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[b]Name:[/b] Garren Scallder

[b]Age:[/b] 21

[b]Appearance:[/b] Garren is tall, standing at around 6 feet exact or so, with a compact, lean, and defined build that shows that he exercises daily, wherever his past life lied. His hair is a deep brown, while his skin possesses a fair complexion - neither tanned, nor overly pale. He carries himself well, with shoulders back and eyes straight. Speaking of eyes; they are, by far, some of the oddest ones. A yellow...or is it golden? Amber? Whatever, his eyes are that distinct color, with an almost...slitted pupil. It could just be a genetic mutation, or maybe just the trick of the light. It's best not to dwell. When he awoke, Garren awoke with a v-necked, white t-shirt, a light, tan colored jacket with black edgings and a hood, along with lightly torn jeans and combat boots. 

[b]Occupation:[/b] Courier

[b]Personality:[/b] Garren is a sharp-witted, confident young man with a cool demeanor and a level-headed mind. Sarcasm is on the tip of his razor-sharp tongue. He deals with situations without breaking a stride, although his patience isn't a strong-suit, and often times he could snap in anger whenever someone goes to great lengths to piss him off. Often, when things goes his way, he gains a smirk that has swooned many a women in the past; apparently, his personality, and rougish good looks made him a charmer in a past-life. Who'd known? Let nobody say that Garren isn't a crafy sunnavabitch, however. Guy could make a proton cannon out of three sheets of scrap metal and a vulture's egg. That's besides the point. He's resourceful, cool-headed, smart, and has a pretty volatile temper if you push him; that's the gist of things.

[b]History:[/b] Garren comes from a time of heavy tension - approximately 2452, as far as the specific date is concerned. He was born underneath an average mother and father, got into some trouble, and stole his dad's hover-bike at the age of sixteen, after having to escape a bunch of smugglers that he had accidentally walked in on. As laser bullets blasted around him, Garren flipped the bike's light-speed mode and promptly blasted out of the country, into unfamiliar territory. There, he had no name, no history, and promptly, he got a job delivering packages in between different states, using his dad's hover-bike as a means of transportation. That's all, really; in his history, he was a courier, that had to escape some sticky situations, make some hair-rising deals, bang some hot women, and generally live life.