Laszlo the Gunrunner

Real Name: Laszlo Pazmandy
Villain Name: The Gunrunner
Title: The Hungarian, That bastard with the guns
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Age: 43
Gender: Male
Race: Mutant Human
Hair: Bald
Eyes: Orange
Height: 1m83
Weight: 87kg
Blood type: A+







Laszlo is a greedy man at heart. Formerly a hired man in an Eastern Europe criminal gang, he took off to the United States once he got the opportunity to do so, with money in his eyes. He cares not for much besides his own personal success as a criminal entrepreneur and keeping his own head on his shoulders, and can't even bring himself to think of the victims of his arms trafficking. He enjoys luxury and always makes sure that his own apartments and office are fit for his egocentric tendencies. Laszlo's obsession with securing his own success makes him willing to work with anyone willing to pay, though it should not be mistaken for folly, for he will shoot on sight if he has a gut instinct that things are turning sour.

This trait is not helped by Laszlo's creeping paranoia over his own safety. Though some will find an advantage, such as very well-paying employment and benefits many other companies wouldn't even dare think about, it also drives him to more dangerous habits, for himself and others, from practicing mithridatism, by eating non-lethal doses of poison at every meal possible, to keeping a gun close to him at all times with a twitchy trigger finger. This paranoia even explains why he doesn't necessarily try to commit more action-oriented crimes himself, as he longs for a life where he can get richer and safer without lifting his little finger.

Yet, there is still humanity in Laszlo. In particular towards his gang, the Roses Club gang that operates the eponymous Roses Club in Midtown, New York City. He treats the gang like his adopted family, where he is a loving and dotting patriarch. He remembers the names, faces, voices and birthdays of every member of the gang, and is always willing to listen to what they want to talk about. Whether this is his paranoia driving him to build absolute confidence with his subordinates, a genuine wish for belonging, or maybe just inspiration from watching gangster movies from time to time, even he doesn't know. All he knows is that his gang is his family, and while he has a drive to further his place in the grand world of crime, he desires to do it with his fellow criminals and cronies.



The brain is a curious organ. The way it is wired, down to the minute connections, can completely change how you see the world and interact with it. Hell, a mutation in the genes can even give you a perspective unseen by many. For example, the most common of these exceedingly rare mutations is a gene only found in women that gives them another colour to see.

Laszlo was born a mutant, whose brain was wired in a curious way. From childhood, people could denote how he effectively dodged large leaves flying towards his face, or how he could so keenly shoot a football into the corner of a goal, or even a paper airplane straight into the teacher's closed hand. He was unnaturally good at aiming things, though many just saw him as gifted beyond belief. As a youth, Laszlo saw himself a footballer, kicking goals and being the main figurehead of a western european club, but that was without counting on his father's own allegiances. The Budapest Gunrunners.

Laszlo was expected, in his early teens, to join the gang's operations as a goon, a disposable body. Not that his father really cared, as he just wanted to be well-seen enough to become an operative. Really, his father didn't think much of him. He was gifted, yes, but this man was blinded by his own desires of grandeur. Laszlo wasn't even meant to be, he was a kid born out of an accident. So he might as well be of use, Laszlo's father figured.

He even forcefully sent him to a gang camp one summer so he didn't have to "babysit him". There, Laszlo learned how to use a gun, and he learnt astonishingly quickly. While other kids his age were learning to hold a gun right, he was learning, on his own, how to ricochet bullets accurately. His instructors came to believe he could not be just any human. There had to have been a severe mutation. Something to twist his brain to the point where shooting came as naturally as breathing.

While Laszlo was learning, his father died in a police raid, and his body was left behind. When, during the camp, Laszlo learnt of his father's demise, he just shrugged and went back to shooting. His father didn't care about him, while should he care back when he is using his skills to the best? Sure, his hopes of becoming a footballer were dashed, but in a way, his father dying meant he had a new, more attentive family. Admittedly, the bar was low, and they barely passed, but it was better than nothing. They at least asked how he was doing. They at least remembered his birthday, his name, his face. They at least gave him a break when he was not okay. They at least said hello when he said it first. All of this helped to form a sense of loyalty towards the gang that held strong for 25 years straight.

And then the Russian Job happened. A rough job which led to the eventual fall of the Budapest Gunrunners, who bit more than they could chew. Laszlo survived on his shooting skills alone, hidden from the action. Being the sole survivor of his side meant he was also the sole proprietor of his side of the loot. A verytable motherload of guns. A fortune in lead and gunpowder. A fortune he quickly sold, while the rest of the gang started fighting each other.

And eventually it came to him, and the betrayal, the hunger and anger in the eyes of those he called brothers a few days back still haunted him. In a matter of days, he grew immensely paranoid. People he actually trusted with his life were now hunting for him. Laszlo started to be terrified of being poisoned. So he started to practice mithridatism. And in the same breath as he ate baklava spiked with a minute dose of cyanide, he made plans to run away somewhere. Not in Europe, he felt it was much too risky. No, he had to cross the ocean, to the United States...

Using a fake ID, Laszlo made his way to New York City, fabled city of dreams, where he made use of his remaining fortune to build up a club in Midtown NYC, a reputably tough neighbourhood. Yet, with his money and power, he attracted criminals who needed some guidance. And these criminals were rewarded with pays and benefits that they couldn't even expect in legitimate work. All they needed to do was tending to the criminal activities that Laszlo wanted to do as well as working at the Roses Club to keep a cover of legality.

