[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/yQn05K7.gif[/img][/center] [hider=Maxamillian] [center] [color=778899] [h2][u][b]Prisoner Data Form[/b][/u][/h2] [h3][color=DCDCDC]‘Maxamillian’[/color][/h3] [hider=Photograph][img]https://www.platinumgames.com/official-blog/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2014/04/man_4_nnn-kim.jpg[/img][/hider] [/color] [/center] [color=778899][b]Aliases:[/b][/color][color=silver]Max, Million[/color] [color=778899][b]Prisoner ID Number:[/b][/color][color=silver]8329[/color] [color=778899][b]Species:[/b][/color][color=silver]Nohvan[/color] [color=778899][b]Gender:[/b][/color][color=silver]Male[/color] [color=778899][b]Age:[/b][/color][color=silver]41 (Young Adult)[/color] [color=778899][b]Former Faction:[/b][/color][color=silver]The Shepherds’ Guild[/color] [color=778899][b]Physical Description:[/b][/color] [hider=Description Form] [color=778899][b]Height:[/b][/color][color=silver]5’10’’[/color] [color=778899][b]Weight:[/b][/color][color=silver]150 Lbs, 68 Kg[/color] [color=778899][b]Eye Description:[/b][/color][color=silver]Light, almost faded, [color=FFA500]orange[/color] iris’, with equally faded [color=87CEEB]light blue[/color], almost fuzzy looking sclera.[/color] [color=778899][b]Hair Description:[/b][/color][color=silver]At the moment of his incarceration, Max’s hair is very shortly shaved, and has faded back to it’s natural [color=Plum]lilac[/color] color, but was previously dyed [color=FireBrick]red[/color] to help him shroud his actual identity further.[/color] [color=778899][b]Skin Description:[/b][/color][color=silver]A smooth, almost rubbery skin that is mostly [color=black]black[/color] colored, with [color=808080]greyish/steel[/color] speckling adorning it across his body.[/color] [color=778899][b]Scars, Birthmarks, or other Identifying Traits:[/b][/color][color=silver]The antennae that Nohvan usually have removed at the end of their return ceremony are still prominent on Maxamillian’s head.[/color] [color=778899][b]Facial description:[/b][/color] [hider=Facial Picture, not up to date][img]http://i.imgur.com/849dRz9.png[/img][/hider] [color=778899][b]Description of Clothing/Armor:[/b][/color][color=silver]Max doesn’t usually stay in the same pair of clothes for very long, but the clothes he works in the most is his trusty faux fur lined jacket, fatigue pants and boots. The only part of his outfit that makes continual appearance is Max’s striking mask and it’s glowing lights. Using it to make his face virtually unknown amongst the criminal and civilian world alike, whenever he’s on business, he wears it, and takes it off when doing day to day errands as not to draw attention. Here and there are scratches and mark from previous encounters with combative guards. The mask has taken many hand to hand blows, and there is even a small dent near the top left of his forehead, from a bullet that romantically close to destroying the face behind the mask. Other than concealing his identity from most people that ever encounter him, the mask also functions to help shield his sensitive eyes from bright light, disguising his voice when necessary, giving him night and thermal vision, and having an in-house HUD to assist in navigation and day to day tasks. Other than that, most clothes Max wears are concealing. Very little to no skin is shown, as the color and pattern of his skin is rare even among his own kind, not even considering the galaxy. In prison, though, his jumpsuit fit loosely and nothing covers his lower arms and hands, so of course, the guards, the authorities, and his cellmates know the pattern color of his skin at the very least.[/color] [/hider] [color=778899][b]Bionic Limbs/Synthetic Organs/Robotic Augmentations:[/b][/color][color=silver]Max’s left arm and part of his shoulder have been explosively removed in an attempt on his life and replaced by a cybernetic replacement. It moves and behaves as a natural arm, except of course with a bit more power and vigor, and it is sealed in a silicon ‘skin’ colored the same way as his natural skin. For the most part, when wearing his usual garments, his augmentation is not noticeable, and Max tries his best to keep it hidden. As far as he knows, no one besides he or Comet know he even has it.[/color] [color=778899][b]Weapons of Choice:[/b][/color] [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/42/3b/19/423b191b2dc253e0aed6ce233df5d84a.jpg]White Wolf Plasma SMG[/url] - [color=silver]While not terribly accurate at longer ranges, its plasma technology makes it fairly quiet, and shoving the barrel in your target’s back when they aren’t looking makes for an exceedingly deadly, compact and easily concealable little powerhouse. Good for use in small ships, or security checkpoints with thin walls, the White Wolf gives Max a little punch for close range encounters when accuracy doesn’t count, but body count does.