Hector Razales

Clan Brujah
Arm of Autonomy
Anarch Iconoclast

Description


~This menace swaggers into sight like the King of Jack. Apparently in his early 20s, this Mexican African-American hides none of his ancestry. Hector (pronounced the Spanish way, biznatch!), has thick black hair. He keeps it in corn rolls usually, but sometimes sports a retro afro. The young man honors his father's side of the family, however, with a trim goatee and moustache more common to Hispanic fashions. Hector saunters in wearing designer labels of street fashions, which normally incorporates jeans and t-shirts. Other accoutrements typically include sunglasses, a silver hoop in the left ear, gold rings on his hands, and a brass medallion with the Mexican flag engraved. Doubling his street cool look is Hector's impressive physique. The youth is wiry and muscled. He's not overly tall or buffed, but he's definitely packed. But in spite of his appearance, Hector's brown eyes only seem to know how to glare. Any good looks he may have are diminished with his angry gaze. His fists constantly clench and unclench, as if he were itching for a brawl. When those lips curl back to bare that mean, white-toothed grimace, it becomes clear that that's just what Hector Razales wants. Tremble, fool.~

OOC: Appearance 3

"Give me freedom or give me death? How 'bouts, give me freedom or I put my foot up your ass, jefe!?"

History


Youth

Hector never knew the financial security of middle-class wealth. The Razales lived in a poor neighborhood, right in the heart of Little Mexico of Kansas City. His mom was black, his dad Mexican, and he and his two sisters were mixed. But honestly, no one really cared about that. He blended right in, perhaps thanks to the fact that he was named after his grandfather: Hector (pronounced "Ek-tore").

Thus, Hector was able to and gladly joined his friends in the formation of a local neighborhood gang. They called themselves Los Perros Diablos ("The Hellhounds"). They were typical of any street gang really. Hector banged and bruised himself as leader of the gang by mid-adolescence. He led his buddies into more and more outrageous activities and behaviors. They even dipped into serious felonies: car jackin', drug dealin', and general street mobbin'. Hector didn't care who he hurt in the process. It was all about the money and he was intent on yanking himself out of the hole he was born into. While his sisters tried to scratch out a living and just ended up pregnant and mired back down into the same pit they were born into, Hector intended to go beyond. He respected his parents. He just didn't respect their poverty.

A New Night

After dropping out before he even reached high school and serving a couple years here and there in juvvie hall, Hector reached drinking age. He didn't feel much different though. Everything was still as shitty as it always was. Hell, he was able to get alcohol long before he turned 21 anyway. He grew more jaded and dejected, especially as his fellow Perros Diablos sought different avenues of life. Some moved away, others got locked up. He was virtually alone in his 'hood. It was just a matter of time before some rival gang took him out and gobbled up his territory for their own bangin' and dealin'.

But it wasn't a rival street gang that plucked Hector's life. One night in 2002, when he was going home drunk from his 22nd birthday party, some white dude jumped his sorry inebriated ass. The crap was beaten out of him and he was dragged into an alley. The bastard drained every drop of blood from his body, then force-fed him blood right back. Hector barely comprehended what was happening. Next thing he knew, he was dead...but not. He craved more of that blood. He felt something hellish in his chest.

At that moment, Hector understood only that he had become the namesake of his old gang: a demon dog, a hellhound, a supernatural monster. That much was clear when his maker, a guy calling himself Nate Breech, dragged his growling but impotent self off. Unfortunately, they didn't get far. A bunch of Mafioso-looking suits showed up a block later. Oh, shit, it was a hit! Hector wrenched free from his sire and dove into the gutter while the shooters unloaded their Street Sweepers into "poor" Nathaniel. His sire's screams were sadistic music to Hector's ears.

