In the winter of 1988 I was found in the mountains bordering Massachusetts and New York. They suspect I had been raised by cougars as I was found gorging on the deer I had just taken down with my bare hands. I was placed in a foster home in the most remote town in New England and lovingly raised. Eventually my killer instincts were suppressed and I was allowed out into the civilized world, though many squirrels and raccoons paid the ultimate sacrifice along the way. I managed to live a normal life in that quiet town of 42 and once I successfully navigated High School showing no outward signs of aggression other than the maiming of one boy, which is hardly worth mentioning, I applied to go to college.
However before I could choose a prestigious university to attend I was visited by men in black suits. The CIA recruited me, they saw a use for the killer instinct barely restrained within my seemingly innocent and cute exterior. I was placed in a small tech school where strange behavior would go unnoticed surrounded by the overwhelmingly blinding nerdiness of the desperate boys there. My first assignment was a test, through mental and emotional manipulation I was to turn my roommate away from her biblical Jesus adoration and corrupt her very soul. I found I took to the work naturally, easily turning her to the dark side all the while making her think it was her own idea. Pleased with my work, the CIA cleared me for active duty as a field agent. I was sent all over the world on missions, wet work was my specialty. The disemboweling of a politician in London, beheading a dictator in deepest Africa. I was one of the best they had seen. Code named “little angry mongoose” with a reputation as being the only thing deadlier than a viper. After graduating college with a degree in “international studies” also known as the worst cover story ever, I continued to kill for the CIA. I focused on domestic targets for a number of years with the occasional South American drug lord or Hong Kong gang leader. I thought that my life was meaningful, killing people for fun and profit, until fate stepped in.
   I was fleeing a Russian sleeper agent who was out to take me down along a busy highway. My idiot driver was shot and the car flipped, careening down the highway end over end. I was thrown from the car and blacked out, I woke moments later with the agent standing over me gloating, I was paralyzed from the neck down. He bent over me over to say something and with the last ounce of life left in me I smashed him in the jaw with my forehead. I got lucky that day, the impact smashed a cyanide capsule in his tooth and I watched him die gurgling and writhing in agony before I blacked out with a smile on my face. I awoke in the hospital, the doctors said it was a miracle I was alive but I would be in a wheelchair with a straw the rest of my life.  The next few years I went on to prove them wrong. After months of physical therapy and multiple surgeries I was able to use my hands again. It would take two more years before I could walk. Over those two years to build my dexterity back up the doctors suggested I used my hands to make something. I began to craft jewelry, for two years I painstakingly crafted necklaces, earrings and bracelets using every different type of material and style I could get my hands on. I focused all my pain on frustration to create objects of beauty. Now, fully recovered but disavowed by the CIA, I find myself without a job and dealing with crippling medical bills. However I have a s***load of beautiful jewelry, so I am selling it. Please take a look at my products, let me know what you think and purchase something, or I will f***ing kill you…
*None of the above is true (or, is it?), I just really hate writing About Me sections and outsourced this to a very talented and twisted friend.
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