[/color] [url=http://i.imgur.com/mtWG2y7.jpg]GIMARX Machine Pistol a.k.a Vagabond[/url] - [color=silver]With a built in suppressor and compact size , the GIMARX is an ideal handgun for a vagabond smuggler to carry with him at all times. Accurate, powerful, and above all, quiet, this weapon is Max’s mainstay and one of his most prized possessions over him time exploring and smuggling throughout the galaxy. The longer he’s away from his weapon, the more he yearns to feel it in his hand once again.[/color] [url=http://static1.squarespace.com/static/551d20aae4b0720840698970/t/556f7f27e4b02d3071c56f72/1433370423734/]Experimental RK[/url] - [color=silver]The ERK is a knife that is rare, and used by very few. Those that use it have seen and used their fair share of blades, even in this time plasma and ballistics weapons galore, the ERK is a weapon made for a low-profile, professional killer. With an unstable magnet in the handle and the press of a button, the blade of the ERK can be propelled outwards at blistering speeds, and can pierce a decent range of armor, old and new alike. Depending on how far the blade has gone, the user can also press a different button to then use the magnet to bring the blade back. Be careful not to hold the button though...The blade could end up flying right back at you.[/color] [color=778899][b]Charges/Sentences:[/b][/color] [color=silver]Put in Order of Severity:[/color] [color=IndianRed]Smuggling/Trafficking of Illegal Goods/Undocumented Lifeforms[/color] - [color=FFE4E1]Probably the one crime he’s committed too many times to count, the authorities every day find more and more smuggling cases to tag Max’s name on. Although a majority of his cases are of smuggling people across intergalactic borders and onto uncharted planets for a fee, there’s not much Max can say he hasn’t smuggled. Exotic animals, rare fruit tree seeds, outlawed pornographic material, and even that one shipment of explosives that took his arm with them. To give an official number, over 975 counts of smuggling illegal weapons/contraband, 1,356 counts of human/lifeform trafficking, and plenty more of less serious charges.[/color] [color=IndianRed]Murder[/color] - [color=FFE4E1]Max, like his counterparts, has committed his fair share of murders, mostly out of necessity, either to keep from being caught by the authorities or to keep his identity hidden and to keep it from being found out. Over the 14 years he worked, he’s only committed roughly 36 murders, mostly security checkpoint guards, interstellar security forces, and even some notable criminal kingpins that crossed him.[/color] [color=IndianRed]Kidnapping/Detaining without Consent[/color] - [color=FFE4E1]To avoid his kill count getting too high, Max has had to knock out and basically kidnap a few people here and there, only to dump them in far away corners of the galaxy and let them find themselves back. Either that, or maybe a few people needed some time locked in a closet before they could give Max the information he needed, The authorities say they have 14 counts of kidnapping, but Max knows he has quite a few more under his belt.[/color] [color=IndianRed]Aggravated and Non-Aggravated Assault[/color] - [color=FFE4E1]Those kidnappings mentioned above involved a lot of rough housing, that’s a given. Also under this category are the many, [i]many[/i] security guards, police officers and such that he’s had to give the good ol’ frying pan to the back of the head so they wouldn’t know where he went.[/color] [color=IndianRed]Grand Theft Spacecraft (?)[/color] - [color=FFE4E1]Being a world-class human smuggler requires a lot of ships, and when you’re stingy and don’t want to spend your money, stealing is the next best thing, and Max has stolen quite his fair share of them. From single person craft to 15 person traveling vessels.[/color] [color=778899][b]Skills:[/b][/color][list] [*][color=2F4F4F]Quick and Painless[/color] - [color=708090]Max is a silent quick mover and killer, and when he senses things have gone awry, he can quickly dispatch the nearest targets and get moving before they have time to react. Good for keeping attention low and time saved, especially when moving hot cargo. His impact softening skin and poisonous fangs make greats tools for him to excel at close combat.[/color] [*][color=2F4F4F]Smuggler’s Sense[/color] - [color=708090]Max has a knack for finding the smallest places to hide in or to stash things in. He’s used and stolen a lot of spacecraft in his time, and he knows the in’s and out's of their nooks, crannies and other places to stuff contraband now. Even with using new ships or being in unfamiliar buildings, he can be pretty good at guessing where certain vents where lead or where he can slide his hot documents in order to pull them out somewhere else. Smuggling stuff for a while gives you a good sense of space, and how to utilize and exploit it.[/color] [*][color=2F4F4F]Meticulous Housekeeper[/color] - [color=708090]Being forced into servitude by a rich human family has it’s perks. Max and cook, clean, and decorate like a fiend, not even to mention his medical training? Oh wait, did I mention they also used them as a nurse too? Nothing big like surgeries, but he’s become quite the whiz at stitching up cuts, stopping bleeding and can nurse you back from a bad cold like it was it job. Well, because it was at one point. Also, he can sing like there’s no tomorrow, but good luck on that one.