Dragonfly

Name: Saman Mistry

Blood type: AB-

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Nicknames: Pilot, Getaway

Pastimes: Driving, tinkering, thrill seeking

Scorecard:

Physical        

Combat skill

Psychological    Strength                   2/5 Accuracy                             2/5 Intelligence                      3/5 Endurance               2/5 Reflexes                              4/5 Bravery                             2/5 Agility                        4/5 Weapons versatility          2/5 Resilience                         2/5 Constitution             3/5 Battlecraft                          3/5 Wisdom                            3/5 5=Exceptional 4=Specialist 3=Trained 2=Average 1=Poor Overall role: Trained Pilot

[https://i.imgur.com/qpudqlg.png]

Bio: Born India 1985 March 30. Raised in the slums Dragonfly quickly learnt to become independent and provide for himself while helping his family where he could. Learning to drive cars and ride motorcycles from an exceptionally young age he took an immediate appreciation to driving. Spending every moment he could behind the wheel he learnt how to feel where the car was and developed an exceptional spatial awareness for whatever he drove.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Growing up life remained to be the same day to day hassle it always was. Going to school coming home to help around the house to finish his work before going to bed. The only enjoyment he had for awhile was the simplicity of driving only having to focus on getting from A to B. Landing a part time job at the age of 15 he managed to save enough money to buy a sports bike by 16.

Taking an immediate appreciation to his personal motorcycle he regularly threw himself round whatever quiet streets and roads he could find. Falling into a street racing scene his reputation quickly cascaded into something great. Being apart of a community that understood his passion for speed only reinforced his will to push himself further.

Winning high stakes races and building up his name he managed to acquire his own garage full of prized cars and bikes by the ripe age of 19. Generating such a reputation in such a small amount of time saw him noticed by more subversive organisations. Offered a massive paycheck to accept training as a pilot while offering his services as a driver he earned his nickname Getaway.

Transporting hardened criminals initially in boosted old sports cars he found himself entrusted with super cars in high profile criminal operations till eventually he was placed in a cockpit. Finding flying to be just as exhilarating if not more Dragonfly continued to expand his reputation as a professional pilot no matter the vehicle leading him into the mercenary scene.

With the skills to take the wheel or stick of anything the force he fought for acquired he became a valuable asset to anyone he fought with. During his mercenary years he was even able to get behind the stick of a few fighter craft, most notably a MiG 21. With such a diverse skill set in anything with an engine he was highly sought after.

Bouncing around numerous mercenary teams he settled down with a tight knit team of mercenaries who encouraged his wild driving and piloting. Finding himself surrounded by the same type of people he enjoyed so long ago he decided to stick around. With him at the wheel or stick the team got into where ever they were required to be regardless of combat intensity.

Upon hearing of the teams decision to enter the zone Dragonfly almost decided to part ways as the job would have no use for his skills. However for the sake of camaraderie and friendship he decided to stick along to see where the contract would go and if he could further expand his skill set as a competent soldier as well. A greater mistake couldn’t have been made.

Stepping off into the zone once inserted the vast reality of the situation hit him. He was a rifleman through and through now, nothing else. There wouldn’t be any support runs or pickups, it was just him and his rifle. Unsure how to proceed he found himself to be the competent fighter he hoped to be but the threats of the exclusion zone displayed this was still woefully inadequate.

As each day went by he’d look up into the sky wishing he was tearing through it away from the desecrated grass that threatened to drag him down into the depths. At the very least hovering above to provide some escape for the men he’d grown to care about. With luck he’d be able to spread his wings and fly again someday. If he could survive this he’d make sure the sky was the only place he ever was after setting foot onto the defiled soil that shifted so unnaturally. There’d be an escape, one day.