Name: "Eric. Eric Boyd."
Description: "Six-two, brown hair, gray eyes. 42 years old. White. I don't exactly have a usual outfit, whatever the job needs. I wear a vest most of the time. Never know in this hellhole. Besides that, I've got a few scars, the usual."
Personality: "Well, I've been called a lot of things. Wise-ass. Nosey. Depressing. Comes with the job, don't you think? *chuckle* But, they ain't wrong. I don't like people, and, in my line of work, if you don't go into it hating humanity, you come out that way."
Bio: "It all started with my dad, I suppose. He was a beat cop in a big city. A real city, not this hellhole. Had a wife, kids. Then one day, he took a few bullets. Died a hero, they say. I think the "died" part is the most important, don't you agree? My dear mom tried her hardest to raise us right, and I like to think it worked, at least on me. I joined the force as soon as I could, following in dad's footsteps. Didn't take me long to realize I wasn't fit out for being a cop, though. The entire job's just paperwork, nothing interesting. After a while, I quit, making everybody there a little happier, and figured I could become a private detective."
"Turns out, being a private eye isn't that great. Almost all of my "cases" were middle-aged guys who thought their wife was cheating on them, or vice-versa. It paid well, but the hassle with the cops, and the legal trouble? Not worth it. Eventually, I moved out to this hellhole, figuring my skills would be useful in a city this bereft of cops. Didn't take long for me to realize the gangs paid better, and soon I was staking out rival drug houses, houses of gang members, and the police. Man, I loved it. Turns out, gangsters don't care if you use an illegal bug or break into somebody's house to get information. It was all the "real" detective work I ever wanted, without all the hassle. Eventually, though, I got caught red-handed breaking into the house of a mob boss for a few spreadsheets. The cops gave me some slack, since the burglary gave them an excuse to get inside the house and arrest the guy, but they still arrested me on burglary, and tied all the other things I'd done to me. That's how I got here. Question is how I get out."
Goal: "Clean up all of my loose ends, get out of this failed city, and find some place that I can retire without being shot by crooks. If I don't take this as an opportunity to get out, I don't think I'll ever convince myself to leave."
Combat Skills: 1 Hand-to-hand "I've thrown more then my fair share of punches in my life. A lot of people don't like us dicks."
1 Revolver "I always carry a piece, just in case something goes down. Revolvers are pretty stylish, and when you hit something, it goes down. Nothing more you can ask for."
Non-Combat Skills: 2 Spot "I notice just about everything that's going on around me, most of the time. Good skill to have when you're a private eye. Every little detail counts."
1 Surveillance "I've got more bugs then a swamp. I use bugs for everything, from investigating some guy's mistress to looking into a murder."
1 Persuasion "I've talked with every kind of person, rich and poor, young and old, cop and crook. This job doesn't give you a lot of faith in humanity, but it makes you great at talking to people."
Power: "I like to call it the Knack. It's intuition, most people would say, but it feels like more then that. Whenever I'm looking around, this little birdie whispers in my ear where to look. When I'm looking through an empty building, it tells me if I'm going to find a body around the corner or a gun. You know, that sort of thing. Everybody has it, but I think I've got a much more..active version of it."
((Sorry for the wall of blue text. Also, "four replies have been posted while you were typing."))