[/color] [*][color=2F4F4F]Torture Recipient in Practice[/color] - [color=708090]Not only did Max put up with being in the hold of a Maximum Octane raider group for about 15 years, he also lived with an abusive and manipulative family of humans that owned him, so at this point, having put it all past him, there isn’t much that can bother him anymore. Not that he doesn’t feel anything, he definitely does, but there are few, if any, ways to extract information forcefully, or to coerce him into acting against his will. What is it that they say about men with nothing to lose?[/color] [*][color=2F4F4F]The Helmet isn’t just for Looks[/color] - [color=708090]Max’s nearly permanent mask has negated many of the things Nohvan’s have to worry about when it comes to lights and their eyesight, but along with that, has supplemented his abilities too. He can switch to thermal, night vision, or even a weak form x-ray to detect hollow spots in walls or things of that nature. Not to mention fairly bulletproof, the helmet also has a device to modulate Max’s voice, give him directions & help navigate charted space, and has a database to store important smuggling contracts or any other important information. The helmet, as if it wasn’t useful enough, has also been instrumental to keeping his identity a secret across the large networks on which he is known. Other than, of course, being known as the guy in the mask, but there are quite a few of those, aren’t there? Thankfully, since the helmet protects his vision, and doesn’t really do much to help him escape, the prison allows him to wear it even in incarceration, provided a guard searches through it on a regular basis to affirm that Max hasn’t smuggling or is hiding anything in it.[/color] [/list] [color=778899][b]Flaws:[/b][/color] [list] [*][color=Brown]Who Am I?[/color] - [color=BC8F8F]Max doesn’t really have a sense of self anymore. He’s had time to reflect on his actions, what landed him in the position he’s in, and [i]regret[/i] isn’t too far off from what he’s feeling. He let his own greed and devotion to his own self-righteous objective control him, and now it’s caught up with him. Is he a truly ruthless criminal, or is he the galaxy-wide hero he thought he was?[/color] [*][color=Brown]Catatonic[/color] - [color=BC8F8F]When left alone, or bored, for too long, or under extreme stress (which rarely happens), Max has a handy habit of just shutting down. It can be very difficult to draw him out of his stupor, and has it has required medical means to do so in the past. While hard for even Max to explain, the best words he’s put it in are “It’s like seeing my dreams and desires co-mingle with my fear and regrets, and get murdered by them. Like a lucid nightmare of sorts.”[/color] [*][color=Brown]Fear and Prejudice[/color] - [color=BC8F8F]Although he’d never admit it, Max has always had this gnawing urge in the back of his head to either fight or flee when dealing with humans, in just about any situation. Having dealt with roughly 18 years of abuse at the hands of various humans of all shapes and sizes, he’s understandably apprehensive about them. He wouldn't exactly call it hate, but more of a constant wariness of any humans around him or that try to do business with him.[/color] [*][color=Brown]Up Close and Personal[/color] - [color=BC8F8F]Max isn’t exactly the best at ranged combat. Even though his bionic arm could, in theory, help him hold a long weapon steady, Max has never been one for combat at a distance. Close combat is where he excels, and that’s about it. Assassinations, sniper missions, or long range firefights were never Max’s forte.[/color] [*][color=Brown]Not Everything is Made Of Steel[/color] - [color=BC8F8F]Aside from Max’s resilient mask and bionic arm, Max doesn’t carry very heavy armor, and he himself is rather ‘squishy’. He take take punches fairly easily due to his unique Nohvan skin, but things like bullets and knives still do quite the number on Max and his unfortunately average pain tolerance. He can handle pain, sure, but everything still hurts quite a bit for him.[/color] [/list] [color=778899][b]Personality:[/b][/color] [color=silver]Not quite a social butterfly, but also not quite socially inept, Max is man is speaks simply, eloquently at times, and always respectfully. He doesn’t exactly look like the most inviting person to have a conversation with, but he knows how to hold one up if need be. He’s more of a “Wait for someone to initiate.” Kind of guy. Max isn’t incapable of joking, he has some sense of humor, [i]somewhere[/i]... Less of a giggling fit kinda of guy and a more of a “once-in-awhile-smirk-that-no-one-can-see-because-of-the-big-mask” type of man. He’s seen and experienced too many stressful situations for them to make him panic anymore. He may not be able to sprout a genius plan on the spot, but he knows how to at least keep himself alive and plays the battles out to his strengths using his speed, stealth and cunning above all. No criminal is too insane, no personality too outlandish to bother him. One of the few things that takes Max out of his comfort zone is, surprisingly, family drama. Anything regarding families, their bonds, the breaking up of families, and things of that manner always strike a chord with Max, as it reminds him that he was taken from his family before he even got to know them, and then forced into an abusive family, ya know, the usual. Seeing people tear families apart in the intergalactic slave trade especially infuriates him, nearly enough to kill, even if he genuinely doesn’t like doing it.