Bare-knuckle Boxer. Sniper. Scoundrel. You'll like him. That was Atoms hurried precis on his old pal, Mick. While the description is accurate, it barely scratches the surface of this complicated rogue. Mick is at home in the shadowy reaches of the fringe, the underworld culture that permeates the "hood." While he has rubbed elbows with hunters, mercs, outlaws and gangsters, Mick's main difference is that his elbows were covered by some of the most expensive and fashionable clothes this side of the Core. Mick has style and class; some would say in excess. He is a man of sophisticated tastes, and settles for nothing short of the best in his surroundings, his belongings, his look, and his female companionship.

 

Chris and Mick go way back, you'll hear them say, but it hasn't always been friendship and camaraderie. Chris and Mick have been rivals in the past. A bitter point of contention between the two has been the ownership of ArtCore studios. The deceptively dilapidated shop once belonged to Mick, and much to the hooligans chagrin, he lost it to Chris in a heated game of billiards. Though Chris insists he won fair and square, Mick still questions Chris's victory, if only to goad the Carolinian.

Mick was the first of the two friends to go "respectable," a fate worse than death to some smugglers. He distanced himself from the life on the run, and settled down in a floating metropolis, on the blue collar planet Georgetown. Mick became a full-blown Tattooer of the city and its lucrative scab vending operation. Where once he had only looked out for himself, Mick now found himself responsible for the lives of millions of Seattle residents. Despite himself, Mick found that he had a knack for pushing ink, and enjoyed being a legitimate businessman as much as an outlaw