Tony 'Veyron'

Tony 'Veyron' (deceased) was the Tycoon of his franchise business Blacklabel Syndicate, his leadership was loosely authoritarian allowing any member of the crew to expand and develop their business as freely as they wish, and commonly refers to it as "Their own playground." He has grown his franchise into what it is known today, a prodigious trading corporation that seeks and alliances with other crews, to improve their rather successful and growing economic standing.

 **Age**
 **Affiliation**
 **Status**
 **Occupation**
 **Family**

## Appearance

Tony has a casual height to him a bout an inch taller, normal stature, long hair that he combs to the back of his head, one-piercing on both ears and doesn't seem to be balding or aging yet, for his age, and can be seen wearing standard military attire. Wearing normally brown plate, and complimenting him a Black Hat that was been worn out and used many times, as well as one shoulder-piece that he shines and polishes daily, and has a tattoo of his company's logo on his left wrist, labeling "V"...

## Personality

Tony's personality, is rather sympathetic, but when triggered he can be rather tough and that of a *dated mobster*, being that of what he was, he is typically a rather common Tycoon. He can be labeled as a devious, yet intelligent goblin, and ruthless at times. Tony doesn't drink alcoholic frequently, but chooses to smoke cigars. He has admiration for those willing to work their selves out of the poverty lifestyle that they might live in, being that he was once poor and desperate for answers at one point in time himself. Tony can be known to take many life-altering choices, some rather dangerous. Tony involves himself in the media when big events occur often giving commoners answers to their questions caring for their well being, as well as giving newspapers the information that they require. Tony often doesn't take easy to seeing others sell their merchandise on his property without a proper Tariff placed or some kind of agreement before hand, and often relays this information to his Baron and other boonies to question them and take authoritative action if they don't comply.

## Background

### Where it all Began

Tony 'Veyron' was born and raised in the slums of Kezan, his father George Veyron a former kingpin and a later renowned Ace-Driver along with his wife, Vivian Veyron, Tony's mother; an Ace-Pilot who operated and did engineering work on planes. Tony's father named him after a sports hotrod model that he had recently worked with and raced against many competitors along the way, winning him multiple races and awards, along with his reputable ways as a kingpin, thus entering him into the cartel business which ultimately signed him his death warrant later down into the years, working his way up to become a notorious kingpin of a undisclosed syndicate.

## Diary of what became 'The Syndicate'...

Diary literature's dated back when Tony was just around the
age of a dubious child and young-adult age.

Life with mum’ and pup were always great, we were planning
on venturing out for a vacation ‘cause pop had just retired as an Ace Driver
from the League an’ he was at another prime in his life wit’ mum an’ all. They
seemed so happy to be finally movin’ on to bigger an’ better things with the
company until one tragic fuckin’ night I remember as if it happened gat’ damn
yesterday, the visions in my head are as vivid as they could possibly be,
perhaps too fuckin’ vivid.

It was one late night mom an’ pup had just cribbed me in my
flamboyant crib cradle that was loosely latched so I could very easily crawl outta’.
My door had been just cracked so little that a beaming light would pierce
through the entirety of my room when any lights were outside my room. It was a
rather eerie night, the city of Kezan an’ the slums were rather quiet no sound
of hotrods on the highway just northwest of my house an’ a small park where the
local footbomb coaches an’ players would normally bring their abnormally
souped-up shredders an’ their fucking spoiled rich cars would veer off further
into the city and the echoes would be heard from anywhere. However, on this
peculiar day it was abnormally quiet. I could hear mum an’ pup fighting for
something I was completely unaware of in their room just a few steps away from
mines, a master room wit’ a water bed I loved to jump on when I had the time do
so. Anyways, being the curious little bambino youngster I was, I unlatched my
crib’s door mechanism so then it would drop down, making it easy for me to
escape an’ check out what was stirring up in the other room. Ya’ can’t blame a
kiddo of my age to be curious what was happening, especially when your parents
are actin’ up an’  when you look up to
both of ‘em to be role models. Anyways, where was I...oh right, as I unlatched
the crib open it made a large thwack as it thundered downwards onto the floor,
at that time I was only worried if the loud wallop would get me in placed in
time out, however oblivious to what seemed to be getting louder and sounding
like a really serious argument my parents were getting into about something
about a claim? Some shit likes that, heh, at that age I couldn’t even decipher
if I dun’ poo’d my undies...only kidding.
However I was at that age where I was completely unaware and ignorant to
what they were arguing about. I was quite worried about my own well-being and that
of my parents if the argument were to go south...turns out the argument was over a tariff over some product that was probably illegal, and my mother wasn't having any of that illegal business anymore, pa' just couldn't rid of his old habits of being a kingpin in his youngin' days. Not a few moments after I sneaked a peak, they were approached by a thug who slipped through the window which was unbolted. Both Ma' and Pa' were acting so very odd after the strange man made them fall to the ground, covered in what seemed to be blood. This fueled a rage in me that would set the very boundaries I seek to find today.