[/color] [hider=Too Much Biography] [color=silver]Finally rising from the vast seas of Noviah, the yet unnamed Nohvan child felt the antenna on his head give him a tug, pulling towards a coastline that was still many days of swimming away. Driven by pure instinct and foolhardy determination, the child swam. The young boy swam with great vigor for three days, and was met with jubulous celebration on his arrival. There, in the small village, the source of the immense tug in his head finally sat before him; a beautiful young Nohvan woman, who immediately scooped her child into her arms the moment she laid eyes on him. Against the mundane greens and browns, the child stood out, his black skin adorned in grey splotches, he was different, but this mattered not. His unique skin and striking eyes only made for more intense and vigorous partying from every member of his village, including the child, who had just barely learned how to party himself. For two days, the village held great celebration, but the third day held much more sinister plans in mind. While distracted by the return of one of their young, in the wildlands and stars surrounding the Nohvans sat a force of men and women intent on using this celebration for their own nefarious objectives. Early into the dusk on the third day of celebration, these vile men and women pounced on their occupied prey, killing what they wanted, and taking anything else. A young Nohvan, fresh from the brine bath, was especially valuable to these people. The child would sell for top dollar, or would make for a valuable asset in their army of slaves. Whichever way one looked at it, that child was worth more to them alive than dead. Time spent in the hands of Maximum Octane is not time spent peacefully. Some days were better, simple verbal abuse from some of the more aggressive members, but nothing much more than barking commands at him. Other days were misery. Beatings for making mistakes in combat training, beatings for making mistakes when handling the food of the crew, beatings just because the crew needing something to hit. While some members had the good mercy to simply leave the captives alone and move on to murdering and pillaging other places, some did not, and these some provided for some of the young Nohvan’s worst nightmares and biggest scars. The young Nohvan was, in fact, not the only one of his kind that had ever been in the captivity of Maximum Octane either. Old Nohvans, young Nohvans, even once, an, albeit dead, parasitic Nohvan could also be seen being dragged around and abused on the ship. None of them, although, ever really tried to communicate with the frightened, black and grey child of their own kind, always turning their backs or faces when they saw him. Other than, of course, appearances of skin and face, age and name, there was one unmistakable difference between every other Nohvan on the ship and the young child: where all the other ones had scars or small bumps on their heads, instead, in the same place, sat an antennae on the young one’s head. While all of these Nohvan’s had received their own names and had their independence granted to them via removal of their antennae, the child had done neither. While the other Nohvan’s felt their hearts and souls tug them towards their homes, the child still felt his head pull and yank him in the direction of his mother, who had taken up residence in a cocoon many leagues below the ocean. The pull was weaker than before, but still there. Finally, the cycle was broken. The nameless had finally made two new friends, of his own kind. A set of sisters, distinctly colored like him, taken from their villages young, like him, but yet, they were different. Their antennae were absent, they had been given names, and they were both of a light, rare pink skin tone. Takakiko & Onimani were the first Nohvans to actually communicate with the otherwise outcasted, nameless young boy. He was older than them, but not by a lot. At this point, though, age didn’t matter any more. Anyone that was nice enough to say a word to him was nice enough in his book. In the 13 miserable years he had spent playing servant and mercenary in training, he finally had a reason to wake up and leave his cell. Amongst the browns, greens, and beiges that usually filled the ship, the light, soft tones of pink that awaited the nameless were enough to brighten up his life. As to be expected, though, this joy was short lived. Soon, the raiders of Maximum Octane tired of having to deal with their sluggish, easily distracted