SR4:CrashBG

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Birth Name: Micheal Schumacker

Street Name: Crash

Birth place Chicago, 2040

Gender: Male

Hair: Brown

Short Brown Beard

Eyes: Green/Chrome Covers

Meta Type: Elf


I was the only Elf born to the family, both my parents and my older brother were human. I grew up in an incredible time, Chi-Town was a great town in the early 50s. Looking back all I remember was the good times. My brother was my best friend, and my hero. But I had some issues when I was sixteen, Michael ran away from home. I had woke up that night to him and my parents yelling. He was saying something about finding this path. That was the last time I heard his voice. That was about four years before the Chicago Quarantine Zone went up.

My parents died inside the zone, they were cornered in the center of town when the bomb went off. Trapped at work in the city while I was still at home in the suburbs, I managed to be evacuated before the wall went up. With no home and no family I enlisted in service about two months later.

I served in UCAS Military forces 2058-2068. Early testing showed I had aptitude for flight endurance, so I signed on for two years as flight crew. My early carrier was rough, the USCAS military has a high percentage of Orcs, while they were all younger than I was, they were all stronger and they let me know they did not approve of my elven looks. I earned a long scar down my left cheek to mark the experience, while not jagged or distorting it is a dark reminder that life is not fair or even. I moved quickly from flight crew to pilot when I signed an eight year extension for a vehicle control rig. I was attached to the USCAS 1st fleet based out of Norfolk. I toured the Atlantic coast, and the northern Atlantic. Our primary mission was anti-piracy and smuggling.

My older Brother Michael died in what was miss-labeled an illegal street race in Miami in the spring of 2068. When I flew down to Miami to identity his body, I noticed several things. Bruises around his face on his hands told me he had been fighting. A bullet wound that was a few months old was next to what looked like a knife wound. But because the cause of death was officially a car accident the Medical Examiner was not even looking for a cause of death.

I took a discharge from UCAS military and moved to Miami. I was able to immigrate to CAS in 2068. I started trying to look into my brother’s death, but found no evidence, only a record of the crash. The attached video files had all been corrupted, the witnesses evaporated before I could get to town. All roads lead nowhere. I found out where he raced. I hung out at the right bars and I started to run in some of the races. I always made sure that I was never caught or caught without a bribe.


A few months in I finally found my brother’s fixer Miguel, the trail started to get hot. Miguel was the one lead I had from my brother’s things. But Miguel is not the type to fix and tell, he liked living. But a fixer meant that his brother was involved in more than just racing. Miguel is known for his smuggling. I knew then that I needed help. I made a few calls, finally my old CO called in a local favor.


In the wake of Crash 2.0 I was recruited into SWAT after my old Commanding Officer recommended me to head of Miami SWAT as a pilot. A military trained pilot with the headwear ready to go got me in the door. I served on SWAT during the rougher times post-crash. There were more than a few riots, Miami was a very rough town.

While in SWAT I developed a minor addiction to the combat drug JAZZ. I guess internal struggle with my brother’s death had made it difficult for me to allow anyone close to me personally.


The last day I flew for SWAT was against a Runner team that was holding a City Council Members daughter up for ransom. The operation was run by the numbers, I dropped in low and silent. The team dropped, I pulled back to a support position for over watch and fire support. As the team started to sweep the SR team spotted us, while they were distracted that is when the girl found her moment to escape.


And she was successful, she took a ten story drop into the pool of the hotel they had her in. My heart sank with her, this put the SR into a level of desperation I hope I never see. Knowing that all the chips were in and the ace in the hole just left the building.

They opened fire with everything, and I think they brought everything. I received the green light from HQ to swing over and start suppressive fire on the room. I executed a manuver and as the room came into full view that is when I saw it. A Dragon Anti-Tank launcher pointed right at me. Before I could think a command the rocket was in the air. And at point blank range there was nowhere to go, no amount of chaff was going to save me.

I rolled the chopper and tried to put as much machine between me and the rocket. I almost managed a complete a roll mid-air. As the rocket slammed into the chopped I was inverted and could see the pool below. That is when time really slowed down, all I could see was the girl still in the pool, slowly swimming to the side. I was going to drop right on top of her. I knew what I had to do, I forced what was left of the control surfaces to respond and gunned the throttle. Using the momentum of the roll I pushed the chopper away from the building and into the hotel parking lot.


I was told the crash was one for the record books.


The next few months were a drugged haze, and then the pain began. I damn near lost everything. In the end I lost both arms, my eyes, my heart, and I broke 183 bones. It took six months to finish rehab that was a personal hell. In that time I found out that the City Councilman found out that I had saved the Councilman's daughter's life by forcing the crash away from the building. He had forced LoneStar to pay for the replacements, without contract extensions. I guess I had a personal saint. I was lucky in the long run, the Star goes out of its way to suppress media coverage of its SWAP members. So my name and face stayed out of the media spot light.


Finding yourself rebuilt is a scary thing. Most of his skin was culture grown and grafted to my body. It all felt foreign, new and all strange. But all that pain was worth it when I received a visit from the girl. Her name is Melinda, because of me she had just celebrated her seventeenth birthday. She wanted to thank me in person for my “sacrifice”.

But my Lt. was my next visitor, and he shit all over my good day. He let me know by a technicality in the SWAT guide lines I had willing destroyed company property by forcing the crash into a hard surface. The same flight recorder that proved I had saved Melinda’s life had taken my passion from me. I was told if I had allowed it to drop the low altitude water landing was predicated to have made the chopper salvageable.

They pulled my flight status in SWAT, no appeals. And to top it off I was being promoted to detective, in Auto theft. No good deed goes unpunished.

Three months later I started in Auto. I know cars, hell at this point I knew half the car thieves in town. But I had always been careful not to out myself as a cop. But really I was never out there as a cop, just a brother. I used what I had learned over the last few years to help break a major theft ring after only six months. I had nothing but my work I poured myself into it.

While in Auto I met a new girl, Gail Lee, she got the shit job working the LoneStar impound lot. We dated a bit, but I guess my JAZZ addiction and the crash had changed things. I could not connect to her physically. Being physical was not like it used to be. I found myself wanting it rougher than she was comfortable with. We choose to break it off, knowing that I was not going to get better. But we stayed close and when she came up for supervisor later that year I signed off on her promotion. I still have lunch with Gail a few times a month.

My addiction to JAZZ was proving to be an issue. It had dulled that feeling of really being alive. My encounters with prostitutes became increasingly aggressive. Now I can only be entertained by a certain class of girl, and they know how to hit back. And that is just fine with me. At least I won’t hurt someone I care about.

I am not getting any closer to my brothers killer. The trail had long grown cold. I am a top shelf cop, my reviews are spotless. I know all the limits and where to and not to push. I have never taken a sick day. Hell I didn't even use any vacation unless my Lt forced the issue. Being on the street was the only way I am going to find clues I need. I would target Mob controlled rings.

I applied for VICE when I realized I had found multiple smuggling rings using the racers as disposable assets. Some of these people I have grown close to, and while they are criminals, they are being pushed too far with promises of big paydays. Too many don’t come back.

I has been driven to find his brothers killer and bring him down, after all they took from me the only family I had left. Revenge is all that gets me out of bed in the morning.

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