[b]Name/ City of Origin:[/b] Chicago

[b]Age:[/b] 46

[b]Appearance:[/b] He is a man in black from head to toe, not too tall, not too wide. Unremarkably average. A perfectly tailored black suit, black tie, black dress shoes, and a fancy black hat, his white shirt being the one exception to his outfit. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of thick sunglasses, his hands are covered by gloves. The only portion of skin he shows is his face, clean-shaven and pale white, with not a single mark on it, except for wrinkles

[b]Weapon/ Method of Choice:[/b] He is firstly a saboteur, and only second a fighter. He carries a gun, and a knife, he's practiced with both, but he's nothing special with either of them. He carries his preferred tools in a black, leather briefcase. Wrenches, pliers, screwdrivers and various vials of poison are inside, along with other odds and ends that come in handy. His victims die of accidents and suicides, whether it's simply falling down a flight of stairs, or a freak accident involving a needle, a fridge, and a leaking gas pipe. His weapon of choice is sabotage, his method is turning ordinary things into deathtraps. 

[b]Personality:[/b] He's a talker, not smooth by any means, but he runs his mouth quite a bit, quite loudly at times. He's hardly a subtle man. He's also quite the compulsive liar, who'll tell a dozen stories about him, half of which are obviously apocryphal. Like the time he went to the dark side of the moon. He enjoys his rhythm and blues. He'll make everyone else enjoy it as well, whenever he gets the chance. He's cautious, watching every step, questioning every detail around him. Which is only natural, considering his experience and his methods, though at times it crosses into the range of paranoia.