Name: Abigail Harlow
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Place of Birth: Buckhead
Sexuality: Undecided
Relationship Status: Single
Occupation: Assistant

Power: Telekinesis - manipulating objects with your mind, ranging from making the nearest teacup float a few inches in the air to slowing down bullets.
Cost of powers use: Memories. She systematically loses her memories from the latest to the earliest the moment she starts using her powers. The strength and exertion of her powers decides the rate at which she forgets the recent (and then not so recent) past. A sort of self-preservation technique kicks in as the mental strain can exhaust Abigail and stop her from losing too many memories too quickly.

Appearance: A short, scrawny woman with pale blonde hair which reaches a little ways down her spine. Abigail’s nose is small and tilted upwards a little; she has dark blonde eyebrows, flawless teeth and thin lips to give her a bright and dazzling smile. Her eyes are the most notable feature - deep blue, exuding a false warmth. When her facade is shattered, those eyes turn cold and her intellect shines through them. They’re the eyes of a cunning rogue. Abigail’s body is frail and flat - she has pale skin, bony wrists and small extremities. She’s almost entirely flat-chested - an A cup on a good day - and she has a multitude of faint nicks and scratches along her elbows, knees, hands, ankles, and feet. Standing at 5’2, she’s hardly an imposing figure.

Skills:

Stealth: Undeniably the most useful skill Abigail has in her arsenal. Forced to learn the ways of being neither seen nor heard at a young age, Abigail’s ability to move undetected is nothing short of awe-inspiring at times. She’s light, small and agile; coupled with her sharp observational skills, Abigail has practically mastered the art of sneakiness.

Agility: Ties in closely with stealth. She may not be the fastest sprinter but when it comes to twists, turns, dodges and climbing you know Abigail will be in her element. In order to be agile in the first place Abigail has her observational skills and a quick reaction time.

Intelligence: Being one of the top strategists in a crime syndicate requires an incredibly sharp mind. Abigail plans ahead and makes sure to cover her tracks, requiring a fair bit of mindpower to be able to outsmart people who were older, stronger and stupider than her. She uses every trick in the book to deceive, lie, pretend and bargain her way out of situations that may well end up getting her killed.

Criminality: Abigail took a more ‘hands-on’ approach to her new life, making full use of her sneakiness to learn some other dubious (but admittedly very useful) tricks from her co-workers. Basic lock-picking, light fingers, car hijacking and disabling simple alarms are some of her skills. Essentially, if it’s not legal, she could probably do it - but there’s an equal chance she’ll be pretty bad at it or get caught. She only uses these skills when she really has to.

Abigail looks seemingly overpowered at the moment with her strong skillset towards being a sneaky bitch. However, it is important to remember that Abigail is pretty much crap at everything else; she is rather frail when hit, she has little to no brute strength to rely on, her skills when it comes to survival are limited to cooking and sticking band-aids onto things...She’s simply not cut-out for close-quarters combat or living in the wild. Unfortunately for Abigail, close-quarters combat and living the way nature intended seems to be increasingly popular for The Unwanted.

Personality: Confident and outgoing, Abigail borders on childish with her boundless amounts of enthusiasm and optimism. Do not let her bubbly personality and restless, animated movements fool you; the rumours circulating the great Abigail Harlow are intense and highly exaggerated. Her wide and encouraging smile is encompassed by the lips of a fluent liar who does not even begin to show the slightest amount of respect for honour or morality. Abigail does what she wants, when she wants; she is rumoured to hold no loyalty save for her own and that of the highest bidder. This does not mean that her cheeriness is an elaborate ruse - she is genuinely just a happy person - but she'll be just as happy to blackmail a widow or steal from a beggar if the situation calls for it.

Since her mystery is upheld by the outrageous amount of gossip surrounding her, she holds true to her perceived persona - a chaotic neutral with a reckless and impulsive behaviour spurred on by a constant state of hyperactivity. However, she is not as nonchalant about whose side she is on; if someone manages to lower their guard and truly attempt to protect and comfort Abigail, becoming the closest allies with her and actually trusting her, then she will extend her loyalty in return and use her skills to look out for those she cares about. When displeased, Abigail has a horrible habit of sulking, pulling faces and not-so-subtly trying to garner pity or attention from others.

History:

Dear Future Abigail,

I’m writing this and giving it to the Boss so that we’ve got a backup copy just in case everything goes to shit and you manage to forget everything. The real copy is...hell, you don’t need to know that since you’re already reading this. Okay, no messing around, we’ll go from the start.

