Name: Lacie Rose
Age: 21
Appearance:
[X] She stands around 5'8" with a slender body. Her whole left arm is cybernetic while the rest of her body is all natural. Her eyes are actually brown, but look red due to her contact lenses.
Personality: Violent and easily angered, she fits the description of a common street punk. But despite her nature and the people she hangs out with, she has yet to kill a single person, and her facade of strength and power falls apart the moment she sees large quantities of blood. She's soft, that much is true, but boy can she act otherwise.
Occupation: None
History: Lacie, or 'Lace' as she prefers to be called, is a troubled woman who never got out of her rebellious phase. Abandoned on the steps of an orphanage, she grew up without the proper guidance a child needs. Her caretaker was old, and couldn't keep track of every single child under her care, which made it easy for negative influences to fall on them. When she was sneaking out one night when she was twelve, she got caught in the middle of a shooting where she lost her left arm when a high-caliber bullet hit her shoulder.
The people in the orphanage were kind to her in her time of need, and when she was better, she wanted to repay them, especially the old lady who spent nearly all her money to make sure she was better. That's when things got bad. The old lady got sick, and without money to help her, Lacie started breaking into houses to take money. Of course she didn't do it herself. A few shady people were "generous" enough to help her get started. She got so little from what they took that it took her a while to come up with the money, and when she had enough, it was a few hours too late. As if that wasn't enough, the police soon caught her the same day, forever labeling her a criminal.
She was adopted by an unmarried police officer who took pity on her and from that day on, she tried to make up for the things she did by living her life honestly, doing small chores for people like mowing their lawn or trimming their hedges, until she was old enough for proper work. But the stigma of her crimes was always hanging over her. Whenever things went missing whether it was money or pens, the blame would always fall on her. Even when they found out it was only misplaced, most of her co-workers still thought ill of her. While she made friends with some of her co-workers, customers, clients and people she met on the streets, the stress she felt from constantly defending herself from accusations were too much and one of two things always happened: either she snaps, beats up someone and get fired for it, or she just quit before she added any more weight on her conscience.