggled when he saw his father's feet, planning to grab his feet when he came to kiss his son goodnight.  A prank!  Oh he would get his Father good.  When the shots rang out he was struck dumb... he'd never heard a gunshot, his ears hurt, he could smell something metallic, and it clung to his throat as his father simply walked away.  Christopher slid from under the bed and heard three more shots... this time something pulled at him and he ran down the hall, missing the final shot by seconds.  Rounding into his mommies room he ran over, trying to wake both his parents.  They had booboos!  They must be sleeping it off, like when mommy made him rest when he skinned his knee really bad a few months ago! 

     Christopher ran into the bathroom and grabbed the box of Band-Aids, and spent the next few minutes emptying the box and slowly pressing them over the holes in his parents.  He soon ran out and just sat there, his ninja turtle tee shirt and shorts soaked with crimson.  When the police arrived, they carted the boy off... and that was the last he ever saw of his home, or his parents.

    Somewhere in the chaos that ensued he had been simply shipped off to Child Services and immediately inducted into foster care.  Years passed as he was bounced from home to home.  The families were always so nice, in the beginning, they read the file, and they knew his turmoil.  And they gave him a wide birth, a cushion for a while as he settled in, but soon he was expected to fall into line and get over what ailed him.  There would be arguing, fights, and again he'd be off to the next home.  He learned much from each house, however, how to fake it... how to smile... how to lie... how to make the family feel comfortable in their skins, how to make friends, how to be exactly what everyone wanted him to be... A LIE.

     He came to hate liars, he hated himself.  At the age of 14 he left Texas, hitchhiking his way across the continent until he settled in California.  There he learned the skills that would truly help him survive.  He began to steal so that he could eat, just enough to live, but as he got better he began to escalate.  Food, clothing, and then he had to make money if he hoped to make it any further in the world.  He started small, heisting small items from people, skateboards, bikes, scooters, then mopeds, etc.  When he was approached by Jorge Hernandez, he saw an opportunity at real money, to steal cars and scrap them to Jorge.  The next few years saw countless vehicles disappear from the Southern half of California.  Boosting better, faster, higher end vehicles every single time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    At 16 years old, another life turn would take the boy thief off guard.  He'd tracked a modded Town Car for days when he finally found and opportunity to take it.  Sneaking up to the car he opened it easily and slid beneath the console to take apart the dash to get at the wires to hot-wire the vehicle.  A minute passed and still he was scrambling, he'd under estimated the wiring and the changes to the electrical system by the persons who modded the vehicle.  That was when he felt two powerful hands grip his ankles and drag him out of the car to drop him square on his back.  So enter the man Valek De'vir. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     Valek, head of the De'vir Family, Organized Crime of the highest caliber... and he'd just tried to rob the man.  Here Valek hauled the boy to his feet, seeing something others did not.  Hours passed as Christopher trembled before the imposing man.  He was allowed to walk away that night, if he promised to return the following Sunday.  Chris was happy to get the hell out of there and went back to his life!  But the man's words, his trust in Chris made him feel hollow when Sunday came around and he did not rightly return.  The hour was late when he arrived back at the home of the man he'd tried to rob.  Knocking on the door, the man himself opened the door and unceremoniously dragged Christopher inside, and over to a long table.  There at the table sat Valek's wife Serena, and his two sons Alexander and Matthew, and a very cold meal.  For the first time in his life, Chris felt embarrassed, ashamed, he had kept them waiting and waiting they had done.

     Valek did not skip a beat as they cleared the table to reheat everything, everyone helping out, and then sat down to eat their meal.  The family carried on as if nothing had gone wrong, and that Chris was not a guest, he was just another piece of the family.  Chris ate quietly that night, and when he left, he had tears in his eyes.  He was asked to return Sunday for dinner again, and he sniffled, nodding his acceptance.  Valek placed a hand to his shoulder, ignoring his tears, and only smiled.  Pulling his watch off he slid it onto Chris' wrist and pat his cheek gently, "Five o'clock.  Sunday," and fell silent.  He watched until Chris was gone and... that was the first day of his true life. 

     The next Sunday came and he entered on time, watch on wrist and so he became apart of the family and eventually began to work for the De'vir Family.  He was self taught in the art of boosting, but Valek became his benefactor, pushing him back through school to better himself and to also pursue his passion of cars.  He looked up to the man as the father he'd never had, and his boys as the brothers he never had.  He grew into the man, his name being changed in records to Christopher Aiden Street.  The Family crafted him into the perfect street-man.  He took all the lies he learned, all the falseness, and forged it into a suit of armor to wear when out on the job.  This persona, this energy, it was his saving grace, it was what protected him and still does.  Few ever get to see beneath the smile, behind the laugh, to see The Man.

     When the death of Valek came, the organization was split between his two sons, and so Christopher chose to remain in California.  His brother, Matthew, his new benefactor.  Christopher started as his street man and quickly grew to become a powerful lieutenant.  He runs the street side for his brother, traveling to new locations to create a foothold, build networks and eventually assimilate the current underground into the organization, into the Family.