[center][hr][url=https://fontmeme.com/cool-fonts/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/171210/ec82ff83bed1b5364f94dab3b09e89f3.png[/img][/url][hr][img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/82/51/97/82519776d44f9a38077faeaaedf1e775--african-american-art-african-art.jpg[/img][hr][h3][color=IndianRed][b]"I buy many an orange."[/b][/color][/h3][hr][/center]

[color=B22222][b]Name:[/b][/color]
Jamal Ahmad Jamali

[color=B22222][b]Age:[/b][/color]
32

[color=B22222][b]Appearance:[/b][/color]
Jamal cuts an imposing figure, intimidating in a way that cannot be easily described. He keeps a stern look on his face, easily turned into a face of anger. Thick furrowed eyebrows, tight lips and piercing brown eyes can break the hardest of criminals. His skin a dark chocolate, calloused in many places but clean of wrinkles. Small, immaculate silver studs adorn his ear with a dull golden stud in the helix of his right ear. A clenched jawline with stubble leads to broad shoulders and an athletic figure. Not enough to be out of place but enough to set him above a crowd. He has an even pace and large strides, when undercover he walks with a swagger that makes him seem untouchable. Bulging arms seem to tighten every sleeve he wears while large hands which make finding gloves that fit a trying process. Long, thick legs let him cover far distances in a shorter time period but becomes problematic when buying jeans. Large feet only serve to indicate that everything about him is indeed larger than life.

[color=B22222][b]Height:[/b][/color]
6'2"

[color=B22222][b]Weight:[/b][/color]
210lbs

[color=B22222][b]Likes:[/b][/color][list]
[*]Oranges
[*]Acting
[*]Crossing his arms and staring really intensely
[*]Betraying unsuspecting criminals
[*]Training, whether in the firing range or his holy temple (the gym)[/list]

[color=B22222][b]Dislikes:[/b][/color][list]
[*]Anything negative surrounding oranges
[*]Weakness in himself
[*]Unnecessary humour
[*]Fire
[*]Corruption in the force
[*]Racists, sexists, islamophobes, homophobes, etc.
[*]Politics
[*]Apples
[*]Laziness
[*]Liking things[/list]

[color=B22222][b]Zodiac Sign:[/b][/color]
Taurus

[color=B22222][b]Special Talent:[/b][/color]
An almost uncanny ability in acting like the type of people he hates, a criminal.

[color=B22222][b]Profession:[/b][/color]
Undercover police officer and has been in the force since the minimum age of recruitment.

[color=B22222][b]Bio/Personality:[/b][/color]
Jamal was born to a Pakistani father and an African American high school graduate, birthed in Punjab province in Pakistan. His grandfather, Muhammad Jamali, disapproved of the relationship between his father Ahmad and his mother Arya and as the elder of the house, told the pair to either get rid of Jamal or get out of his house. Poor, broke but still madly in love, they fled to the big city to earn for the family, carrying a newborn Jamal. Ahmad was forced to work as a bus driver in Lahore while Arya earned as much money as she could selling oranges delivered from the a friend's orchard outside Lahore. The newborn often stayed to accompany his mother while she worked in the market, selling the citrus only for most of the money to go back to the providers.

Jamal had most of his early, formative years in the beautiful city of Lahore. It was the second most populous city in Pakistan behind Karachi and was also one of the wealthiest. Even as a "poor family", he could not recall any times in which food or water was difficult to find. They lived in an adequately sized apartment near the old, walled city. They were not a broken family either, his parents loved each other and the family was together quite frequently. If he could recall, he would remember smiles and happy faces. They prayed together and slept near each other. His father was a humble man who did not speak much and earned little but was easy on the smile. His mother had always been his favourite however.

Arya frequently told stories of Sol City to her child as he grew up, having been born and had met his father there while studying at the university. She told him of the abundance of lights in the city skyline, the fast moving cars, the money that flowed with easy. She lovingly recalled meeting his father, something that made baby Jamal's face contort in childlike disgust. She also bitterly told him about her move to Pakistan upon Ahmad's insistence, ending up in the situation they were in. But she had always ended the stories with a kiss and a youthful smile, popping an orange piece in his mouth. It was where he got his near-addiction to oranges as a child that carries on to this day to a lesser extent.

It was not until his first day at high school when everything went wrong. Up to that point in his life, Jamal had it perfect. His father and mother joined their efforts to create an orange juice stall in their own market, packaging and delivering fresh, cool orange juice. The family had become popular, his mother doubly so due to her kind words in the marketplace. Although initially thought of as foreign due to his skin colour, his steadfastness and loyalty to friends had gained him popularity amongst his peers. His first day as a grade nine student had just ended, walking towards the general direction of his parent's store with his group of friends. He had promised them cheaper prices for his parent's famous fresh orange juice in the tough April heat. 

