Name: R.J. Kallat<br/><br/>Gender: Male<br/><br/>Age: 21<br/><br/>Role: Medical Graduate Student, Switch (considers himself a dominant lover, but was sent to this school on the basis that he learn "respect")<br/><br/>Description: A tall, long limbed sort, somewhat gangly if not for the fact that he moves with a practiced ease. Well toned, if not overly muscled, a sinuous type, built from a lifelong love of football. Dark, black hair and large brown eyes, likes to keep a beard across his rugged face, seemingly shaving it at whim and letting it grow back.<br/><br/>(http://www.tapis-gagnant.fr/images/news_vikash.jpg) (http://www.papermag.com/blogs/Vikash%20Dhorasoo.jpg)<br/><br/>Personality: A playful, if somewhat arrogant type. Older than most students, he can be aloof at times, and somewhat irritable when the mood strikes him, but otherwise easy to get along with. Sometimes gets cabin fever cooped in at the school, if he can find company he can keep entertained, otherwise he's a type known to find trouble.<br/><br/>Background: At an early age, Ram Jahar Kallat seemed a perfect student, the pride of an uperclass indian family, and destined for great things. He left formal schooling at an early age, finding it boring and overly structured, chafing with his teachers but excelling in his studies. He was fully graduated by sixteen, his Bachelors of Medicine a scant three years later, with a focus on psychological and psychoactive properties. But, unfortunately, college too was becoming boring and overly structured...<br/><br/>He was urged to go westward, Europe or America, and get a proper degree from a prestigious school, and though the ease with which he gained his first degree bore him a pride and a little arrogance, he was too tempted by pleasures closer. He threw himself into the underworld of Southeast Asia, spending what remained of his money on pleasant,  dark fleshed company and his taste for alcohol and cocaine.<br/><br/>Then he started into the pills. He knew what they did already, how to get them, finding them in Thailand was a snap. He went for a ride every night, whatever street drugs and pharmecuticals he could handle, all the pussy he could sweet talk or spend into his lap. He got to know the players, and for awhile thought he knew the game. He was young and smart, the rest of his loans went into deals of guns and chemicals, the life he thought was destined to lead him to rock star-like glory.<br/><br/>It crashed six months later. Into a police car roadblock, to be exact.<br/><br/>He was smart enough to avoid jail, he wasn't smart enough to avoid rehab, and his body needed it. A year of physical therapy sessions, toxin cleaning, degrading classes and therapy sessions that ate at his pride. It almost didn't matter when he got out, medical establishments didn't touch addicts with a ten foot pole.<br/><br/>When finally he found his apartment again, a free man, he found a letter in his mailbox. He'd been noticed by someone, some<em>thing</em>. A japanese organization, seemingly legitimate, but the letter alluded to a certain "moral ambiguity" that seemed to draw their attention. That and a brilliant, exploitable medical intellect. Their only stipulation, that his lessons possess a strong, singular focus.<br/><br/>Discipline.<br/><br/>He was on the plane within a week. He doesn't know if his demons are behind him or right in front of him, but he's determined to make this strange new school a fresh start.