I ain't trying to write you into a song

Cɪᴛɪᴢᴇɴ Rᴇɢɪsᴛʀʏ
name: Ethan Travers
age: 19
appearance: Ethan is roughly average height, with a very pale complexion and bright green eyes. His hair’s kept dyed a greenish-white, and he dresses like a tech geek.
occupation: Freelance Infrastructure Security Officer; part-time composer
residence: here
fix: Music composition. Ethan retains his former self’s obsession with music. Though he doesn’t see people as a certain type, at least at this time, he’s obsessed with *creating* music he feels represents people and, often, sharing it with the world. As such, he won’t balk at being asked to write a piece for someone any more than he would at writing one for his own entertainment.
permissions: here
record: Ethan Travers was a nobody for the first sixteen years of his life. It wasn’t a particularly good beginning, but it was serviceable enough. Born to a computer engineer mother and software programmer father, it was perhaps the obvious reaction for Ethan to grow into his computer-related hobbies.

Of course, that was only true if you ignored the fact that he surpassed both of his parents in engineering and programming before he was a teenager. In a place like Auslosen, that should have made him both a commodity and a high-profile individual. Thanks to his own efforts to keep his anonymity, though, he went largely under the radar and the name he used as a front got all the attention. Which was all the better, since it was a dangerous world out there for anyone talented.

At fifteen, he was scouted by a large-scale company as – originally, anyway – an IT professional. He’d taken their entire system and basically turned it upside down, after all, breaking it in every single way he could think of and proving the only one who could put it back together and make it function was him. That was his life, subtly working his way up the ladder into designing their entire infrastructure and the defense programs that kept it safe.

Safety had a cost, though. Even beyond his salary – less than he deserved but more than enough to maintain his somewhat indulgent lifestyle – having a secure database meant you were more noticeable to hackers. More interesting, more *profitable*. He saw these facts, and brought them up to his employers more than once. Whenever things got out of hand, he would rewrite code and strengthen it himself.

And then it happened. ‘It’ was a prestigious hacker, one who went by the name PistolPanic. Ethan didn’t know then, doesn’t even really know *now* what would make someone choose such a bizarre name, but that wasn’t really the important part. PistolPanic proved to be the one person who could worm his way into every failsafe Ethan had designed. It didn’t matter how intricate, how subtle and delicate the keys. Hell, it didn’t even matter when he was *there* to provide countermeasures himself.

When the data was confirmed stolen, Ethan got pulled into a meeting. He knew what it was for, of course. His mainframe, his reputation. It didn’t matter. “No mainframe can be completely safe.” He’d said. “We can’t possibly predict the moves and abilities of every person on the planet.” That didn’t matter, either. The fact was this: they had Ethan’s work now. They knew how to make it work, on a base level, and that there was only one person who had hacked it? That meant it worked well enough that it would keep out enough people to provide for them.

He was told none of that, of course. Even when they fired him, it was because of his failure to prevent the break-in. They kept his framework and he went home with a measly severance check and a whole lot of spite. Two years of working at that company, and one person – one lousy asshole whose name he didn’t know and face he couldn’t *find* - had taken it all away.

In the two years that followed that, Ethan has adjusted his actions. He now supports himself largely on freelance security gigs. Specifically, he takes any gig that makes him believe he’ll come close to PistolPanic, such that he might get his revenge. Every time, he’s come up just short and had to regroup. It’s practically a grudge by now, hidden behind the handle “Foxhunt”. If PistolPanic knows *who* keeps tailing him, Ethan doesn’t know.