“Name”: Alexander "Prep" Krech
Operative Number: 678
Appearance: When you first glance at me, I look like a heavy, well built man. I am about 6'2, and normally wear knee high combat boots with a sheath on my right leg. I wear baggy black pants with pockets down my left leg, and a collection of flags gathered from lands I have lived in on the right, hanging from a steel hook. Under the pants, I have 2 layers of armor that has been worn to the point that you can not see any effect when running. I wear a camouflage coat, and straps across my abdomen. I have a variety of grenades, switchblades, and handguns hanging there, collected from my many different battles. The right chest pocket is ripped, and where there used to be a full sized name, there is now a tattered strip, and you can only make out "kretch". The collar of my coat is longer than my neck, but sticks out, since I zip it up to the halfway mark of my torso. I have a gray hood under this, and it is big and heavy enough enough to cast a shade over my facial features, but when you do see them they are scarred beyond recognition. The only thing you can see under my hood is the shine of my black aviators, and nobody has seen them off since the first day of training. When he takes off his armor, he is actually quite lean, definitely strong but not big. Some say that is WHY he wears the armor...
Writing example: (I am not going to do a full back story yet, but I will do the writing sample) I walk into my wing of the barracks, and squint down the long aisle of bunks to see who else is here. All I see is a few men playing cards in a table far down, and they are all drinking and laughing. I roll my eyes, I haven't been drinking since I was 16. Too risky, especially nowadays, with my dirty reputation with the younger officials, every time they saw me with my hood or glasses on they would all laugh and come to shove me around. Once I ended up stabbing one of them, he had crossed the line. Nobody talks about my scars and size in the same hazing. It had been getting better lately, but I wasn't going to take any chances on getting drunk and waking up surrounded by Captains, laughing at me in my sad state. We had a mission coming up, I overheard... I have a good feeling. Maybe when they see me in action, the humility will stop. I leaned on my bunk, and lit my cigar.
Rank: Recruit
Genetic Augmentations: Nothing surgical or medical, but before the Shadow Squad, I had been raised by a Police Officer. I constantly did the obstacle courses, and trained in Parkour. While I am not that big, I get around.
Personality: Philosophical, tries to hide a lot about himself. When he does talk, there's not much "gossip" or put downs to the newer recruits, more defending the small guy.
Height: 6'2
Weight: 140 Pounds
Weapon of choice: Kukri Knife, held in Boot Sheath
Everything Else: More about Covert Ops, Parkour and Stealth then front line destruction. Saves cultures whenever possible, respectful of anyone who respects him.
