Time for a difficulty tweak

This is a rp blog for an oc Cloaker from the Payday 2 universe. Likes and follows come from Smartvulpix.

[difficulty-tweak]

Reservoir Dogs AU

Nickname- Mr. Purple

Name- Jackson Torrein

Birth name- Jack Stylson

Birthday- January 3rd

Age- 40

Hometown- New York City

Height- 6 ft

Siblings- Kevin Stylson (Elder brother, Deceased) Todd Stylson (Younger brother)

(A Reason To Fight) - Reservoir Dogs au. Cop/Dog

A cop tired of the cat and mouse game that some cops love doing to those less fortunate.

Started off as a plant like Orange in another group, midnighting criminal jobs in Florida, Washington, New Jersey, and New York.

Got Cabot’s attention after seeming to weasel out of getting caught when the other groups either got busted or disbanded; having a reputation for killing the traitors-and SEVERAL cops-  himself

Finally got contacted by Cabot just before he recruited Blonde again

As his precinct urged him to join, he did.

Not sure which side he wants to truly work for.

[waistcoat-and-chain]

[andersons-kilted-ass]

@alucards-fine-ass @domntepes

[bxrk-xll-dxy]

@difficulty-tweak - Liked for a test starter!

---

What a Goddamn shift this was turning out to be.

Jay had already had to deal with a few catcalls from women, a few dishes being sent back, spills, cleaning duty, and not to even mention the fact that he had been caught smoking out back by his manager. Bullshit.

Nevertheless, dressed as Paul Anka ( he used to love the guy before working at Jack Rabbit Slim's ) , he approached the man and offered no smile. Instead, he placed a menu down and readied his notepad with a quiet sigh.

"I'm Paul, I'll be serving you tonight. What can I get'cha?"

[difficulty-tweak]

He’d had a bad day of his own; things going south pretty damn quickly at work. From both sides of work. That was one of the reasons he’d asked for the quietest corner of the restaurant he could; spacing out mildly to ignore the rabble of the other people until someone approached him and his shoulders jumped slightly. 

Jackson glanced at the guy for a moment before picking up the menu, noticing it seemed he had just about the same kind of day he did. 

“I’ll.. take the  Durward Kirby burger, bloody, with a water, please.”

He was concerned about the man if he was honest, but he didn’t know if he should say anything or not.

[doesntxlikexalarms]

(I have no asks whatsoever right now, so feel free to go through my rp starters and send in a few! This goes for all my muses honestly.)

[difficulty-tweak]

At least he was moving.

“You’ll find out”

Jackson had one of the new members of the gang. One that hadn’t been warned about specials yet, so maybe he could intimidate this one.

Once they’d gotten in the doorway, the Cloaker gave him a kick to the back; intending on knocking him inside further and turning around to lock the door behind him.

He wanted to be alone with this one. 

[difficulty-tweak]

He’d gotten his target. Jackson hadn’t noticed during his mocking, but after a step forward, he noticed the ‘squish’ his boot made; looking down. 

Well shit. 

He kicked the muck off his leg and boot as the man spit; shoving his shoulder with the free hand to tell him ‘nicely’ to move. 

“Move. Now. To the security room at the end there.”

[difficulty-tweak]

He’s winded. Jackson grinned behind his mask, chuckling lightly.

The cop took the opportunity to kneel down and wrench the man’s hands behind him, cuffing him while he was on the floor. 

“I would tell you to remain silent and all that bullshit but scream all you want man...” He decide to be a little cruel. Of course the man couldn’t really scream at the moment, all air had left him.

“Alright-Get up please.. Now”

He reached down and grabbed the man’s arm, yanking hard to punctuate his sentence.

[difficulty-tweak]

Name- Jackson Torrein

Age- 40

Nationality- American, New York

Eye Colour- Deep Brown, Almost Black

Hair Colour- Dark brown, some Grey streaks

Height- 6'0" 

Nickname- Mr. Purple

[difficulty-tweak]

(Ok, guys. These are the three verses I’m going to use currently on this blog for right now. )

(Sucker For Pain) - Payday 2 au. Cloaker job.

