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LIFE IS PHANTASMAGORIA NOW

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[attr="class","freiwanttmid"]CHARACTER FACTION league

[attr="class","freiwanttmid"]CHARACTER RANK civilian

[attr="class","freiwanttmid"]FACE CLAIM connor from detroit become human

[attr="class","freiwantttop"]ABOUT THE CHARACTER

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content warning: mentions of human trafficking & allusion to child abuse/domestic violence
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To most, they accept the hand life has dealt them. There's a select few who manage to defy those odds and strive for something greater with their glimmer of existence. Lucky for you that the odds once stacked against you fall into your favor slowly but surely. You're born into the life of filth and squalor to a mother who didn't want you -- you couldn't blame her, she was a caged bird with clipped wings. She was a victim of human trafficking herself, something that you never quite understood. You only knew that she was expected to entertain folks who chose to pay for her. (In hindsight, you thank your mother for sparing you the horrid details of what went on behind those closed doors. But it wasn't long until lecherous, filthy hands robbed you of your ignorance.)
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The only thing that plucks you from the gutters is a chance encounter when it comes down to it: the current owner's son, Nathaniel, requires an heir so that he may take over his father's business. It's a shame children were never a foreseeable outcome for him, ergo he took to adoption. How lucky you were that you looked just enough like your adoptive father that no one dared to question the legitimacy of you. You played the role of the perfect son quite well -- some would argue too well. It was because of you that your adoptive father gained all assets after his own father passed.
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Alas, that picture perfect family of you and this man didn't last long. Once you got him what he wanted, he became cold and distant. You were just a pawn in his hands when it came down to it, and such was demonstrated in the harsh treatment you received when you were even a millimeter out of line. (Starvation was his favorite punishment of choice, but pain was a close second. During one of his fits, your skull was left in fragments as you suffered a traumatic brain injury -- doctors said it was a miracle in itself that you even survived. But perhaps given your indominable will to live, it didn't come as much of a surprise to you.)
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It was in one of those fits of his that your will to live made you fight like a cornered rat. You feared Nathaniel, but you feared the idea of death even more. He'd begun to grow old, and the time to pass the business on drew closer. He figured if he took you out of the picture, he could hold onto it just a bit longer. Alas, with age came frailty, and you took years of suffering out on the man you once called your father. (Even to this day, you keep his skull as a sort of trophy that you managed to take your life into your own hands for once.)
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His death doesn't ease the paranoia you feel any less. Former business partners could come and kill you. It gets to the point where you gaslight yourself that perhaps you didn't even kill your father. Your fears swirl and circle around you and you drive yourself mad. Paranoia makes one do awful things, and you were no exception, even going as far as to chemically burn your own fingerprints off.
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It's in this paranoia that you make your social circle small and rid the Velvet Room of its old blood and make room for new. People you can rely on, people you trust. Lorelei, your dear friend, makes for the perfect co-owner at your side. She takes care of the grittier details of the job, something she seems to have the nerve for, unlike you. Your work is more number-based. You like numbers and paperwork, you've found. (Doctors prior reason that in your more traumatic brain injuries, you began to develop Savant syndrome.) It's no surprise your business has done well for itself, the wealthy have odd tastes and certain itches they like to scratch. You're happy to accommodate.
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League, Rocket, they're just all flavor titles to you; money is the only affiliation that truly matters.