~forever WIP~
Victoria Winsmore, or Wins More for short, is a cheerful ex-London cop turned Armax Arsenal Arena competitor, who makes a lot of money shooting semi-real bullets at mostly-fake Reapers and not-fake people, who are also firing semi-real bullets at her.
She makes a bit more money livestreaming simstim/trideo games on Death Nerve, the #1 Extranet site for watching other people play things and argue about the way they’re playing them, and some more money with things involving Fornax.
Born to a family that alternated between being office drones for corps and office drones for Parliament, Victoria Winsmore grew up idolizing her uncle, who was a beat cop for both the City of London and the Met as a whole and was the one telling wild and wacky stories about hauling away idiot tourists, the odd Irishman wearing a plastic bag, and having naan hurled at him. Her grandfathers were also guiding lights (guiding lights into the wrong way, her dad joked), who spent most of their lives being office drones, then turning into strange old men who owned too many rifles and argued about if dogs were good eating over some beer.
Faced with the choice of becoming another in the line of office drones, or the promise of something interesting, Victoria took the latter and dived right into the Metropolitan service, hoping to make Specialized Firearms Command (that’s SWAT, for everyone else) primarily because she thought being good at guns and running around a lot was enough - her parents (surprisingly) being encouraging of her grandfathers (both of them) taking her out to the few remaining rifle clubs around the UK would’ve been good enough, in her mind.
As it turns out, SFC doesn’t like taking fuckups (her words, not theirs), even if they’re crack shots who made friends out of most of the team.
A miserable year of sucking at following rules and regs (the usual story of well-meaning cop goes off the book to not ruin someone’s day’ only to ruin someone else's day and get yelled at/fined for it), huge increases in Cerberus rabblerousers and anti-SA ultranationalists running around/rioting/leaving some of her friends quivering heaps, alternating between a crap desk job and cherishing it after nearly getting stabbed by chavs/the mentally ill/bank robbers/Cerberus, and seeing the system strained under millions and millions of people was enough to turn in her badge.
All wasn’t lost, though.
When she was off work, her grandfathers (and uncle) took her target shooting - real guns with clay pigeons (and though they were old geezers, they approved of all the simstim games about shooting guns), and entered her into enough marksmanship tournaments to get discussed on blogs and win some cash prizes - and, eventually, first place in one of the Kassa Marksmanship Contests.
More than enough to get her away from Earth for a while - she’d had enough of London - and into the Citadel. There, a friend/rival from one of the shooting contests, who she bonded with over violent trideo games, bought her a few rounds at the Armax Arsenal Arena. Now that the targets could shoot back, it was a rush she hadn't felt since the Terra Firma Party started a riot - without the unpleasantness of hurting actual human beings, and broken bones.
As it turned out, said friend/rival was part of a team - one that happened to have an opening.
Soon enough, she was graduating from shooting simple 'terrorist' holos all the way to highly-televised onslaughts against "totally real and not made up at all because no one wanted to insult the N7s" Alliance Black Ops, or shooting other people trying to shoot her in front of millions of nerds across the Extranet.
She did this when the Reapers came - fighting in the Arsenal to keep up morale and charity drives going, shooting up imaginary Cerberus/Geth/Reapers. When Cerberus/Geth/Reapers actually showed up and were very unhappy, she shot them, too, managing to fight her way off and into an evac ship until the Alliance (and Shepard) retook it. With efforts focused on getting the Crucible to Earth, and rightfully worried about her family, she took a shuttle down to London to hold the line until Shepard's coalition could get things settled.
After all was said and done and the Reapers... went away, she stuck around and helped with reconstruction efforts until most of the heavy lifting was done, and moved back to the Citadel - too many bad memories, old and new, living around London for her to stay long.
IF YA WANT MY BODY AND YA THINK I'M SEXY[]
Pale in a way that suggested either a vampire or someone who spent too much time indoors/in a combat-suit, she looks like the farthest thing from a cop - maybe a hipster who spent too much time around East London wearing thick coke bottle glasses, or a rich gal hauling around fifty tons of shopping bags yammering at her besties on the omnitool.
The smooth babyface cheeks and big dollish eyes don't help. Yes, her aunts used to pinch her cheeks. Hair that fluctuates some unhappy medium between orange and blonde, tied up in an odd ponytail flared up and spiked - either a particularly metal peacock, or the best hairdo impression of a splayed Asian fan.
Tacticool Bullshit[]
Primary: A Sabre with an Extended Barrel and Clip. Scope? What's a scope?
Secondary: An "Executioner" that absolutely has nothing to do with the Blood Pack, and isn't covered in sleek lines to cover up the fact it's a Blood Pack Executioner. No, sir.