Room for one more? [hider=Joseph Ferrier] [b]Name:[/b] Joseph Gaius Ferrier [b]Nickname:[/b] "The Ferrier" (High School) "Joseph Finder" (Current) [b]Age:[/b] 35 years old [b]Gender:[/b] Male [b]Nationality:[/b] American born and bred [b]Appearance:[/b] 5'9", 160 (app.) lbs., military-style buzzcut, unkempt 5 o' clock shadow, white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket, dark jeans, dark brown combat boots over khaki socks. Caucasian, athletic build, former police officer, wears his gun in an over-the-shoulder holster, brown leather. Carries a second firearm in a black nylon ankle holster. Wears polypropylene kneeplates and shinguards under his jeans while on duty. [b]In-Depth Personality:[/b] He is not a social person, despite how much he has been forced to fraternize. He is inquisitive, taking things apart, and studying passerby to learn about the workings of the world. He is a talented investigator. He has had trouble in the past with painkiller addiction, due to his subconscious need to "mimic the mind" of various perpetrators and victims in relation to his cases. [b]Character background:[/b] Joseph Gaius Ferrier was born in Newport News, Virginia, United States, to an FBI agent mother and local Sherriff father. He lived his early life adhered strictly to a code of rules and regulations, and did little to stray from it. He showed a proficiency for baseball, though he had not the interest. What Joe really wanted to do was follow in his mother's footsteps. She came home every day with a briefcase, full to bursting with images of violent crimes and mugshots and police reports. His father, as he saw it, did little more than watch the city destroy itself. During high school, Joseph started to stray, getting involved with a local gang. In a drug deal gone wrong, he was shot in the leg. He was sixteen. His knee still aches to this day, when signaling rain or snow. The bullet wound healed slowly, and Joseph was bedridden for the better part of eight months while his leg pieced itself back together with the aid of silicone and titanium, the bullet having shattered his kneecap. His delinquent friends visited him often, to the point where he suggested that they use his hospital room for drug deals. His parents worked often during this period, as a serial killer, having claimed the lives of two couples and six individuals with a pickaxe, was quite active in the town. He retained a strong hereditary sense of justice, and once paid to have a man shot, the individual in question was accused of assaulting one of Joseph's couriers. Joseph became known on the street as "The Ferrier", as in "One who operates a ferry", as he was the one individual through whom one was able to acquire cocaine, methamphetamine, heroin, cannabis, and prescription painkillers, and deliver them safely and reliably, as guns were unable to brought into the hospital due to the metal detectors at the door, and a constant security presence prevented people from getting out of hand. He paid his three regular nurses to ignore it. Joe enjoyed this for quite some time, amassing profits he'd never dreamed of. But, he was healing fast, on the "up and out" as they say. When he was discharged, seventeen years old, he was at a crossroads. He'd lost his safe haven for trade, but found that he no longer felt the same enjoyment from the money. He wanted to [i]do[/i] something, as teens often do. Despite his new lease on life, he passed his High School finals as the definition of average, and applied immediately to the FBI Academy in Quantico. He was notified that he needed a degree to qualify, and opted instead, for Langley's Police Academy, scoring high marks in Logic and Deductive Reasoning, low ones in Public Relations. He was twenty years old. He served for four years as a beat cop in Newport News, before an argument with his father prompted him to leave his hometown in search of a career elsewhere. He found a job listing in Detroit, and found a place on the streets. After witnessing a murder of an unarmed civilian by one of his coworkers, and watching as Detroit PD ignored it, and protected the killer, he checked back through the department's record, revealing a long line of corruption. He fought for two years to have the cases reopened, but to no avail. Gradually, after receiving no help from DPD and IAF, he denounced federal policing altogether, and left the country after publicizing the information. At the time of leaving, he was twenty-nine. He used his life savings to lease a building in Vancouver, Canada, hanging up a sign that read simply "Joseph G. Ferrier, Private Detective", and has used the rest of his life solving discount homicides, overindulging, and being a mean old bastard. At this point in his life, he finds himself in a six-year rut, temper growing shorter and shorter, bottles becoming emptier, baggies lighter. He finds it more and more difficult each day to keep his finger off the trigger, and his hand off his baton. His badge is no longer a shield in his mind, but a war banner. He is thirty-five years old. [b]Equipment:[/b] - 5 oz. Stainless steel flask (Jim Beam, Devil's Cut) - 5" Maglite, x2 AA batteries - Detective Shield -Polypropylene Kneeplates & shinguards - Swiss Army Knife multitool, 4" blade, 13 tools total [b]Weapons:[/b] -.45 Calibre Beretta M92fs, rechambered from 9mm (primary) - 36" ASP Airweight titanium extending police baton - Smith & Wesson .38 Calibre Detective Special (secondary) - Cold Steel Kobun tanto-tip high-carbon stainless steel knife, kydex sheath [/hider]