Tramer

Tramer was born into a privileged life, money, education…as a child near to everything he could ever desire was at his fingertips. Tramer indulged in this life very well, taking private marshal art lessons several times a week, owning three cars before he could even drive…having his own party house.

Though there is a cost to all things, Tramer never knew his father very well, he always being off on some…“business trip“. for many years all was well, all until Tramer’s sixteenth birthday. As usual Tramer’s father was nowhere to be seen, his mother Sorasha was in the kitchen just adding the finishing touches to his birthday cake…the door crashing in was soon fallowed by a ear piercing screech from Tramer’s mother. Tramer rushed to the kitchen to see the cause of the all the commotion, though just before passing though the doorway a loud bang of a gun caused the young boy to freeze in this tracks, he still had yet to see into the kitchen…though the splatter of blood on the wall and the quickly building puddle on the floor all to well set the stage for what was in store for him.

His memory faded from that point, only starting again with first the taste of blood on his plait…his hands bound to the arms of a chair with duck tape, his face bruised and swollen. He could hear a man talking to someone, glancing around with a grunt of pain he made out a tall fox talking to someone on the phone.

“YOU! YOU DON’T TELL ME HOW THIS WORKS!!” the fox yelled, “if you ever want to see you son again…you will bring the package to me tonight!” he said grinding his teeth.

Tramer could barely make out the voice on the other end of the phone…yet…it was unmistakably his fathers, though to this day the words he made out haunt him.

“my son…or two and half billion dollars?” his father said with a chuckle before hanging up.

Tears rolled down Tramer’s face matting his already blood soaked fir. How? How could he chose money over his own flesh and blood? Such questions flooded Tramer’s mind, first he was overwhelmed by grief…fear, though anger quickly took over, HOW! How could he do he do this…

The fox approached Tramer as he pulled a simple 9mm hand gun from a holster hanging from his waste, pulling a silencer from his jacket pocket he proceeded to attach it to the handgun. “its nothing personal…just business” he said in a mono tone. With the ring of his phone he let out a sigh, setting the handgun down on a box next to Tramer he answered the call with a irritated “hello!” fallowed by a lengthy description of his discussion with Tramer’s father.

Leaning over he tore into the duck tape binding his right hand with his fangs, with a quick jerk the tape tore, with one hand free he made short work of freeing his other hand. Without pause he grasped hold the gun beside him and pointed at the fox on the phone.

By this point the fox took note of the young boy pointing his own gun at him, slowly pulling the phone from his ear he turned toward the boy, “slow down there…” he said his voice cracking slightly, “we would not want to do anything we might regret now” he continued taking a step closer to Tramer.

“nothing personal…just business” he chocked out tears rolling down his face before pulling the trigger.

The man dropped to his knees grasping the new hole in his chest, coughing up a fair bit of blood he soon toppled over.

Tramer watched the man, took special note of the puddle of blood that started to form around the man, how his breath quickened at first and then slowly began to fade…it soon stopping all together.

Raising his gun as two anthro dogs of sort entered the room his hands shook as fear overtook him, the men quickly pulling there own weapons seeing there boss dead before the boys feet, Tramer pulled the trigger three times, his aim was surprisingly true, both men dropped, one two bullets to the chest, the other a lucky shot to the head.

Tramer stood in place for what seemed days, just staring blankly at the blood that covered the floor…the blood her put there. Though of all the emotions overwhelming his senses…regret was not amongst them, he pushed aside all thought, he pledged he would have his revenge, even if it took his entire life…the lives of all around him…

Tramer wears a tuff exterior shell, one soaked in blood…though, in truth he is a very soft hearted individual, loving writing a good poem rather than cleaning his 9mm handgun.

He is slow to trust, though once he befriends someone…he will die before betraying them. On that note, he doesn’t take betrayal well…only one man still breaths that in his eyes betrayed him.

Standing at average height around 6’ 2” he has thick long white fur, which is usually well cared for. He wears a simple silver chain with a pendent of a dragon around his neck, for the most part he keeps it hidden under his shirt…a reminder of his past life. He tends to stick to darker clothing, blacks, blues, grays, it would be a cold day in hell when someone would find him in anything other than jeans. He is usually seen a button up dress shirt loosely over a simple tee-shirt, a 9mm usually hidden under the dress shirt, occasionally he will be seen in a leather jacket if the weather calls for it.