In the underbelly of the club however, criminals alike came to acquire weapons that couldn't be found in regular markets. 25 years of working with the Budapest Gunrunners gave Laszlo a veritable smorgasbord of contacts in Eastern Europe, allowing him to access a range of weapons that could equip entire militias by themselves. The rumours started to spread about the Gunrunner, the Hungarian with all the gun connections in Eastern Europe, or "that bastard with the guns" when a gang was hit by a rival who suddenly got drastically better equipped while the new kingpin of the illegal arms dealing lavished in a silk sofa, drinking a martini as the sun set on the Big Apple.

And at night, he dreamt. He dreamt of more money, more power. He dreamt of his own utopia. A criminal hub all for himself, where he gets to host the criminal activities of the West Coast, throw out lavish parties where the corrupt and the evil mingle and he gets to relax while everyone deals with each other and he racks up the riches in the process. The Crossroads of Crime.



Supernatural Accuracy: Laszlo's mutation has wired his brain to the point where he has an uncanny sense of accuracy. Being able to read minute things like the effect of wind resistance on the fly, the power of the gunpowder in a bullet, or even the trajectory of an enemy bullet just by the placement of the gun's barrel to accurately avoid it. It also allows him to hit ricochet shots without pressure. In short, Laszlo is a firearms genius.

Poison Resistance: Less of a power and more of an accrued ability, Laszlo has built up resistance to common poisons through mithridatism, the process of eating non-lethal doses of poison to build up resistance to said poison.



A Gun And Nothing More: Laszlo does not know how to fight without a gun. He is not proficient in melee and if he can't use a gun for any reason, he is as good as beaten.

Paranoid Mind: While Laszlo trusts his gang like a falily, outsiders do not get this privilege, and his paranoid, trigger-happy mind can make him slip on good opportunities simply out of fear that things will go wrong.



Pistole vz. 82: A military model handgun that was used by the czechoslovak military in the mid-80s. Customised with Laszlo's name on the handle, he knows each of its components like he made them himself.

Other guns: Various cargo of illegal weapons he acquires for his business. While he'd rather not play with the merchandise, it may need to be when everything is on the line...



Roses Club Gang: Laszlo's personal criminal gang. He considers them his family, and treats them extremely well. They both operate the Roses Club, the gang's facade, as well as the undergroung arms dealing, from transport to checking to sales in the black market.

• Laszlo never leaves his office without his glasses. Even if he doesn't need them due to his eyesight being 20/20.
  

• His voice has a very notable eastern european accentuation.
  

• He loves pastries. Baklava the most amongst them, even if it's not native to Hungary.
  

"Ah, some new clients I see! Come, come young gangsters, I assume you came to look at the crown weapons of Eastern Europe, yes?"

Laszlo was inviting a group of young up-and-comer criminals of Philadelphia, with grins from ear to ear. The ywere not-so-subtly whispering to one another in mocking tones, though what they said exactly wasn't caught on by their host.

As the group climbs down the stairs to the underbelly of New York City, the older man, with his perfectly shaved head reflecting the buzzing neons, started to narrate how he wanted the relationship between him and the gang of newcomers to be as fruitful as can be, focusing a lot on making sure that they are equipped to deal with whatever rivals they come across. The kids nonchalantly yawned and asked when were they going to arrive, to which Laszlo sighed and opened the door in front of him and proudly looked as his men were handling boxes full of weapons that passed by Eastern Europe, coming from the entirety of Eurasia. A true goldmine of weaponry.

"Alright kids, you have all the choice," Laszlo said. "But as you know, everything has a price."

"Oh yeah, we know," one of the wannabes responded, before putting his hand in his jacket.

Laszlo's paranoia twitched hard as he heard the shuffle, so he looked on, his hand visibly on his pocket, where the silhouette of a handgun could clearly be seen. But it seemed to be nothing, as the kid who spoke simply whipped out his checkbook. Still, the man took a few seconds to stop tensing up and get back to business. A small box full of AK for a few hundred thousands of dollars.

"I hope you enjoy your new toys kids!" Laszlo exclaimed as he greedily counted each note one by one, as if obsessing over the additional wealth he acquired.

And then, at the words, one of the small time criminals pulled a rifle from the box. "Y'know what? Screw the plan!" he shouted nonchalantly. "Dude is practically defenceless, we can turn him into mincemeat right now-"

But before he could point the rifle, a buzzing sound could be heard, with a few cuts to ringing sounds. And in a flash, the rowdy gangster's throat was pierced with a bullet hole as the noise died out an abrupt stop against the underground's brick walls. Laszlo was holding his gun in an unusual angle, pointing a bit downwards, in a position that shouldn't have allowed one to hit a throat on a standing target. Yet he did, just as easily as he breathed.

The gangster fell to the ground in a loud crash, almost breaking the gun and leaving Laszlo sighing with annoyance.

"So... you were planning on double-crossing me, uh. Maybe we should make an example out of you," Laszlo coldly said, before turning to a gang member who was running forward, a janitor's toolset in one hand and a bodybag in another. "Jared, I'm so sorry to make you work when your nephew is on the way, but as you heard, these idiots were going to attack me. I hope you can handle that..."

"No worries boss, it's why I'm here," Jared simply said as he started doing his job and the rest of the Roses Club gang knocked down the other two up-and-comers to handle them in their boss' stead.