Nohvan servant, and sold him off to the highest bidder. At the age of 15, a nameless adolescent Nohvan was sold to the Fitzgeralds, a wealthy Human family who had a taste for expensive, young alien butlers. And he was already so well trained, with a cute little antenna to boot! The pull was weaker than before, but still there. With his twin companions gone, and ripped from the slaver ship he had known for a majority of his life, Corbin, as his new owners aptly named him, was seemingly on a strange planet, but with an ever so familiar enemy: humans. These people weren’t mercenaries or raiders, but they weren’t much better when it came to how they treated the help, either. Verbal abuse, physical abuse, but in a different flavor: higher tax bracket. At least the raiders had the common decency to feed him, his new owners forgot to do it fairly often. “The Help can help themselves, too,” was their usual go to excuse for when he asked why they refused to feed them. Hard to help yourself with locked cabinets and a pair of eyes over your shoulders wherever you went. So, Corbin took matters into his own hands, quite literally. Every chance he got, Corbin would snatch handfuls of food, scraps or straight out of the pan he was cooking in, it didn’t matter. It all went in his pockets, in his jacket, any space he could find to hide things, food was placed there. The Fitzgeralds found it strange they were eating so much more than usual, but they could always buy more than enough food to replace it. Corbin never did know what made this particular family so rich, but, whatever it was, it made them enemies. Threats of assault and death could sometimes be found displayed on the holographics of the house, dead animals left on the steps of their porch, things of that nature. Some barbarians went so far as to even hand write death threats, and leave them tucked in spots around the property. It always shook Corbin to the core to find one of them, especially when they mentioned him. [color=DC143C][b]“FREE THE KID” “SINFUL SLAVERS WILL DIE” “ONLY THE BUTLER WILL SURVIVE”[/b][/color] These were a few of the words Corbin made out scribbled wildly on a few sheets of paper, before his handlers would snatch them from him, and berate him for touching them. He always thought the threats were scary, imagining a crazed Human or Gorgas breaking in the house late a night, and leaving the family a bloody mess. Being in such a vulnerable position made him squirm, the deaths of the Fitzgeralds, not so much. From the abusive husband, to the demented wife, and their two little sadists, all of them represented loathing for Corbin. He hated the name they gave him, too. It sounded like someone that was always on the verge of dry heaving was trying to call him Corey. Anyways, those trusty notes proved to be that of non-fiction, and one lucky night, one of the Fitzgeralds, one of their little cherubs, left a window opened and unlocked when the family went to sleep, and that represented an opportunity to someone. During his usually restless and light sleep, sounds of muffled shuffling in the next room gave Corbin a bit of jostle. Immediately, his imagination went crazy, images of a blood spattered, crazed murder entered his head. His hand rushed to the hollow tube of his bed frame, drawing a small knife he had taken from the kitchen unnoticed once. His hands shook as he held the blade close to his chest, slowly approaching his door to investigate the noise outside. Before his hand could turn the knob, though, it turned itself, and Corbin watched in horror as the door slowly opened, and in walked...a cloaked woman? Her gaze went from bed, immediately to Corbin across the room from the door. She saw his knife, and immediately pointed her firearm at him. His shaky hands finally gave in to their better senses, and immediately dropped the small knife, trying their best to see which could reach the ceiling first. “You’re not human. You’re their little indentured servant aren’t you?” The woman spoke. As Corbin’s sensitive eyes adjusted to the light that flooded the room, he noticed the wrinkles on the woman’s face. She wasn’t some young assassin or crazed beggar. Her eyes had experience in them. ”Can you speak English, kid?” “W-what exactly is an indentured servant?” Corbin sputtered out. “Do they treat you badly and make you do things for them, for nothing in return?” The woman asked, the pistol relaxing, but not leaving Corbin. Corbin, the indentured servant, he had just figured out, nodded silently. “Did they promise your freedom eventually?” Corbin shook his head wordlessly. “Then, that would make you a slave, actually. Come with me kid.” Corbin, the slave, he had just figured out, followed obediently as the woman turned and left the room. The duo entered the living room, where each member of the family sat, bound with rope and energy cuffs. Two men stood in the room among them, peering out of the windows, occasionally kicking the family members if they got too loud. The woman walked Corbin in front of the family, and then all began to murmur and try desperately to get Corbin to provide