G;regory Smith; is better known as Tank, a very large Troll (they usually are), born into a respected family, an abusive father and a life of fear. To the core of Tank lies a broken mind torn asunder by years of abuse which left him drowning in fear of being vulnerable, a fear he manages by making himself as tough as possible and putting himself in dangerous situation to prove that he is safe.

Far History

Gregory Smith was the only child to Elias and Vera Smith, two well-respected and lower upper-class people. Elias was a court judge and Vera had been a nurse before Elias asked her to step down as it was not appropriate for him to be seen to have a working wife.

It soon became clear to Vera that she was less than a housewife and more like a slave in her own house, lorded over by her now clearly jealous and demanding husband. Everything had to be perfect or Elias would lose his temper. And when Elias lost his temper, he changed into someone quite different from his normal self. Vera soon started to think she had two husbands, one of which was crual beyond all limits.

While the house could be kept perfect at all time, Gregory in Elias' eyes was always substandard no matter how hard Elias tried to beat him into shape. Being a weak willed, weak framed and generally useless son was a punishable offence to Elias who at regular intervals would find reasons to teach his son painful lessons with his belt, fists and at times boots.

Growing up trapped in such terror affected Gregory greatly, both physically and mentally. Physically he was very weak, often limping or showing bruises causing him to be kept at home as to not show the public the family's dark secret. Mentally Gregory felt constantly unsafe and scared. He was a quiet friendless child with the constant desire to be someone else, someone safe, someone that could defend themselves against this dangerous and unfair world.

As people started to change during the Goblinisation Gregory nursed an unspoken wish that he would be one of them. He was of the right age after all. And for once, he had a wish come true. Gregory was one of the few last people to turn. Gregory changed into the very opposite of what he had been during his childhood. Gregory changed into a Troll. But though his body took a new and tougher form, his mind did not change as rapidly. He was still Gregory, the punch bag of a violent father who saw his son's new form as the final proof that his son was an abomination that deserved no pity, no mercy. Gregory was now no longer allowed to go out. No one was allowed to see Elias Smith's son as a Troll. Gregory was locked into the basement, often chained to the ceiling, where Elias would only visit to take out his violent nature on him, now not using a belt but a bull whip.

But this was one step too far for Vera. Fear of Elias had up to now kept her silent and passive. But now the fear that Elias would one day slaughter Gregory took over. As Elias went away for a weekend, she hurried down to the basement and freed Gregory. She sent him to the Army, thinking that it was a place where Elias could not reach Gregory, where he would be safe. It had not been difficult to make the arrangements. The Army had been recruiting as many Trolls as they could find due to their touch physical nature. Gregory implored Vera to run away as well, not daring to think what price she would have to pay for this treason. But Vera refused, assuring Gregory that she could handle his father.

In the army, finally far away from his father's tyranny, Gregory did his best to rebuild his broken self. Determined to never be vulnerable again, Gregory worked hard to build up his defences. He soon worked up not only an impressive physique and an impressive set of fighting skills, but also an impressive collection of implants and physical modification (paid for by Vera) that made him virtually unstoppable, earning him the nick name 'Tank'. He was known for never backing down, always charging into dangerous situation, as if daring anything to take him on, to hurt him. Even those closest to him thought him fearless. They could not be further from the truth, the Tank was consumed with fear, a fear that he had to face, had to overcome.

Near History

After some years in the army, Tank got an urgent message. His mother had been admitted to hospital. He hurried there and found her in a coma with a close friend of her by her side. His initial fear of coming face to face with his father was relieved. "What happened," Tank demanded. "You must be Gregory. I heard you changed. Never imagined..." she trailed of, looking back at Vera's heavily bruised face. "I told her this would happen, that it was just a matter of time. But she wouldn't listen," she continued. "My father did this?" Tank asked with a low voice. "Who else?!" the friend exclaimed with a slightly hysterical mirthless laugh. "Ever since you left he took out his wrath on her. She has been coping only by clinging on to the thought that you were safe. But something must have happened. She's never been beaten up like this before..." "Where is he now?" Tank growled. "Home I guess. He just dumped her here and left. Gave the reception taxi money for when she got better. Fucking monster." But Tank never heard those last words. He had ran out of the hospital room, making his way back to the house.

Tank found his father passed out in the third floor master bedroom with an empty bottle of whiskey by his side. Gripping him by the throat Tank lifted him clean of the bed and pressed him against the wall behind the head of the bed, Elias' head pressed against where the wall met the ceiling. Short of air Elias tried in vain to pry open Tank's grip, nothing but choked muffled sounds escaping him. As quickly as Tank had lifted him up, he suddenly threw Elias across the room where he crashed into the balcony door which broke clean off. Elias pushed himself of the floor, spat some blood onto the clean tiled balcony floor and sputtered "You think I'm afraid of you now boy?! Huh? Do you?" He had no more time to speak before Tank had covered the distance to himself and again lifted him by the throat, off the floor and the balcony railing, holding him kicking in mid air high above the hard ground below. "Yes, you are. I can see it, smell it." Tank said in between gritted teeth. This time Elias was doing his best to cling on to Tank's enormous arms. "What are you going to do now huh? Kill me? Prove that you're just like me? Huh! I know I'm a monster, but fucking take a look at yourself before judging me!" Elias hissed, his voice weak and tinged with panic. "I am nothing like you. Nothing" Tank said and lifted Elias back over the railing and threw him hard onto the ground. Elias stumbled back on his feet and said "You're right. You're nothing like me. Too fucking "weak"." Elias spat the word like poison. "To much of a "coward"! Once a small, scared little boy, always a small, scared little boy no matter wha...." Elias never got to finish the sentence as Tank with one swift arc-like movement grabbed and hauled his father over the balcony.

Tank never returned to the Army after that. He set out to the streets. Not knowing what his place or purpose in this world was, it seemed like as good a place as any. His desperate need to go where his fear lay led him soon to Shadowrunning. The rest is future.