Name	Concept	Chronicle
Age	Virtue	Faction
Player	Vice	Group

Mental		Physical		Social
Intelligence		Strength		Presence
Wits		Dexterity		Manipulation
Resolve		Stamina		Composure

Skills
		Clear Skills Fill Skills

Advantages
Pool	Value	Type	current/max

Powers

Merits	Flaws Etc	Morality
	Size: Speed: Defense: Armor: Initiative: Experience:	10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Weapons Dice Mod Equipment Dice Mod

Health Willpower

Statistic Block
Condition and Effects	Additional Information
	Like many Latin Americans, Tony is of mixed European, African and Native ancestry, with light-brown skin, glossy black hair and black eyes. Average in height and rather thin, he has sharp, smooth features that make him look younger than his 28 years. He speaks English fluently, but with a noticeable accent. Tony usually wears a white leather jacket, blue jeans, sports shoes, a single earring, and a golden crucifix on a chain around his neck. His most prized possession is a dark-blue 1967 Chevrolet Camaro with a souped-up engine.

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Tony Mercado hails from the poor, rural state of Oaxaca, in southern Mexico. He was only eight when his father died in a farm accident, forcing him and his six siblings to work from a young age to make ends meet. Over the course of his childhood, both of his elder brothers went north hoping to find a better livelihood across the US border, but neither made it alive; the first was murdered in Ciudad Juárez in mysterious circumstances likely involving the drug cartels, while the second disappeared in a foolish attempt to cross the desert alone. At the age of nineteen, far from deterred, Tony packed his belongings and made his own attempt; if God was good, He would surely not allow a poor mother's last son to perish. It cost him everything he owned just to buy the services of a more or less trustworthy “coyote” (border-crossing guide), but he made it – penniless, but alive and very determined to find the elusive American Dream. He first worked odd jobs in El Paso, Texas, under bosses who suspected his illegal immigrant status and shamelessly paid him a fraction of the minimum wage. Due to the higher cost of living this side of the Rio Grande, Tony barely had any money to send his family. After a while, utterly sick of the heat, dust, exploitative employers and racist cops of Texas, he hitchhiked north, to wherever God and fate would take him; clearly the American Dream was not anywhere near the border, at least for the likes of him. His travels brought him to the outskirts of Chicago, where his knowledge of farm equipment landed him a job as a mechanic in a garage. As soon as he had enough money, he got his hands on the most obvious expression of success in America, namely, a car – just an old Camaro, but nothing he could not repair and modify. He then joined a street racing club run by street gangs and started to make larger amounts of money with bets, victories and, when he got good enough to win often, the occasional fixed race. Live fast, make money, get the girl, die young; for a time the American Dream had become reality. Drunk on his risky but lavish lifestyle, he began to forget about his family back home. But a few near-arrests soon reminded him that, as soon as he slipped, he would be deported to Mexico; and what would he tell his mother and sisters when they asked him what he had to show for his stint north of the border? At the age of twenty-six, he decided that a degree was his only hope of being successful without getting arrested in the long run. Using what little money he had not spent on car modifications, meth, parties and bling, Tony set out to get a law degree from Maxwell University because, well, lawyers were all filthy rich, right? Plus, knowing his rights may come handy if he got caught. But it did not take him long to realize that things were not normal around Maxwell. A less superstitious person might have ignored the strange events that happened there, but Tony had been born and raised in a mixed Native American and Catholic culture, and he was no skeptic. The Devil did exist, and it appeared that he held the university in his fist. Tony was tempted to try his luck elsewhere, but clearly, it was his duty as a devout Catholic to do something about it – too many innocent people were blind to the obvious. Thankfully, it was not everyone's case... Others less pious than himself had been fighting back for quite some time. The RPG Club, they called themselves.