Name: Tyson Felix
Name Etymology: Tyson is derived from an English surname that in turn was derived from a nickname meaning ‘quarrelsome’; that nickname was from an old French word meaning ‘firebrand’.
Surname Etymology: Felix is a French surname derived from the given name Felix, which in turn is derived from a Roman name meaning ‘lucky’ or ‘successful’.
Gender: Male
Age: 15
Place of Birth: Demaitre
Species: Mortal

Appearance: A bit skinny, Tyson nonetheless has muscle enough to hold his own in a fight. He stands relatively tall at five-foot-ten and weighs in at around a hundred fifty pounds, his legs and torso holding most of the weight due to the lean muscle therein. His brown eyes blend in with his chocolate-brown skin. His narrow, rounded face is always clean-shaven and his eyebrows are of medium thickness. His hair he keeps shaved and dyed into a fluorescent green Mohawk about a half-inch in length; the braid reaching to the small of his back from the base of that Mohawk is the same color. In his right ear, he wears three small gold hoops; his left ear bears a single silver skull earring. A small snow leopard crouched as though to pounce, its head pointed forward and its tail poised for balance, is tattooed on the left side of his neck. Tyson’s usually found wearing jeans, sneakers, and a tank top. He almost always has a gun on him, too, though (obviously) not in plain sight; he’s never found without a pack of Marlboros, a lighter, and a couple of switchblades. Finally, he is always wearing a pair of blue-lens oval shades.

History: The following was written in Tyson Felix’s own words.

Those few who’re in the know understand that you don’t go out at night, but there are some places you don’t want to go even in broad daylight. The part of town in which I grew up is one such place. Businessmen avoid it like the plague. Teachers are afraid to apply to the schools in this part of town. The so-called ‘normal people’ don’t want anything to do with it. The police just consider the people in this part of town statistics. Down by the docks, things can get real dangerous; but the docks are only a part of the bad area of town from 5th Street to 22nd Street and about a half-mile to either side of that stretch. Oh, it gradually gets better the closer you get to 22nd Street, but some places are so bad they end up spawning people like Tyler Drake.

Tyler Drake was a rapist and a thief. There’s nothing more to be said on that subject; he was what he was – until James Felix knifed the mother fucker. Why? He was a Crip; James (my father) was a Blood. There was no simpler motive than that. Tyler Drake would tell you different if he was still alive, though. Tyler Drake would say that the white cops in that neighborhood decided a gang banger was better off dead, that the cops picked him up for grand theft and dropped him off in Blood territory to teach him a lesson. Tyler Drake would tell you that the cops got him killed. Tyler Drake would be right. The problem is that Tyler Drake is dead.

My father got picked up for the knifing three years later, about a month after my third birthday – or so my mama told me. Supposedly, he was picked up on a drug charge and it came out that he’d done Drake. Whatever the fuck happened doesn’t matter no mo’, though, ‘cause now there’s just me an’ that no-good bitch what calls herse’f my mom. All she does is complain and whine, moan and scream, an’ she expects me to pick up after her? Fuck that shit. I got my own problems.

Everyone on this side o’ the tracks got fucked a long-ass time ago. We all grew up po’ an’ the only thing keepin’ us from committin’ genocide is the fact that there’s somethin’ else out there. No one knows what it is and no one wants to know; all we know is that we spend most of our lives tryin’ to stay alive and whatever it is that’s out there don’t seem to like us. There’s no bodies floatin’ up or lyin’ in the streets, but somethin’s goin’ on; hell, Bobby Jackson disappeared just last week. On top o’ that, I gots to deal with bitches tryin’ ta kill me just for wearin’ the wrong colors. That ain’t all, neither. People ‘roun’ here got it bad, yo. The Crips got Jeanette, this girl I know down the street, last night an’ gang raped her; then they set her on fire just to watch her burn. No one says anything, but we all know why she got stuck in that alley; it’s ‘cause she was talkin’ smack about a local hood, one what calls his self Jericho. His real name’s Jerome, but no one talks about that unless they wanna get theyselves knifed an’ thrown into a fuckin’ gutter.

That’s the world I grew up in. That’s the kind o’ life ya gotta lead in this part o’ town if ya wanna get by; I don’t go no place without my nine mil. If I wanna draw somethin’, I gotta make sure I’m in my house; otherwise, I just get a bunch o’ fools talkin’ smack about me an’ I sho’ as hell ain’t gonna take that from nobody. Y’all wanna know about me? That’s me. I grew up quick, I grew up tough, and I grew up mean, ‘cause that’s the only way to be aroun’ hea’. My pop was a Blood an’ so am I. My homies are all Bloods. My sister’s a Blood an’ she’s mean as hell; you get a knife in her hand, you might as well kiss your mother fuckin’ ass good-bye. I go to the local high school, but them teachers don’t give a rat’s ass about us; they just get in there, do their own thing, and get the fuck out. It’s people like Jericho what cause the problem, but me? I’m just tryin’ ta survive. I ain't never been arrested, but I'm still livin' in this dump and who the fuck knows what tomorrow'll bring.

Now, I will admit that I ain't no betta than some o' these fools out hea'. Sho', I've raped a few, but the cops cain't get me on 'em an' the bitches I done ain't stupid enough ta report me. I get shit on someone, good shit, shit that'll cause rumors - and I use it for leverage. That's how I get my game on, yo. That's how I get whatever bitch I want to fuck me. I'll admit I'm a thief, too; I stoled all kinds o' cars, stripped 'em, an' sold all the parts off. Drugs is a good way ta get the green, too, an' pharmacies are easy to rob. Like I said, ya do what you can to survive in this place. I'm a pretty good artist; I wanna do auto detailin' when I get outta here. But that's a long ways away an' the way things is goin', I doubt I'll EVER get outta this shit hole. Alls I know is, this is one bad place I'm in; I do what I can ta make it MY hell, 'cause at least then I ain't livin' in someone else's hell. You feel me?

Welcome to the ‘hood, bitch.

Tyson's Theme(s): #1