Choi San
20, July 10, 1999
Exotic Dancer 
Third Degree Black Belt 
San was 10 when his mother was murdered. Left in his parents bedroom, tucked in bed as though everything was fine as it should be. The sheets weren’t supposed to be red. A normal child would have been taken to a psychiatrist, or at least asked if he was alright from more than the first response team. His father could hardly look him in the eyes for years after, or at least until he turned 16. He came home from school to the house destroyed, his father sitting in the midst of it all, beaten and bloody, his gaze hard as he explains his debts. It wasn’t normal to find out that your father escaped from a drug cartel when he was a young boy. It wasn’t normal to learn that he had stolen a large lump sum of money from them on his way out, and that he had managed to pay them back 75% of said sum but it wasn’t enough. He was taking too long. So they took his mother as their first collateral warning. His father explained that he would follow her soon enough— but that he wanted San to have a chance. So San was sent far away to a whole new country, leaving Japan where he had been raised to return to his birthplace, Seoul. Here he would finish high school with the belief he had escaped to live another day more. On his 18th birthday, they came. They pushed him around a bit and flexed their ability to make his life even worse than his Father had ever experienced, and they gave him a deadline. He needed to pay them back within five years or else. So San became determined, even moreso than when he moved in the first place. He gave up his dream of going to an arts school, majoring in performance in order to travel the world as a dancer. Instead he showed up in Neo City, looking for work. He was lucky enough to find the club. At least he would still be dancing.