Anyone established to know him after the other verse is welcome to recognize him without his gear on. (Civilian clothes, when he’s not on duty. Or possibly when his helmet’s knocked off.)

That being said, his voice is very messed up from the experiments and is scratched and hollow sounding like a normal Cloaker’s.

He also has extensive scarring obscuring what he used to look like, but that doesn’t mean he might not get recognized.

(Monster You Made Me) - Payday 2 au. Cloaker/Heister

Going under the guise he’d given up being a Cloaker due to the mistreatment among the ranks, Bain allowed him in to the gang of his own accord.

Still works for Gensec, although he’s very wary of reporting anything.

Still under effects of all the experiments; sounding and looking the same.

Using this opportunity to learn more about them, whether he tells his superiors or not.

Trying to figure out who is on the right side here, if he’s honest with himself.

(A Reason To Fight) - Reservoir Dogs au. Cop/Dog

A cop tired of the cat and mouse game that some cops love doing to those less fortunate.

Started off as a plant like Orange in other groups, midnighting criminal jobs in Florida, Washington, New Jersey, and New York.

Got Cabot's attention after seeming to weasel out of getting caught when the other groups either got busted or disbanded; having a reputation for killing the traitors-and SEVERAL cops-  himself

Earned the nickname ‘Silencer’

Finally got contacted by Cabot just before he recruited Blonde again

As his precinct urged him to join, he did.

Not sure which side he wants to truly work for.

Goes by ‘Mr. Purple’

[difficulty-tweak]

One bullet grazed his helmet, causing him to jerk his head for only a moment before continuing to beat on the criminal. A few strays peppered the wall behind him, not his problem.  

A second one went into his shoulder, causing him to growl; pausing long enough for the man to grab the stick. Shit.

He fought with the downed man for a moment as hard as he could; finally his injured arm giving in and letting go of the weapon. 

Jackson went to stomp down on the man when both hands were free, hoping he was distracted by them. 

[difficulty-tweak]

@doesntxtip continued from here

Well, well, well.  Another one that only uses shades, eh?

And this guy must be new. He’s having trouble with the damn bag. It’d be hilarious if he wasn’t on the clock.

Jackson lined up his target; attacking swiftly as he could.

The way this one responded.. was he not warned of special units? Perfect.

He was already pulling out his nightstick; wailing on the poor man while he’d had his gun aimed at him. 

[tawkua-deactivated20230904]

no one: cloakers:

[ticheebobo]

Lets give the worst swat guy in gayday some appreciation😳👍

@anupatten

[difficulty-tweak]

He wheezed at the new pain in his torso, slowly sliding his hands to the buckles and connections of the breastplate. 

Jackson was highly confused at why the woman didn’t just kill him. 

That's what they always do with Cloakers, right? Shoot first and ask questions later?

 Once he’d thrown his armor to the side, he started a coughing fit from the exertion; turning his head away from her as to not cough any blood on her.  “S-sorry.”

Why the hell was he trying to be a gentleman to a criminal?

“What now, Ma’am?”

[susierpt]

DARK/VIOLENT STARTERS

Send me a 💀 and I’ll generate a number, 1 - 111, for what my muse will say to yours. Note that some content below the cut may be triggering.

Keep reading

[anupatten-deactivated20191112]

[difficulty-tweak]

@luckyclxver continued from here.

Damn it.  He thought he’d be able to take them. 

That was before he got gutshot and left by his damn unit. His own damn unit. So much for camaraderie.

Jackson only thought about it for a moment more before he felt something being shoved into his neck and a woman give him demands. 

“Y-yes ma’am..” He didn’t have the energy to fight with her.

The Cloaker slid his weapons across the room, along with his radio, before struggling to get his helmet off one handed; having to keep his hand on the wound.