Bloodshot

25

6'5"

Bloodshot is a tall man by almost any standard with a solid build, and his arms are as long as one would expect from his height, as are his legs. Both sets of limbs are packed with tightly corded sinew, and this evidence of near-constant rigorous activity is no less prevalent on his torso. He has the musculature and conditioning of a fighter several steps above even the best of normal men, and a mind as keen as the most observant tactician. His dark crimson eyes seem to possess an understanding of the world not often found in men of his profession. His head is shaved bald, and his face is one that, while still young, has clearly seen its share of hardship. Numerous scars adorn his body, the most prominent of which include a stab would over his heart, a deep gash across his left cheek, and a severe laceration running across his left forearm. Only the first and third of these three most prominent scars are visible however, thanks to the flannel he's wearing with rolled up sleeves over a white tank top. His legs are clad in jeans, and a pair of hiking boots adorn his feet.

When he was a child, he was raised with the sole purpose of becoming the perfect soldier, and the extremely harsh treatment and training he received produced predictably harsh results. Mercy and compassion are words that have no merit in Bloodshot's view of the world, and while he is not a vindictive man, he is nevertheless a very dangerous one to cross. Something that those who trained him found out the hard way. He was in his late teens when he finally broke free of their control and escaped the compound where he had been created, going on the run and taking on the moniker of Bloodshot the Mercenary in the absence of any real name, owing to the unique coloration of his eyes. His skill with both firearms and melee implements impressed every one of his clients, but it was his peerless intelligence that shone most brightly, exemplified most often in his high risk missions and the equipment he created to aid him.

While he currently carries none of his usual equipment, he is a veritable savant when it comes to improvised weaponry and unorthodox tactics. A skill that has saved his skin on numerous occasions.

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"Graceful as always, I see." It wasn't often that one found Bloodshot out of his armor, and indeed there were very few who could even say it was him, but today's mission had called for some special circumstances regarding his usual garb. Specifically, he had been unable to bring any of it with him. A great many people knew what he was and could do when they saw the black mask and armor, and for now he preferred the element of surprise. He just wished the air didn't smell so rank around here. He had cut through the alley to beat his target to the next intersection, hoping that it would make this whole tailing thing easier, when out of nowhere who should drop in? None other than Malia. No doubt still just as self-righteous as the last time she'd screwed up his kill. It was too late to back out of the alley without being seen, and too soon to make it past the dumpster with the same effect. "Am I expected to believe that this is a completely random encounter, or have you been following me again?" He stood with arms crossed no more than a dozen feet from the dumpster, staring at the disheveled girl through his blue-colored contact lenses. His natural hue would have attracted far too much attention.