Name: Chance Connie.
Nickname: Chunchy.
Age: 35.
Appearance: There has always been varying opinions of Chance. Even though he was fit, both physically and mentally, excelling in physical tasks and having a good sense of humour, along with sufficient efficiency dealing with tasks that strained the mind greatly, he had never put much attention into looking presentable or bothering himself with social conventions or well-known hygienic guidelines. He didn't consider himself weird, but the impression he left to other people subconsciously pushed him to mold himself to fit them. At least to some extent. Is unshaven, though forces himself to trim his beard sometimes. Has medium-length, curly dark brown hair (think The Dude).
Clothing: Chance is still in his teenage years with one foot. Wears colourful t-shirts and slimmer jeans. In the winter, he prefers to wear a regular, long, buttoned coat, cotton pants and a wide bowler, trying to be similar to the front man of one of his favourite bands.
Weapons: Always wears bodyguards under his clothes, as he likes to dabble in street fighting, and is generally addicted to fighting, even outside of usual "street fighting" events. Has an old rifle that has survived for an unexpectedly long time, though one that's untrustful, and a decently-sized collection of knives, many of which he uses daily, though the majority of which he keeps as defence tools.
Powers: The saying "Follow your heart" has been near and dear to Chance's heart ever since he found it to be majorly beneficial to him, after having, up to that point, ignored it and gone through too stormy a life than he had wanted to. Sometime after his teenage years, he has often felt certain places pulling him towards them like magnet. Certain things that always invade his mind, steal any cohesive concentration abilities from his conscious mind, and won't let go before they've been fulfilled, though he's tried to ignore any of them, as every time that happened, he could easily think of reasons why following it would've brought about disastrous events. Many of them have later proven to lead him onto paths that have helped him out of everything bad, and nudged him towards good.
Since a day long ago that he struggles to remember even a speck of, he has had magically powerful throwing abilities. He can throw items at incredible speed, and with incredible force. Has a very strong grasp, too.
Strengths: Has been turned by others' influence into an oddity. Finds many usually horrifying, weird and/or sickening things fascinating, and behaves erratically, switching between a calm and smooth demeanour to an unconstrained maniacal nutcake'ish one, and thus is extremely hard to reason or manipulate with through any kind of emotions. Is very self-conscious about all of it, when he doesn't currently experience it.
Weaknesses: Is absent-minded and generally very shoddy at noticing anything if there's many things to keep his eye on. Has deteriorated eyesight (short-sighted), but hasn't started using glasses as he's always thought he doesn't need to, thus isn't able to read anything, or clearly see details of something far away.
Personality: Finds many usually horrifying, weird and/or sickening things fascinating, and behaves erratically, switching between a calm and smooth demeanour to an unconstrained maniacal nutcake'ish one, and thus is extremely hard to reason or manipulate with through any kind of emotions. Is very self-conscious about all of it, when he doesn't currently experience it (pasted from an earlier segment). Likes to think he is better than others, but often when experiencing someone else's creations or achievements feels petty and untalented compared to them. Is very determined when doing something that will lead to an outcome that he deeply wants. Is prone to take regular breaks whenever a chance approaches.
Fear: Has an unnatural fear of being in rooms with no visible and usable exit. The smaller the space, the worse. Is scared of balloons and keeps away from them, in fear of popping. Is afraid of eating anything alive, and of anything sharp coming near to his face.
Vice: Wrath.
Bio: Born to a single mother, Chance was showered with attention, adoration and material entertainment when he was a wee boy. He always had the newest technological dongle, or other thingamajig that was desirable by many of his peers. But through the years, that certain kind of display of "love" led to a variety of problems; ranging from disapproval from other children of Chance's occasional display of condescension, and from their relatives, directed at his mother, to financial problems.
The attitude of people near to them made their options limited when money was tight, and one day, Chance woke up with a pillow tightly pressed on his face. His own mother was trying to smother him, take away from him what she had created herself, out of a desire to give something to the world, to have something to care for and to be prideful over what a creation of herself could achieve in the world, something that she surely wanted to contribute to. Yet here she was, Chance thought, mashing together trains of thought in his head, thinking about what to do, what to think, and of the implications. Through an arduous and traumatic trial for him, he managed to prolong it enough for their uncle to come visiting, as he had planned.
Not getting a response after calling multiple times, knowing that they were both home, he recruited the help of the police, and he was pulled away from her at the nick of time.
After becoming the newest member of his uncle's family, a few weeks later, he was sent to a reformatory, for reasons he didn't know, couldn't figure out, and after getting mixed responses from everyone he asked, decided to give up pursuing the reasoning behind it. Finding a foster family, he was once again a member of a real family, though things got sour, and he moved a few times from family to family, even living with his grandmother for some time, leaving after experiencing domestic abuse from her husband (not his grandfather).
Years later managing to meet his mother face-to-face again after she was released from prison, he masked himself with a veil of forgiveness, and managed to move into his own apartment thanks to financial support from his mother, who had managed to get a financial foothold in the years before Chance achieved adulthood.
He spent the next few years like any normal adult: woke up in the morning, went to work, came back home, and did whatever came into his mind, or went with someone somewhere when the chance came up. He worked as a receptionist at an expensive, big-shot hotel, every day wondering how he got the job, attributing it to whatever his appearance deceivingly showed everyone, carefully constructed from completely separate blocks than what was stirring inside. The pay was good, and he was seemingly satisfied with life enough; he had money, he had a place to live, and nothing particularly bad had happened in a long time. One day, though, everything started going downhill. His workplace was attacked, once by a bunch of num nut lunatics, once by robbers who he figured weren't thinking quite clearly, as he wasn't sure why someone would steal something as finely-secured as a hotel like this, followed by everything, ranging from further assaults and robberies to cars crashing into the building, sometimes due to a chase, sometimes due to the desire to rob and gain money with the added bonus of having to look behind one's back for the rest of one's life, to what happened the day his life took a sharp turn into complete oblivion and ruin.
The day a plane crashed into the hotel was the day the most visible and recognizable permanent fixture in the hotel who had been there on all days of all the accidents in the last few years, called the Hoteluckless Chance by the media, was finally relieved of his occupation, followed by hundreds of the workers at the hotel, many falling to the collapse of the building, crushed under boulders of rock and glass, and others left unemployed by their workplace now having been destroyed, demolished, turned into metaphorical dust.
The following months spent trying to get over the shock and the physical wounds that that event has inflicted upon him, he leeched off his mother, turning to fighting as a pastime, hobby and stress reliever. Right after his first win against his first real opponent, he got an adrenaline injection that seemed to fill him to the brim and devour his life of any other desires he might have had. Hastily finding himself a shit job as a worker in a warehouse, menially carrying items in and out all day, he kept it, earning just enough to support himself, waiting every day eagerly for the evening.
And thus has his life proceeded routinely for some time.
[sub][sub][sub]You may've noticed I didn't address how or when he got his "powers" and many other points talked about in other segments, but I did that on purpose; first, it would've gotten waaay too long (and it got long enough as it is, phew), and because I want some mystery to remain elevated over him. Also, I intentionally left the "bio" broken at a point that was some time before the current time (the time Ratings War takes place).[/sub][/sub][/sub]
