JɄ₦₭Ɽ₳₮
Real Name: Jamison Fawkes
Age: 25
Nationality: Australian
Occupation: Anarchist, Thief, Demolitionist, Mercenary, Scavenger
Years of living on the edge, living on nothing but diesel fumes, caffeine, and the occasional line of coke left Jamison a nervous wreck. Volatile they called him. The junker laughed to himself, eyes widening as he stopped the ticking of his grenade at the Last. Possible. Second. Maybe he was insane. Maybe he just didn't care. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a grunt behind him. Quickly, he looked over his bony shoulder, pushing back the charred bits of blonde hair that fell over his narrow face. "Don't sneak up on me like that! Hahahaha!" He hopped up off of his chair and stretched, stumbling slightly as his pegged leg got caught with one of the power cords. He was a packrat, really: Aptly nicknamed Junkrat.
"Guh, really ought to move these things before we all suddenly BLOW UP! HAHAHAHA!" The thick drawling of his Australian accent left no doubt whatsoever of his nationality. Laughter was just another nervous tick. Something he rarely realized he did anymore. Soot and gunpowder covered his good hand, while his mechanical hand drummed against the countertop. Suddenly, he stretched his tall, lanky, and crooked frame with a quiet grunt. Bloodshot eyes suddenly widened and he grabbed an old photo from the pile of miscellaneous papers strewn on the table. The stern faces of Overwatch agents stared back at the smirking junker. “Ooh! I know! We should rob something!”
@casparrjones @licitfaunlet
