Steven Mc

Steven is 187 cm tall, weighs 80 kg, and is 25 years old. His usual work uniform consists of a hooded jacket from an unknown manufacturer with a strange collar a shade lighter than his black outerwear, a long, thin striped scarf, and regular dark brown jeans, along with a hood. He wears a dark burgundy bandage on his face, a scar over his right eye from Incident 099, and a barely noticeable stubble on his chin. His hair is brown, not exactly curly, more wavy, and a small strand sticks out on the left side.

Steven doesn't want to make friends or, God forbid, a romantic partner; at the very least, he expects neither. He finds it much easier to be alone, which also applies to the relative variation of how he works, whether alone or in company. It's not that he's truly a misanthrope, but rather that he's simply not social at all; he most likely has antisocial personality disorder. This disorder manifests itself only through irritation toward people, a lack of empathy, a sense of shame, and, at the same time, a certain rudeness and blunt directness.
Steven is distrustful and particularly reluctant to interact with strangers who want to get close to him, but if they "fly" around on a regular basis, he eventually gets used to them. He's calm, but sometimes irritable.

He's blind in one eye due to incident 099.A, where a shot through a window sent shrapnel straight into his eye. He works as an intern on the night shift, 5/2. The salary ranges from $1,500 to $2,500, which includes caring for caskets, visiting the morgue, and generally not slacking off.

He was born on September 27th in a Canadian village, where it seemed there was no future. Every second person was either a drinker or suicidal. His parents were on one side, and he was on the other.
As a young boy, he was fascinated by themes such as death and tombs, which is why he always glanced back at them during walks with his mother. He had a mother and a father, but neither was truly dear to him. This decline in self-importance began to manifest itself as he approached 15. Both parents died in old age, but the son was absent from their funerals, feeling nothing but memories of their alcoholism, control, and mistrust.
His academic performance was average, but he only lasted until 11th grade. He initially planned to become a doctor, at least working as a medic. But then he burned out, grew tired, and remembered his passion for cemeteries. He's been working here ever since, sometimes strolling the paths between the tombs.