You don’t need to know the names of your parents. They were heroin addicts and overall assholes who gave birth to an even bigger asshole - yours truly. You were an only child and apparently a mistake as well, so that must be pretty comforting...but don’t worry, your biological mother and father weren’t worth the grit in their sneakers. Know why? The moment you were old enough to understand the concept of money, you got suckered into smuggling stuff into your school for the older kids in order to raise a bit of extra cash. Hell, sometimes I’m even grateful for it - if you didn’t get manipulated into that high-risk low-reward drudge work and didn’t get a taste for breaking the rules early on then maybe you wouldn’t have gotten to where you are today. Started off with contraband, things like sweets and gum, then mommy’s dealer sent you in with little packets of ‘sherbet’. That little job kept you going for around 4 years. You made a bunch of friends out of it and started to learn a fair bit about business, if I do say so myself. Then it all changed.

You were just a kid when it all happened, some snot-nose little working class brat who had her ego inflated by her so-called ‘shady business’ in the corridors of that state school. The door was kicked in, your dad got a well-deserved kick in the jaw, those goons grabbed the dealer and shoulder-barged your mom on the way out again. I don’t know what possessed you to do it - maybe we’re just a little crazy after all - but seeing your only known family snivelling on the floor is enough to pull a few heartstrings, even if they were wastes of space. And-...maybe it’s a bit of curiosity too. I can’t remember; so much happened since then. Long story short, you took in the make, licence plate and colour of the car and tailed it all the way back to their hideout. Maybe we were trying to be noble? All I remember is how foolish we were. Got in through the top floor window and spied on these men until someone grabbed you from behind, dragged you kicking and screaming down to the other thugs and then clasped a hand over your mouth and nose.

Brought you straight up to Boss. To be perfectly honest, we’re both pretty lucky those dimwits didn’t slit your throat and leave you in the gutter...anyway, the Boss saw some potential in you. God knows you weren’t satisfied with trying to look after those deadbeat drug addicts, and whilst your little salesmanship game at school made you feel important, he asked you if you wanted to expand your horizons. You said yes. Here’s where the tutoring began.

I really hope it’s been ingrained into your psyche by now because I worked my ass off to get where I am today. There aren’t any exams for this line of work - if you don’t pass these tests you wind up dead. Luckily, it turns out you had a real knack for being a deceitful little girl and with the right tips and lessons, you learnt how to run a proper business. The Boss taught you everything he knows, and you’ve done awe-inspiring things under his wing. You had a penthouse suite, everyone knew your name, you mingled with the rich and famous but you never ever let it get in the way of your job. You’ve made a lot of money.

Hopefully you’re still smart enough to notice I just used the past tense. Guess what? I’m writing this in the back seat of a rusty old pick-up truck deep in the arse end of nowhere! Here’s the second big shocker; you went to the Wildlife Charity Gala with Boss and, well...things went south. It got real bad. You barely made it out in one piece and the moment we’d turned the corner away from the street the two of you started executing Plan F. Almost immediately after the Gala we lost employees left and right, things got pretty stressy...We took it in shifts to handle our job and the preparations for plan F, loads of paperwork and coffee. When we lost Stevens the Boss went right up to your apartment personally and we both got out of the city.

Since then it’s been hell. I haven’t had a proper sleep in days, I look like a tramp...I had to cut my goddamn hair too, and this baseball cap itches. In all my years of planning and preparation for the “Just In Case” scenario, well...I guess I didn’t think it through that much because who honestly believes that everything would come crashing down the way it has? Things just got scary too. We’ve been knocked off our ivory towers. No more bodyguards or hired thugs to keep us safe, no average-joe looking workers to do all the menial stuff for us...every moment we spend in the public eye is a fucking nightmare because it only takes one person to point and mutter. If our cover’s blown, we’re worse than dead.

But hey, relax. If you’re reading this letter then you’ve got the Boss with you. He’ll tell you what to do. And...if you’re reading this letter and Boss is dead?

FUCKING RUN.

Name: Brook Ellerby
Gender: Male
Age: 48
Place of Birth: Buckhead
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship Status: Single
Occupation: “Restaurant Manager”

Power:
Shapeshifting.

Cost of powers use:
Not only is the transformation painful, Brook also retains some of the psychological traits of the animal he shapeshifted in for around an hour after changing back. Whilst shapeshifted his intelligence is hindered by his animal instinct, making it difficult to remain in control.