The Secret War

The enforcers weren't mobsters per se. Actually, they were Ventrue gunmen sent by the Prince to quash enemies. And it turns out his sire was Brujah. But he wasn't just Brujah, he was Brujah antitribu. Hector was going to be made into Sabbat -- a bunch of crusading pseudo-religious lunatics. The Ventrue explained they were of the Camarilla and Hector had to meet some Prince headman. Hector couldn't argue. They had Dragon's Breath ammunition.

From this Prince, Hector learned all about the Camarilla and Sabbat. He learned about the Masquerade. No wonder he never knew vampires existed. And Hector knew it was just plain common sense. The Prince was impressed with how well adjusted Hector had taken the Embrace. Truthfully though, Hector didn't feel much different than he did before. The emptiness in his heart spread more. He cared less, and that wasn't saying much. The biggest change Hector knew was that he couldn't hang out in the daytime and blood was all he could eat. Fair enough. He could handle cannibalism or whatever it was now.

Nominally, Hector accepted the Prince's invitation to join this Camarilla sect. But too many questions littered the Brujah whelp's mind. He returned to the streets, living the way he lived -- just only at night. For a year, he felt lost and hopeless. Hector didn't want to return home. As little as he cared anymore, he didn't want to end up killing his parents or letting them find out what he was. He stayed out of Little Mexico altogether, which was just as well; the Ventrue warned that it was Sabbat breeding grounds.

The Iconoclasts

However, Hector felt too uncomfortable anywhere else. The rest of the city was a fair mystery to him. He always kept to his own backyard before. Fortunately, his loneliness didn't last forever. Word passed around about some clan party, a Rave, so he showed up. And Hector had a blast there, in the breadth of his clan. White, black, Hispanic...they were all his brothers and sisters and he felt welcome at last. An older Brujah named Terry Maven took Hector aside. From Terry, Hector learned all the things his sire never and probably never would have taught him. From Terry, Hector found out all the details the Ventrue glossed over. Tyranny, Blood Bonds, control: the Camarilla wasn't about the Masquerade, it was about control. Fuck that!

Thus, Hector accepted the Iconoclast propaganda, since it was all very true (although an incomplete perception -- but you try telling a Brujah his views are incorrect). He ranked himself among the Anarchs thereafter. At the same time, he never dissolved his contact with the Camarilla. He lingered on the border between outlaw and slave. This way, he figured, he could play both sides to gain what he really wanted: respect and power.

New 'Hood

Yet Kansas City was now filled with too many familiar faces and too few familiar locations. Hector could handle one way or the other, but both ways felt uncomfortable and even hostile. He opted to relocate not too far away. Independence was largely Anarch-controlled, Smithville was haunted by a number of the ferocious Lupines, and so he decided on Centropolis. Hector ghouled the last of his Perros Diablos, Juan Ives, and let the fellow gangster in on the secrets of the Kindred. Together they'd be partners again, Hector promised, and expand their gang into a new home: Centropolis.

So off they went. By day, Juan ran the streets and gathered intelligence on the local crime scene. By night, Hector patiently gathered his own crime scene. He ghouled another man, a local Nicaraguan immigrant called Benno Zues. The three of them slowly reached out to connect and explore this new town. Hector intended to be the new Gotti in town. The shit.

Significant Other


Hector encountered Jessika "Jessie" Reiner in early September of 2005. They were both just swaggerin' down the street. Hector checked her out, then persuaded her to go out with him on a date. Their furious natures ended up with both having their horns interlocked. But that fury gave way to all kinds of emotions. The two Brujah still maintain a love/hate relationship that may deepen into a serious partnership some night soon.

Jessie

Weakness
Thuggin'


Hector behaves like a street-savvy bad ass. And while he is street smart and cunning, he's really just full of himself. He needs to learn that there's always a bigger fish. Hopefully, it's a lesson he can learn without dying.

Likelihood of Corruption


Very high.

Hector has no compunctions with hurting anybody that "messes with him", including (especially) "five-oh". Nor does he have trouble with acquiring resources and influence of rather dubious means, such as selling drugs. Hell, this boy pretty much already is corrupted.

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