Porter

Passport

THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Actor Robert Downey Jr.

Type Issuing Country Passport No. G USA KTP11082010134236 Surname PORTER Given name KYLE Nationality AMERICAN Affiliation SPY Date of birth 01 JAN 65 Height 173 CM Weight 70KG Eyes BROWN Hair BROWN Marital Status COMPLICATED Children DO NOT WANT

G«PORTER««KYLE««T««USA«««««

KTP11082010134236«5USA6501018M155«00«SPY««

Background

Insert Background Here

Personality

Official Psychological Evaluation
March 21, 2010
Subject: Agent Porter
Interviewer: William Jessup

While he was pleasant to interview, Porter was clearly concealing things from me. Nor did he attempt to be discreet about it. He is still unwilling to discuss his reluctance to kill. However, he makes a valid point when he says that it has never stood in the way of his duties. I'm forced to concur. He has never turned down an assignment, nor has he complained or asked for time off. Whatever his reservations, he seems able to set them aside. He is single-mindedly determined when it comes to his job.

I'm more concerned about his cavalier attitude regarding the attempts on his life and the occasions he's been under torture. He bears physical scars. I can only assume he bears mental ones. When asked to discuss these events in detail, Porter diverts the conversation with a winning smile and a witty comment. While I'm not convinced, a stoic attitude doesn't disqualify him from active duty.

He gives too freely. Porter has immersed himself so deeply in his work that he holds nothing back for himself. I don't expect you to let him have a personal life, but the man could use a hobby and a vacation. No, being a cheerful womanizer does not qualify as a hobby. Nor does overindulging in games of chance, fine foods, or "sports" that virtually guarantee bodily harm.

In short, Agent Porter is officially cleared for another tour of field duty.

Skills

I'm a field agent. I usually operate with little or no backup and no support team, so I not only have to kill the bad guy, I have to clean and service my own equipment afterward.

I know the usual crap that most people know. How to add and subtract. Drive a car. Speak my native language. Before I joined the Marines, I really didn't pick up much else of use. The Corps gave me a foundation. They gave me combat training.

I was a jarhead when we still used the old LINE fighting system. Simple, but effective. I was taught it, and I taught it to others as a hand-to-hand combat instructor. I chipped in on the development of MCMAP, too. Small arms training, of course. Ordinance, like grenades, demo charges, RPGs. How to handle a knife and a baton. Wildnerness survival. How to drive a tank or pilot a helicopter during combat.

The Corps made me into a man's man, no doubt about it.

When the CIA picked me up, I was still raw. Unpolished. I was dangerous, but I lacked a certain… cosmopolitan quality. They stuck me in a classroom for two years. "Improvisation 101" is what they called it. Basically, it was a high-end tech course. Practical magic, if you will. How to build bugs out of disposable cell phones. How to build a bug detector out of an old TV. Where to wire a building with explosives to bring it down quickly, and where to wire it to bring it down a piece at a time. How to generate false identification. The fastest way to open a billion different kinds of locks. How to service every firearm know to The Christ Himself.

It was a long class.

Things got a bit more hands-on after that. They refined my combat training and taught me Bartitsu. I had to rate Class A on a dizzying array of small arms. I learned how to steal a watch from a man's wrist without him knowing. Moving quietly in the wild or in a city. How to drag information out of an enemy agent, then turn him into an asset. You can drop me in any city on God's green earth and I can find you an assault rifle in two hours or less or it's free. I build a hell of a booby trap, too.

After that, I was on the job. You learn things there, too. Of course. Like any good operative, I have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Advantages

I like to think of myself as a regular guy, but I guess I do have a few standout qualities. I'm really good with tech. Not computers. The kind of tech you break apart and re-wire with your bare hands. A guy needs equipment, after all. Don't get me wrong, I like professionally made gear, but there isn't exactly a spy store on every corner.

Working for the CIA has its advantages. It's an all-expenses package, so I rarely have to worry about money unless it's part of an assignment and I'm in a pinch. On the rare occasions where I am near a spy store, I get to stock up pretty well. I have diplomatic immunity in most UN countries, though I risk being burned if I have to rely on it. I have six identities. Seven? Whatever. I also have security clearance so high that I have to kill you for asking about it.

The Company takes care of me when it can, which is usually when I'm on allied soil, which is… pretty rarely, now that I think about it. For most jobs, I'm screwed if I get pinched. Oh, they'll send in an extraction team if they can. If it can be kept quiet. And if it's convenient. And… let's move on.

It's worth mentioning that I've been trained to withstand torture. Yes, it sucks. And realistically, everybody breaks sooner or later if the interrogator is determined enough. I can hold out pretty well, though. Most guys just want to knock you around until they rattle some information loose. Guess what? I've been punched before. A lot.

I also have a modest pool of human resources to draw from. Coast Guard security consultants who owe me favors, money launderers who provide me information in exchange for a free pass, old Marine buddies, third-world arms dealers. Stuff like that. I have at least one friend in every country I've worked in, and if not a friend, somebody who owes me or is afraid of me.

Not much else to tell. I have pretty damn good reflexes, if I may say so. It helps. I speak four languages fluently and a smattering of several others. I also have quite a reputation in Eastern Bloc intelligence communities. The way I understand it, I'm a ghost story. A myth. They blame entire spec ops teams for stunts that I pulled off by myself in the late eighties.

It's nice to be appreciated.

Disadvantage

Time for a bit of harsh introspection, eh? Have it your way.

We'll start with the easy stuff. Working for the CIA has perks. It also has downsides. The job can be dangerous. I've been shot, stabbed, tortured, blown up, set on fire, strangled, and poisoned, just to name a few. There is no call of duty for spies. You're on duty every minute of your life. You do what must be done, no matter how dangerous it may be. And make no mistake, it is dangerous.

Just as I have accumulated assets, I've also collected my share of enemies. You kill somebody's brother or put their favorite uncle in an East German prison, they tend to remember it. Former assets are the worst. They never forget that you used them and then betrayed them.

Which brings us to Jan. Jan is a South African arms dealer who wants me dead. Badly. And with good cause. I won't go into the details, but suffice it to say that his continued existance is a threat to my own.

Lastly, I abhor killing. Oh, I'll do it if it's part of a mission or if I have to defend myself. I never let squeamishness get in the way of a job. I don't like doing it, though, and that's bad news for a spy. We kill a lot of people.

I saw enough death as a Marine and during my early days with the Agency. I've lost my taste for it. If I have to kill someone, I can keep it together for as long as the adrenaline is flowing. Thing is, I start getting the shakes as soon as the action dies down. I get queasy, too.

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RP Hooks

• Team members: While Porter is good at a lot of things, he still needs help from experts for more complex jobs. Professional thieves, computer/technology specialists, snipers, demolitions experts, and the like.
• Contacts: Information and equipment that Porter can't acquire on his own has to come from somewhere. Arms dealers, smugglers, old Marine buddies, Russian femme fatales, FBI forensics specialists. Think of these folks as guest stars.

Soundtrack

Jet - Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is
The Black Keys - I've Got Mine
Beck - Cellphone's Dead
The Rolling Stones - Gimme Shelter
Soundgarden - The Day I Tried To Live
James Brown - The Payback