them assistance. Yet, he stood, observing them. “Which one treated you the worst, kid?” Corbin, eyes locking with those of the husband, raised a single finger and pointed at him, only to the dismay of the entire family, who responded with a cry, especially the man in question. The woman grabbed the pointed hand, and stuck her pistol in it, rising another quickly stomped out panic from the family. “Kill him, kid. You’re old enough, you have to start standing up for yourself.” Eyes locked with the husband, Corbin saw not only Fitzgerald, but he saw the raiders of Maximum octane. The drill sergeant that always beat him, the pilots who always used him as a foot rest, the men who sold him away from his only two friends. Many faces appeared over one, and every lock broke. Tears streamed down Corbin’s face, and his grip on the gun grew tighter. Mr.Fitzgerald joined him in tears, but his were sour. They weren’t the tears of a man who had wished he could've done differently. They weren’t tears of remorse or self-disappointment. They were the tears of a man who was sorry he got caught. Corbin’s finger found it’s way to the trigger and began to squeeze. Had it not been for the woman holding it steady, he would’ve shaken to much to ever hit anything he aimed at, but luckily, before he knew it, he had pulled the trigger far enough, and the pistol jumped. His eyes rang, and he turned away from the bright flash that pounced from the barrel. His head slowly turned back, as the screams and cries of wife and children became audible again. Crimson streamed from Mr. Fitzgerald’s chest as his eyes rolled back. The young Nohvan exhaled. At that point, he had freed himself. He was no longer Corbin, he was no longer a slave. He had become nameless once again, but this time, he had the freedom to name himself. With the Fitzgerald’s dead, the now 18 year-old Nohvan no longer had owners, no more eyes watching over his shoulder, nor more hands on his body. He had a mentor now, and her name was Comet. She was a roaming thief and murderer, who, according to the woman herself, “Only targeted the rich assholes who deserve to have it all taken from them.” “Well, if you’re going to be my little sidekick, I need something to call you. What’s your name?” “The Fitzgerald’s called me Corbin, but-” “But you don’t want their name do you?” The young Nohvan shook his head. “Then what do you want me to call you?” “What’s a good name?” “I can’t choose for you, kid. What’s the coolest name you ever heard?” “Maxamillian? He was one of the captains on a slaver ship I was on.” “That’s not an awful name. So, I guess you’re Maxamillian now, huh?” Maxmillian nodded, and smiled. Now, his life sat in front of him. Using the combat skills he had learned from Maximum Octane, the things he taught himself at the Fitzgerald house about hiding and stealing, Max found himself well in the life of the thief, and later a smuggler. First, snack foods and cheap trinkets out of exotic alien stores, and then, he moved onto bigger things, such as personal electronic devices, cheap flick knifes. All the while he stole and smuggled, Comet was there to guide and teach him. Her curriculum centered around the ways she’d been taught to operate by her family members, to kill and steal out of necessity or righteousness. Only take from and kill those who could afford it. Max, though, had a different skill set. He had a knack for stealing valuable things, only to sneak them across town for the children who lives in alleyways and crevices. Smuggling become second nature to Max, and it synergized well with Comet, who always needed some more illicit things handled in a discreet manner. Soon, petty thievery became too small for Maxamillian to accept. Comet was convinced she saw something of a natural talent in him, the way he nimbly handed even the bulkiest packages, and always knew the most natural places to hide them. She struck a deal with the now young adult: She would start nabbing contracts for him, and he’d get the Wolf’s Share for any jobs she landed him. With his skill and her contacts in the criminal world, confidence in a rich and lavish future was oozing from the both of them. For once in his life, Max wouldn’t be the slave and beggar, he’d be the rich one. He’d get all the money the universe had to offer, no matter what sorts of packages he’d have to move. His newfound love for money, and Comets ever so familiar love for money mingled well, and they moved fast. It was big enough news that famous thief Comet had a new protege under her wing, now some even thought he was better than his mentor! Word spread fast, and contracts followed at the same speed, each falling defeated to the quick and nimble up and comer in the trade. “Maxy Million” was become somewhat of a hot topic, for those that wanted to do business, and those who wanted him dead. He had handled enough jobs with enough finesse that he was offered the opportunity of a lifetime: An exclusive spot in the Bagrunners Clan of the Shepherds’ Guild. If you needed something smuggled, the Shepherds were who you went to. They seemed to know the galaxy