Your name is Vanessa Brooks, age 37. You had long, flowing black hair, icy blue-steel grey eyes and an athletic, yet voluptuous figure. You were a relatively friendly, charming and cool-headed woman, though you were also cold, hardened, fearless, and a bit of a tomboy at heart. You were also smart, tough, bold, daring, cunning, clever, headstrong, adventurous and wasn't afraid to take on a challenge or get your hands dirty. You were also streetwise and knew how to handle yourself. In addition to being a highly-skilled mechanic and a natural behind the wheel, you were also an ace markswoman and was quite skilled in hand-to-hand combat. You grew up in Detroit, Michigan.
Unfortunately, you had a hard upbringing. You were an orphan from birth and spent much of your early childhood shuffling in and out of foster homes, with many of the foster parents who took you in being either negligent or downright abusive. You quickly developed a habit of getting into trouble, mostly getting into fights at school and the occasional petty crime.
Going into your teenage years, you developed an affinity for cars, and became quite skilled as a mechanic by the time you were 14. After you turned 16 and got your drivers license, you fell in with a group of local car nuts, and would participate in the occasional underground street race to support yourself, and proved to be quite talented behind the wheel. Unfortunately, when you were 17, you got arrested for stealing a car.
However, during your trial, the judge offered you a choice; jail or the military. You chose the latter and joined the US Navy the day you turned 18. You served as an intelligence officer for five years, rising to the rank of lieutenant.
At age 22, you were recruited by the CIA, and went on to work as a highly-skilled black-ops agent. You were trained in intelligence gathering, surveillance, counter-surveillance, counter-intelligence and assassination, and was also a rather effective interrogator. You were also fluent in half-a-dozen different languages.
Unfortunately, after working in CIA for 15 years, you wound up getting burned on an operation in Beirut, and was disavowed by the agency, forcing you to go on the run. After managing to elude the authorities and flee the country, you severed all ties with the CIA and went underground.
You made your way through the passenger terminal at JFK International Airport in New York City, having flown in from Johannesburg, South Africa. You had spent the better part of the last year globe hopping, often under different aliases. You were wearing a black leather jacket over a dark grey t-shirt, a pair of black leather pants and a pair of brown designer high-heeled boots. You had managed to track down an old contact here in New York, figuring that they could help you out.
After leaving the terminal, you acquired a rental car and drove away from the airport, making your way towards downtown. After cruising through downtown New York for a little over an hour, you finally reached your destination,
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