Hiii, a while ago I saw many people looking for this document. I had it, but since I was a bit too shy, I never mentioned that I had it.
I redesigned him (this is not a sprite X’D I just got lazy so I drew it in sprite format). HE’S NOT THAT SMALL! ; A ; He’s 5′8″. He’s a sweet cinnamon roll. He’s a police officer that takes his job seriously and Loves helping people. He’s currently a Vice officer but when he get into MoB he’ll be in homicide with you.
I wrote a little thing ALONNNNNG TIME AGO for Xander’s past and it’s him actively talking to the MC. But I’ll let you guys read it for his back story. I’m not sure if this exact conversation will make it into the final game (just because there’s no feed back from the MC). But it’ll provide some information on Xander!
WARNINGS: Mentions of drug use, Depression, PTSD
Note: Max is the K9 from his Vice days. He still has this dog and sees him as a therapy dog.
----------------------Text Below.. TW Drugs, Tw PTDS, TW Depression
It's like you can hear them. Every time a plane flies overhead. The danger is back. It all comes rushing back down like an eruption and you freeze. You can't move and you don't know what to do, just like before. It didn't used to be like this. I dropped out of high school because I thought I didn't need it. I was just a stupid kid who ran away from home… My dad was always tired. He was always sad. He always… I couldn't take it anymore. I wasn't even sure if he realized I'd run away when I did. I started working part-time jobs just to survive. But, there was one time some guys in military uniforms came in and I thought they were bluffing. I was about to turn 18, I wasn't thinking about protecting the country… I was just trying to have a roof over my head and food to eat at night. I'll never forget the person who convinced me it was the right decision. Lieutenant Clarence Gatewater.
I quit my minimum wage jobs and went to basic training. They cut my stupid hair, which I'm grateful for after all these years. I was sent up right after basic training ended. I was in a group of really cool guys. They were always happy. I felt at home, you know? Just talking to my friends made me happy despite the war all around us. I thought… I thought I'd made the right choice joining the army… I was completely wrong. I couldn't believe how wrong I was when I felt the bombs rocking the Humvee. It was an air raid; we had no idea what was happening until it was too late. I was thrown out of the vehicle and landed far away; I was much smaller than the other guys and on the side that wasn't hit. I have long scars on my torso from the shrapnel… I was the only one who survived. I was discharged from the army. Survivor's guilt and injuries kept me from going back. I ended up returning to the United States and tried my best to recover. But there was nothing I could do about the nightmares and PTSD.
The medication wasn't helping, and the bills started piling up. I just sat in my old, dirty shed-like apartment, wondering what the hell I could do with my life. Too crazy to work. But not crazy enough to kill myself. Eventually, my neighbor started giving me drugs. At first, it was just marijuana. That helped for a while; at least I could keep a job, since it calmed me down. But someone found out I was smoking illegally and I got fired.
That night, I couldn't think straight, it wasn't enough to calm me down, so my neighbor gave me something stronger. *Heroin.*
You know I never liked needles. But I wrapped that rubber tube around my forearm, slapped my veins, and bit down. I thought it was helping. I didn't feel anything anymore, everything was fine. When I was high. I couldn't keep my shitty apartment without a job and I found myself on the street. Scratching at the walls trying to get a fix like the junkie I was. I got into a fight with a dealer and the police took me away. I couldn't get any more depressed… I thought I was going to be arrested, but that never happened.
Police Chief Daniel Abbott checked my file. Aside from some stupid pranks I pulled as a kid… I was clean. He knew me… I was one of the kids who grew up in the same neighborhood where he raised his children. He looked me in the eye and said, “Son, what are you doing here? What happened to you? Talk to me, Xander.” And… I couldn't keep it all to myself anymore. Running away… The army… The depression… The drug abuse. He simply put his hands on my shoulders and let go. He lifted me off the ground and took me to his house. Jennifer, his wife, cleaned me up. It helped to look in the mirror and no longer see a homeless person. But I still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. It was the chief who suggested I go to the police academy. After I got rid of all the drugs and did more therapy, I enrolled with his recommendation.
I didn't know if I could pass all the entrance exams, but I did, quite easily. In a few months, I finished and now I do the job I do. And I love it. You know, when you do the job I do, you can't look at the sky and see danger. You can't look down an alley and see an exit. Sometimes the thought comes back, but I pull myself together or ask Max to do it. I used to be okay with that, you know? If I died in an alley, it would be fine. They would leave my corpse to the state. Nobody would remember me. I don't feel that way anymore. I don't want to die in an alley and be forgotten. I just want to look ahead and live in the now. Because the now is the most important thing to me. Especially talking to you.
janainaart
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