inside and out, every nook, every cranny, every security checkpoint down to the light switch. No one knew how they got the information they did, but there were always theories. Government insiders, stolen blueprints, universe-class hackers. No one really knew the truth, though. The only thing that everyone did know for sure was that only the best smugglers and traffickers worked for The Shepherd's’ Guild, and Max was just invited to be one of their elite clans, the Bagrunners. The Bagrunners were known for their deadly efficiency and ghostly stealth, having moved some of the most valuable cargoes ever seen in the galaxy. Important people, weapons, animals, anything that could be named could be smuggled. The time Max spent in the Bagrunner’s clan was some of the best memories he'd ever make, some of the worst injuries he’d ever endure, and the most money he’d ever see touch his hands in one day. Maxamillian was the pinnacle criminal. Rich, skilled, and expensive to hire. He and Comet profited immensely from the Shepherds’ Guild’s contracts, but something was beginning to change about the men around him. Usually, The Shepherds didn’t trade heavily in people, and especially not slaves. It was the only market that they didn’t have great power in. Although, soon enough, new leadership came in, and things began to change. Suddenly, the code of honor meant little to these men and women. The sole thing keeping these professional law breakers separate from everyday criminals was slowly dissipating, and Max wasn’t the only one noticing. Soon, the smugglers that still refused to take human trafficking contracts were either being fired or eliminated from the guild. Heat was turned on high, and Max was starting to sweat. Comet urged him to leave before he was either eliminated or forced to conformed, but he maintained. Human trafficking was something new to him, and he decided it’d be easy to just work with the Guild for the moment rather than having to tell them nicely that one of their best smugglers was leaving. Of course, things never could go well for Max for too long. His first package was a young human girl, being sold to a rich alien family on a planet in fringe space. A sickening feeling sat in the bottom of Max’s stomach during the whole trip, the transaction, and the trip back. His stomach was ready to hurl all the bile and food it could, as images of his own young self mixed with those of the frightened little girl he dragged across half the galaxy. When he returned, he immediately resigned from the Guild. The Nohvan decided to take a few months to himself, relish his freedom from the deteriorating Guild and his large sums of money. After retirement life became too boring, he had Comet start flagging contracts for him again, and he was officially back on the radar. To be expected, it wasn’t too long until a shipment of supposed exotic fruit was actually laced with explosives, Max left with a little less humerus than when he accepted the contract. With a new bionic arm in place, Max became more weary of the contracts he accepted. The Guild was obviously still out for him, and a little more of cautiousness was going to go a long way. He picked up lifeform trafficking again, but on a different note. The little girl he sold off before haunted him day after day, and he was determined to right his wrong. Instead of tearing apart families and selling children to abusers, he was going to be reuniting families and helping people find their way back to each other. Make sure no other children fell victim to the life he had fallen to. The pull was weaker than before, but still there. Years passed, families were reunited, others were broken. Men and women left behind widows and orphans, orphans found new parents, parents found their children, all at Max’s hands. All the while, his antenna always pulled him towards home. A home he was no longer welcome to. A home that wasn’t even his. Soon, a mechanical mask took the place of his face for most of his days. Maxamillian was a man wanted not only by the authorities, but but his fellow criminals. You can’t steal slaves and return them home without a few slave drivers getting mad at you. You can’t steal business from one of the biggest trafficking organizations in the galaxy without a few smugglers getting mad at you. You can’t kill a few Law Enforcers without bringing down the wrath of galactic government down on you. You can’t ignore that pull forever, Maxamillian. You can’t keep killing fathers, mothers, and children, Maxamillian. You can’t keep running guns for people that are destroying families, Maxamillian. You can’t run forever, Maxamillian. You can’t ignore that pull forever, Maxamillian. Even though they are all over Nohvia. They’re waiting for you, Million. Don’t get caught, Million. [/color] [/hider] [color=778899][b]Personal Belongings:[/b][/color] [color=silver]His custom made Mask/Helmet 500k Galactic Units/ OR just currency.[/color] [color=778899][b]Other:[/b][/color][color=silver]N/A[/color] [color=778899][b]Theme song[/b][/color]: [youtube]https://youtu.be/FBfcJt6ygEQ[/youtube] [/hider]