Kevin Slame

Name:
Kevin Slame
Alias:
Kev, Slame, 'Blackout', 'Asshole'...and a whole bunch of other names not suited for this description.
Age:
23
Occupation:
Homicide Detective, first grade, NYPD
Marital Status:
Single
Personality:
On any normal day, Kev Slame is just your average, everyday hero. He catches the bad guys, makes sure that the innocent citizens of his beloved New York City are safe to go about their business. He puts away bank robbers, serial killers, child molesters, wife beaters, helps old ladies cross the street...
And has a tendency to blackout, and systematically freak out when he comes to his senses, standing half naked in some seedy motel room with a bunch of drunk frat boys hooting in absolute delight as a stripper does her thing on the chair across from them.
Just a bit of a workaholic, he doesn't have much of a social life, preferring to bury his head in the latest string of brutal murders to dealing with life's problems; his problems. Cocky, jaded, sometimes amoral, and sporting a deep seeded hatred for anything domestic-abuse related, the detective is a man to have in your corner; a loyal friend who would die for the ones he's close to.
And kill for them. Which's just about where that 'amoral' part comes into play.
History:
Slame originally comes from the dirty streets of Brooklyn; a rundown apartment filled with prostitutes and their pimps, drug dealers, and the best of society's unemployed, and from an early age, he learned that to stay alive was to break the so called 'law' that the rich people lived by. Instead of going to school, he joined a street gang that specialized in playing thief, and soon became one of the burrow's most notorious. He ran with the dangerous crowd, played with the monsters, and damn if he didn't love every minute of it. Hell, it got him away from his boring teachers, away from his father- the old man just loved to get liquored up and beat the living crap out of his mother and him- and into a world that valued skills like his own: what wasn't there to love?
Then he got caught, and everything changed.
Sitting on one side of a long, metal table, the young thief found himself under the intense scrutiny of a Detective Monahan. Originally homicide, but currently working the streets as punishment for stepping out of line and almost beating a suspect to death, the man saw something in Slame that led him to convince the juvenile judge to give the kid leniency...in return for his having reign over the parole. After a year of clashing, verbal spats and all around resentment, Slame began to see the world as something other than a place to get a foot up in the world. Slowly, through Monahan's guidance, he went back to school, graduated in the top 10 of his class, and immediately entered the police academy. He left the gang, stopped his father from killing his mother, and worked to become someone that Monahan could be proud of.
And when the old detective died of lung cancer, he swore his life to a cause that he believed in wholeheartedly.
...That is, until he got two years under his belt and became the department's youngest detective, first grade. Then, that rosy little view of 'right and wrong' got just a bit less clear.
After another year of staring down hardened killers and stepping over a blood stained crime scene, Slame began to find changes in his mind. He still thought the same way; could solve a Sudoku puzzle in T minus ten, heckle his FBI partner Balto about his lack of a romantic life- not that his was any better, but according to him, B seriously needed to lay off the hermit and jump into some fun before they were old and wrinkly- and catch a serial arsonist in a mere week...but sometimes, when he wasn't paying close attention, or haven't slept a good 6 hours, things start to go fuzzy. A buzzing noise erupts in the back of his head, which aches like someone had taken a bat to his skull. Pressure builds, even the softest noise are like screams in his ears, and the world goes black. He never knows where he'll be when he wakes up, or what he'll be doing. Afraid of alerting his superiors if he saw a doctor, and even more terrified of the answer they'd give him, he finds solice only in the fact that he can still do his job.
And if the day ever came that he couldn't? Maybe a nice trip to the local psych ward would be in order.