As Jamal rounded the corner, the smell of fire filled his nostrils. He turned to see a market ablaze, onlookers staring at the plumes of smoke and burning tapestry covers. He sprinted, ignoring his shouting friends and brushed past escapees to enter the market. Shouts and a sounds of general panic filled his ears as he searched frantically for his parents, navigating through the smoke filled pathways. He covered his mouth with his sleeve, blinking the tears in his eyes away. The stall that his parents had set up was near the middle of the market, covered in beautiful purple tapestry. Pushing past more and more escaping bodies, he began to see source of the fire. It was raging, untamed and violent. People burned from head to toe, doused in uncontrollable fire. The purple tapestry, the finely carved wood his father made, the chair his mother used to place him on as a baby, burned wildly. It would soon be turned to ash.

The sound of pain and grunting had broken his stupor, his attention turned to a collapsed piece of wood and the woman who writhed under it. [i][color=IndianRed]"Mother!"[/color][/i] called Jamal and stumbled towards her in shock. She smiled at him kindly, the sweat glistening on her forehead. Most of her was covered under the large piece of wood except for her head, shoulders and one arm. He grabbed ahold of the wood and pushed as hard as he could to no avail. He tried and tried again, even with his tired mother's help he could not lift the damnable piece of wood. Tears ran down his cheeks, frustration and sadness whirling inside him.

[color=darkred][i]"Do not worry so much my boy. I will be in the sky, with God's righteous followers."[/i][/color] Arya stroked Jamal's hair lovingly and then traced his jaw with delicate fingers. She wiped his tears away and lightly scolded him for crying. She pushed him away as more structures burned around them. [color=darkred][i]"Go![/i][/color] she cried, fire tracing its way up the plank that crushed her [color=darkred][i]"Go with haste, my son!"[/i][/color]

Jamal turned and ran, faster than he had when he entered the burning market. Smoke mades his eyes burn, the intense heat of the blaze sweltering his skin. He escaped to a clear blue sky and a shocked bunch of friends. His uniform was torn and ruined, burns adorned his body while his palms were torn by hard wood. He turned towards the market entrance as it crashed down, burning fiercely. He went down on his knees, watching the market burn with his silent companions. 

The fire was started by a pyromaniac criminal, a serial killer who was known for starting several fires across Punjab itself. Jamal clenched his fists and shook with rage as he watched him stand trial, glaring vehemently at the man who caused the death of his mother and so many others. His father served to cool and stem his rage before it could burst out, a firm hand on his son's shoulder to prevent any outbreak of frustration. As they went home that night, driving under a cloudy dark night, Ahmad broke the silence in the car. [color=salmon][i]"Your mother wouldn't have approved of your attitude Jamal."[/i][/color] 

The boy just looked to the side, clenching jaw tighter. Ahmad sighed and continued to drive. This would serve as an indicator of how their relationship would be like in the coming years. They moved to Sol City soon after the accident, an apparent birthday gift that his parents had planned for him. It struck Jamal harder than it should have, he always told himself. The boy changed, his frustration and anger turned into silent and grim acceptance. He began to go to the gym, vowing that he would never become a weakling again, building his strength and athleticism. While his father approved, the ageing was always worried that his son pushed himself too hard and partially blamed himself for his mother's death.

Life soon became a blur. School only served as a distraction to his training and Jamal would only focus on subjects that he deemed important to himself He joined the police academy as soon as he could, believing that he could become someone who could actually make a change in the world. This idealism and hope would be soon crushed as his service record increased within the force. He was exposed to the most vile of criminals, the worst that humanity could offer. Some were worse than that pyromaniac who killed his mother, a thought that disgusted him to no end. He began to look upon the world with a grim look. He could only see black and white, the good and the bad. There was no in-between, there was only justice and law. He rose through the ranks, proving worthy of each promotion. His resolve and loneliness within the force caused the head officer to switch him from normal duties to undercover work. He started his second life as George Smiths, a lowly hood rat bouncing for one of the major cartel clubs in the city. He thrived.

[color=B22222][b]Your character's favorite song:[/b][/color]
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L53gjP-TtGE[/youtube][/center][hr]What can we call you?
Sgt, Sarge or Gio is fine

Your age:
Sorry, usually not comfortable sharing this part of myself xD

What part of the world are you from?
New Zealand but originally from the Philippines :)

How many years have you been writing/roleplaying:
3-4 years now? The years have gone by quick

How often do you have time to post? 
Its the holidays now so I have a lot of free time :lol

Do you like oranges? 
Yep