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Played By: Screw

Insider by Screw

TEAM: The Syndicate


KIT CLASS: Everyman

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 9 wins!

Fight Record
League Wins: 9
League Losses: 3
Out Of League Wins: 0
Out of League Losses: 1
Total Wins: 9
Total Losses: 4
Scotsman Of Doom - Win 13-7
Nu-Paradigm Inc. - Win 11-8
Symphony / Alexis Ward - Win 11-4
Mr. Jack Revolution - Win 9-8
Admin Red - Loss 7-8
Friedrich Kammerstein - Win 8-4
Project: Parodus - Win 8-5
Bone - Loss 6-9
Dalton Freeman - Win 13-10
Sailor Preditor - Win 19-10
Officer John Powers - Win 17-7
GrimSpire - Loss 14-15
Immortal Raven - Loss 11-13

Secret empires do not get impressive names. Any espionage organization who can afford a flashy title is obviously doing a poor job. Truly underground intelligence movements do not have names; they do not even have regular meeting places. There is no Number One Man because everything is kept confidential. That should not suggest that their clandestine dealings are impotent, but should illustrate that the point of being secretive in the first place is so that your hand is not identified as the one holding the dagger. Action is taken through invisible men, living untraceable weapons. Anybody who can get hired as a triggerman for such an agency does not exist and can expect never to be hired by that same group again. It does not exist. However when someone performs exceedingly well, it is meet to show appreciation. Fail to return from a bit of corporate sabotage or government infiltration and an unlucky spy might find himself face to face with such a person of unique skill. His employers do not exist. He does. He is in charge of the debriefings. And he knows where the bodies are buried.


Personality: The Insider always knows the story. He never has to get his information from the five o'clock news. Alone in a cavernous, largely unfurnished apartment he waits for a message. Sitting in a stolen leather armchair and wearing a radiation suit caked with mud he smokes enough cigarettes to asphyxiate a smoke detector, listening to the radio. Dozing back and forth across a tightrope of consciousness, a commercial catches his ear as it always does. Jim's Automotive does not actually exist and, curiously, every time they advertise on the radio they seem to be in a new location. No one ever manages to find the place before it vanishes again. The Inside Man knows the meaning of "all sales are final." Dependably, he pulls on a secondhand respirator and does not even bother to lock the door. What is there to steal? The Insider has an appointment to get to, then he has to buy another shovel.




Superior The pinnacle of human strength.
Can bench press 1000 pounds.


Superior This fighter can dodge, weave and move
with the grace of an Olympic gymnast.


Superior Hardy.
Takes punishment like a heavyweight fighter or wrester.


Superior Highly educated and ingenious.
A smart cookie.

A New Shovel

A roomful of people who do not exist give him a name and a location. He knows he has to catch a plane but he likes to give them the full effect. It makes a professional impression. Traveling by coach is the least conspicuous option. As county borders tick by like seconds thousands of feet below, a mental checklist is consulted: protection against incriminating fluids, an easy quick-change; protection against airborne pathogens; city map; stack of cash to pay for distractions and lookouts; shovel. Deciding that everything is in order, Insider checks the name and address again. He has to have it memorized by the time he washes it off of his hand. As long as his attention is focused in that general vicinity he checks his watch. He lands in an hour.


A government-funded facility is experimenting with creating a super-smallpox strain for use as a hand-to-hand weapon of mass destruction. The leading software manufacturer on the planet tracks the most visited children's websites; it sells this information to convicted pedophiles. The visiting premier will be assassinated by the following people. There are secret empires, covert intelligence agencies, whose agents die to find out such information. It is a pity that they so often die before they can share their acquired intel; it makes debriefings messier. Getting through the sarcophagus is habit after a certain point. Covered in muck and odor in some obscure dumping ground, shallow grave or abandoned cemetary the Insider's conversations are always surprisingly two-sided. One might be surprised how the mind clears after death. Trivial details like names, dates, places and times shuffle to the forefront upon interrogation. Most are all too happy to share. They died for a cause even if their cause was to line their pockets. The secrets of nations and assassins are dutifully transcribed until every facet of the failed mission has been recorded. Secrets have a way of outing themselves so all information must be put into the hands of the Inside Man's contractors as soon as possible. Burying the body is not a consideration. These things take care of themselves.


Two of the paid lookouts reimburse him shortly after he shoots them with their own guns at the mouth of the grave. Footprints are shovelled over. His reclaimed wages buy him a ride to another city which he criss-crosses, phoning in anonymous and misleading tips. The driver does not survive the experience. The shovel and containment suit are discarded in the trunk and the cab is burned. A man can stretch his dollar a long way if he knows how. The police will be chasing an uncompleted round trip airline ticket and a dozen phony tips for days. Investigating the accessories found dead at the scene will take a week or two, at least, until investigators get frustrated and give up. Three weeks are spent in a smoking room in a comfortable hotel to ensure that he is not in danger of exposing his contractors, and to forge a new ID. The Insider knows a name that is not being used at the moment by anyone who will complain. A one-way ticket back home and a short plane ride later and he is free to enjoy the luxury of the squalor of his apartment. The money, as always, turns up in an account that does not exist.

The Intelligence Market

From the mouths of dead men come the most useful pieces of information. The definition of "useful" is broad. Quite often the word "useful" is synonymous with "expensive." The Insider never sees the lion's share of the fruits of his labors and accepts this. Someone has to be the shadowy conspirators in this world, if only to watch for the invisible and to hold the untouchable accountable. Hand-to-hand bio-weaponry never advances beyond stage four. The premier is not killed. A product recall is issued due to design flaws. Things like this happen all the time, and there are usually very good reasons. The best reason is that, for enough money, none of these good reasons actually exist.