Appearance:
A stocky, slightly chubby male with greying hair and thick eyebrows. His dark brown eyes are deep-set and show the first faint age lines, slightly visible bags and creases. Although he is clean-shaven, he has a fair amount of dark body hair. In his prime, he used to wear clean shirts, blazers and overall expensive clothing; now he has been reduced to a flannel shirt and a pair of jeans. His usually immaculate appearance is starting to deteriorate; his hair is getting greasy and lank, the bags under his eyes are more pronounced and his clothes are disheveled. His distinctive lips are typically pursed into a solemn frown.

Skills:

Strategist: Able to plan things out, look at a map, organise and prepare for things. Able to measure people’s strengths and weaknesses up and place them in the best positions.

Realist: Able to make the hard choices for the benefit of the team. Not afraid of getting his hands dirty. Doesn’t make stupid sacrifices - knows when to run away.

Business: Makes deals and keeps networks of contacts, can always put a name to a face, knows how to get bargains/make compromises. Very good with finances. Knows when he’s being lied to, can smell a scam or a trap a mile off.

Personality:
Brooks is not like the stereotypical gang leader. He’s practical, looking after the people in his territory and winning them over so he can manipulate and exercise his control later on. His firm, cold demeanour emanates authority, but his respect needs to be earned through actions before he can trust you. A pessimistic attitude has allowed him to be able to expect the worst and avoid nasty surprises; he rarely sees the good in people, and understands that there is no moral code in life. This style of thinking has made Brooks very selfish and he will stoop to any level to protect himself.

Despite the cool and indiscernible exterior, Brooks is a very volatile and passionate person. A mothers-boy and a family man at heart, he is prepared to take on any challenge to protect those he truly cares for. His bouts of anger and violent unpredictability, though rarely directed at his precious group of friends, have nevertheless tarnished his reputation by making him intimidating. There are very few who know how to placate him, even fewer who would actually be able to pull it off.

History:

“I don’t wanna’ be a product of my own environment, I want my environment to be a product of me. Way back when we had the church, that was just another way of sayin’ we had each other. Twenty years later we got people scrounging for corners, and dyin’ over districts.
If I got one thing against ‘em it’s this - No one gives it to ya’, you have to take it.

Tin ‘n’ Lint. I spent many a childhood days here, my face pressed against the window along with the other kids staring at the South-end's biggest and meanest men... Stories of their very actions boggling and filling our childhood minds with dreams of one day becoming like them. Now these men were proper animals, they owned these streets. Our dead-beat fathers feared ‘em, our Mothers warned us to stay away from ‘em. You can imagine what kinda’ honor I felt when I was allowed to waiter for ‘em in there. Hearing about their latest busts, debts they racked in, who’s safe and who ain’t? It was only time till one of ‘em pulled me aside and told me to deliver a message to Tony from further down the block. Messages became packages. Packages became threats. Threats became reality. And -snap- I was locked on.

There used to be a lot of bars down here in the south end. Though only two mattered. We had the Tin n’ Lint, and Ray’s Happy Birthday Bar. The Tin ‘n’ Lint boys decided it’d be a good idea to spread their operations from street-corners to districts instead. Crisped Ray’s joint up proper.
Now whether that was a good idea or not is debated still to this date, because no one expected the holy crusade the cops would have pulled on the South-ends asses after a menial stung like that..
I’m talking busts, stings, undercovers, mass-arrests… the biggest baddest men in the south didn’t know what hit ‘em. Their castles o’ stone turned to cheese after the first wave of rats started gnawing and nibbling into pig’s ears.
As it turned out, the Tin n’ Lint crooks didn’t have as much fear over the people as they thought. People were all too eager to speak up against their “brutality” towards the common folk. They weren’t wrong either.

And then there was me. Fatherless, mother's-boy, me.
My idols turning out to be weaker than ever, junkies n’ crack addicts littering the streets?
There was one thing I decided to do. No one gives it you, you -take- it.
If there’s one thing that all southies are on board with, it’s religion.
Being a criminal is much like being a mayor or president, really.
With the people's support you’re -untouchable-.

Make the Elderly happy by knowing they won’t die alone.
Calm the mothers by watching over their kids.
Keep the fathers pleased with secure jobs.
Thanksgiving turkey is just a bonus.

You don’t just make sure your gangs happy, you make sure the people surrounding your gang are happy, -they’re- the real threat.
I own the Tin n’ Lint now. I also own this street and the one down there. Fuck, I own this whole district.”

- Brooks Ellerby to Abigail Harlow