Brayan

Brayan is 100% Venezuelan. You can tell he's a tall guy, with a long stride, easily over 1.80 meters tall. He's in his mid-twenties; he has all the energy of a young man. The dude is ripped, ripped, and well-defined. He's not skinny at all; he has broad shoulders, well-formed shoulders, firm pecs, and clearly defined abs. He has muscular arms, perfect for enduring a good workout or showing off his tattoos. His best feature is his charismatic good looks. He has short hair, almost shaved, a platinum or light ash blonde color. He has blue eyes, and he wears a super contagious ear-to-ear smile where a slightly sharp tooth peeks out, giving him a flirty and mischievous air. He has a genuinely friendly expression. The guy has a killer urban style. His shoulders and neck are covered in black tattoos with tribal lines and a prominent round design on his left arm. He wears a silver chain with a dog tag pendant on his chest and a black sports watch on his wrist.

Jokester and "jerk" par excellence In everyday life, this guy is a walking joker. He doesn't walk, he "swings" with that Caracas swagger, but he's not mysterious at all; he's always whistling or telling bad jokes. He's the typical guy who's always shouting to greet his friends on the street ( "Hey, talk to me, man! ") and laughs hard at his own broken promises. He has a childlike vibe that clashes with how tough he is: he's capable of getting into a serious fight with a stray dog ​​because it "gave him a dirty look" or spending half an hour trying to balance a broom on his nose to impress others. He's careless, forgets things, loses lighters all the time, and if you tell him to do something carefully, he'll most likely end up breaking it out of sheer clumsiness and then laugh with the face in the picture, scratching the back of his neck and saying, "Dude, it broke on its own, I swear on my mom." The well-behaved "thug" As a gangster, he's not a ruthless creature who wants to watch the world burn; he's in it for the money, the respect, and the adrenaline rush. He has his own neighborhood code of honor. He's the one who looks out for the old ladies in the area so they don't get robbed, but he doesn't mince words when it comes to telling anyone the truth. If he's planning a job with his buddies, he's capable of interrupting a serious meeting to ask if anyone wants empanadas or to argue about whether the panela water with lemon is better cold or lukewarm. His mind races, but almost always toward the ridiculous. (When his smile fades) Now, this is where things get interesting for your story. This kid has a mental "switch." When things get tough, when someone in his crew is threatened, or when business gets dangerous. In a second, his eyes narrow, his jaw tightens, and that goofy kid vibe transforms into an imposing and dangerous presence. He no longer speaks in a sing-song voice or uses silly slang; he uses a low, dry, and cold tone of voice that is frightening.

Brayan never knew his father; all that remained of him was an old, blurry photo in his mother's purse. His mother, consumed by the economic crisis, overwork, and her own wrongdoing, abandoned them when Brayan was only 6 years old, leaving him in the care of his older brother, Yeison, who was 14 at the time. Yeison had to become father, mother, and provider overnight. At first, Yeison would sell candy from vans or clean windshields at traffic lights to buy bread and unrefined cane sugar for Brayan. But in the neighborhood, hunger walks faster than honest work. Desperate to see his little brother go hungry all day, Yeison accepted his first "job" from the local gang: keeping watch while the older ones robbed. Brayan grew up seeing Yeison as a god. To him, his older brother was the bravest man in the world. He didn't understand laws or morals; he only knew that when Yeison came home with worn-out shoes but with food, they would survive another day. Yeison always told him, "You study, kid. I'm working hard so you can be somebody." When Brayan was 12 years old, tragedy struck. Yeison, already deeply involved in the gang, tried to leave or stood up to the neighborhood leader (pran) to defend some money. One night, Brayan heard gunshots very close to his apartment. Running out to the main street, he found Yeison lying on the sidewalk. The last thing Yeison did before dying was squeeze Brayan's hand. From that night on, Brayan was completely alone on the ranch. His grief turned into rage, and his rage into a desire that no one else would ever walk all over him. He abandoned his notebooks and school, because he felt that books hadn't saved his brother. He grabbed the same pistol that Yeison hid under his mattress and went out into the street to find the "respect" that, according to him, was owed to him.