Sean is a quiet, virtually invisible professional.  He is polite, punctual, and prepared.  he wears dark blue suits with white shirts and dark ties.  His reddish hair is cut short and neatly combed, he is clean shaven and he wears dark sunglasses.  he generally carries a briefcase containing his personal computer and his Net-reader with the latest publications of various financial and engineering publications loaded up.
He habitually carries a high-powered handgun when he's working, as well as two telescoping steel batons.

Paidrag is a loud, cocksure, elite that lives to go fast, and takes virtually nothing and nobody seriously.  He habitually wears the Autobot symbol as a mask.  When he's not wearing his mask he has unkempt red hair, has a nearly perpetual 5 o'clock shadow.  His wardrobe tends towards combat fatigues or motorcycle leathers.  He almost always shows up driving the fastest car, motorcycle, jet, or boat that he can afford to rent.

Character Background for Seamus O'Connor.
A.K.A. Sean Callaghan,  A.K.A. Wheelman,
A.K.A. Paidrag Mulligan A.K.A. Mechanus
Seamus was the underachieving son of a Boston PD detective.  His older sister, Sinead, followed in daddy's footprints from an early age, she read all the Nancy Drew books by the time she had finished grade three, although those didn't help her nearly as much in her job as a police woman as she thought they would when she was young, ah the foibles of youth.  Seamus, on the other hand, always wanted to be the robber when he and his sister played cops and robbers.  His mother liked to say that the boy could ride a bike almost before he could walk, which was true in its own way, but his favourite toy when he was little was his red corvette, even though he had it for less than a week.  It was big enough for him to sit in, and had pedals so he could make it go places, but the manufacturer had probably never intended for a four year old to take it outside, push it up a long hill, then hop in it and ride it to the bottom.  Well, he would have ridden it to the bottom except for said manufacturer not anticipating said antics, thus not designing it to go above ten miles and hour, let alone thirty.  Things were going splendidly until the wheels exploded, the car flipped and Seamus did a lip skid followed by a dozen or so cartwheels and finally came to rest in a broken, bloody heap on the side walk.  Being in a body cast was awful, especially as a "high-energy" four year old, but kids mend fast, and the concussion mercifully blocked everything out except for the exhilarating rush he'd experienced before everything went dark.  Not so for his horrified parents, but this story isn't about them.
Fast forward 14 years and you'll find Seamus once again in a (stolen) red corvette at the top of another long hill, but this time he wasn't doing thirty, he was doing around 130.  This time the car stayed together and he continued his ill advised race down the hill, through an intersection, under a bridge, over another hill, through the air, into a park, across a lawn and back onto the street beyond.  All these thing happened while he was laughing maniacally, eyes bright with a huge grin on his face.  His girlfriend wasn't nearly as amused, but after her screams died down and the endorphin rush of being alive kicked in she became remarkably...
Well, anyways, fast forward another four years, Seamus' sister is a cop with the BPD and Seamus is a part time stock car driver, part time daredevil in air shows, and part time wheel man for the Irish Mob.  Not the old Irish Mob, they were absorbed by the CZ syndicate some time back, after some restructuring by said CZ syndicate, but the new Irish Mob, leaner, harder, and with more muscle.
So, Seamus was their golden boy for getting anything from anywhere to anywhere.  If it flew, floated, or rolled he could drive it, fly it, or whatever it in ways that the manufacturer had probably never envisioned (some things never change).  He usually did runs with some high value cargo from Acadia down to Boston, although sometimes he went further afield.
He never really questioned the morality of what he did.  The last trip he did changed all that.  Instead of the usual bag/box of "none of your fucking business,"  he was given a car, a really nice turbo powered black Mercedes with post production suspension and, well, something making muffled noises in the trunk.  Being the disciplined, impulse-resisting pro that he was he lasted at least 15 minutes before he pulled over and popped the trunk.
Fast forward 48 hours and you'll find Seamus' sister beside herself with worry that her kid brother has been grabbed from the FBI safe house after bringing the daughter of a Russian oil czar to them on her say-so after he called her in a panic and with a broken nose (said daughter of said Russian oil czar was initially less than friendly when he popped the trunk).  At the same time you'll find Seamus tied to a chair with two broken hands, ten broken fingers, a face that looked like hamburger and a night that really wasn't going his way at all.  It got worse when they put him in the trunk of the same black Mercedes that he had been driving two days before (they had a sense of irony, I suppose) and put the whole works into a car crusher.  As the machine started up, Seamus' head really began to hurt, which was saying something, since it was already doing a pretty good job at transcending his previous definition of unimaginable pain.
As the trunk was crushed around him, and he felt the metal dig into, then bite into his flesh it suddenly felt like the metal was an extension of himself, much lie the car had been when he was at the wheel. He wrapped the car around himself, tore open the car crusher and used a handy tractor trailer to beat the previously guffawing thugs into a red paste with remarkably few lumps, and no bones that hadn't been reduced to a fine gravel.  Realizing that he had erupted, and realizing that his family would never be safe if he contacted them again, and realizing that the CZ had their own stable of nova hitmen, Seamus did the first smart thing he'd ever done (hindsight will link this to changes in his brain brought on by his eruption, but I get ahead of myself).  He set fire to the junk yard using some handy miscellaneous barrels and cylinders of various propellants and ran. As the pieces of car fell away from him in the aftermath of his adventure in making mook pâté, Seamus stole the mobster's car, drove it until it ran out of gas and he traded it at a chop shop for a motorcycle, some tools, and enough money to buy gas all the way to Panama.  Once there he traded his (new) skills as a mechanic on a freighter that was heading to South Africa.  Once there he made his way to a Devries recruiting center and signed on as both Wheelman (bodyguard, master pilot of anything powered by an engine, able to fix anything, upgrade anything, and hack into or protect any computer or security system designed by man) and Mechanus the persona he used for his other tricks.
Seamus, or Sean as he introduced himself to his new employers, didn't know if there had been a video camera at that scrap yard (he assumed the mooks wouldn't have been that stupid, but you never know). But he was certain, after seeing the news about how the Russian oil czar had teamed up with Vladimir Sierka in gunning for the CZ, that the family would really, really like to know where he was if they knew he was alive, and would send some of those badass nova assassin types (like his fellow elites at Devries but without their sense of humanity or gentility) to finish the job.