## Trenches of War.

The setting is during Trade War II,
which withered Kezan, and Gallywix's favorite bakery, shortly before the Trade
War IV. The bakery was destroyed after being bombed during Trade War II, bombed
once again during Trade War IV, and finally melted during the Peace War.

Backstory: Slummed over on the cold metallic wall, my battered,
fatigued, helmet poking above the metal reinforcing of the trench. My rifle
slowly slipping from the grip of my hands, falling into my lap...fatigued and
tattered, I could not inch another excruciating step , I looked down at my
hands to what had me accept as true, a deceased man. I had ached famine, my
stomach grumbling more than an in-debt storekeeper. Food was short, only a
ration, what little of the precious material we had. I heard a stern, demanding
voice scolding at me above, the faint gunshots that lingered for miles. A voice
replayed in my head as I stared, unaware and confused as to what was happening.
"Git' up, this war ain't goin' to solve its self by you sittin'
there!" The private exclaimed. "We need you at that federal reserve
tower over at the western flank! Bilgewater's sendin' a counter-attack and we
need all we can get over there! On the hop, Move!" I watched as he moved
away from my sight. In slight terror, I started to unconsciously tremble. I
sluggishly picked up my stock issued rifle, forcing my fatigued body to its
feet. Still sternly staring at me, I managed to utter out a few words. "On
it, sir!"  Heeding to his direction, I quickly shot a salute out to
him, hoping that he wouldn't scold me any longer. I had the enough drive to get
myself on my two feet and press on headed towards the western flank. The noise
of War resonated through the air. I could see the violent explosions from
nearly a mile away. I felt myself slowly picking up speed as my feet collided
against the dirt. It didn't matter anyway, in my eyes the faster I get there
the faster I get out. Before reaching my destination, I was greeted with a
forbidding explosion, dropping into the trench in hopes of safety. The blast
pounded against my ears, causing an irritating pain. I could feel the floor
tremor with the cause of the explosion. I settled myself to the ground and
gained a powerful foothold, locking my gun into place in the break of dirt that
someone had left, in the severely damaged trench. I fired violently. A goblin
dashed at me at bursting speed, undertaking me onto the ground and leaning over
my chest. He held me down firmly, breathing heavily through his gas mask. I
looked at him in fury and screamed at him. "The hell is wrong with you?
Git' the the hell off me!"

He ripped off his mask, and shoved
it into my face, cackling wildly. Ironically, I could barely breath in the
thing. The putrid smell of his sweat and saliva overwhelmed my pointed nose. I
struggled for freedom, but the goblin was amazingly strong.

Two medium-scaled cylinders fell
from a speeding bomber, landing into our trench. The other soldiers screamed as
a putrid, yellow gas began to seep out from the containers. They fell to the
cold ground like Kezan's economy after Trade War I. The insane goblin fainted,
or more likely died, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. His corpse fell
on top of me, compressing myself into the floor. I took my forearms and pushed
him off, making sure the gas mask was still equipped.

I glanced into the crimson sky, spotting
a myriad of Bilgewater Bombers. They were circling us like a group of voracious
vultures. If this wasn't bad enough, the Bilgewater Soldiers at the other
trench were firing relentlessly at us. I looked around the corpse-abounding
trench. Private Zom Dreadmaw was around ten meters away from me, struggling to
stay away from enemy fire. I looked at the poor kid as a thorium bullet pierced
his helmet, his lifeless body descending to the back of the trench. It struck
me slowly, but cruel, that I was the last one alive.

I shouldn't have, but I curled up
into a ball and leaned against the trenches walls, ripping off the gas mask and
balling to myself like a baby. Not like that horrible gas was still lingering
'bout anyway. I began having flashbacks upon memories. That's what people do
when they're gunna die, right? I thought of Ma and Pa back home at Edj. The
friends back home singing their sea songs at Taverns. The massive ships from
all over Azeroth. And, especially Kate. She was smokin' hot. I looked back up
to the circling bombers, a crimson artillery shell flying straight towards me.
I put my face into my lap and curled tighter. The shell hit directly into the
trench, my very existence being burnt away. The agonizing pain swept over me,
and everything went black...