Name: Bertrand Ames
Age: 36
Height: 6’5”
Weight: 240 lbs
Eyes: BRN
Transfer: Retirement, ex-French Foreign Legion

History: Born Abdelaziz Zéroual to poor, first-immigration Algerians in France, his parents were killed in a car accident when he was eight years old, leaving him in poverty. He dropped out of secondary school and resorted to petty crime and odd-jobs to get by, until joining the Foreign Legion as a way to start a new life. At this point, he abandoned his Arabic name in favor for a French one, Bertrand Ames. Distinguishing himself in multiple theatres, and becoming a commissioned officer within the Legion, Ames is a seasoned veteran. He chose to retire from the Legion and move to the United States after, in his words, “growing bored,” at the ripe age of 33. He attempted to live off the savings he had amassed, but those had begun to dwindle. The FBI found Ames with his hands poking around in some drug-related business to earn money, but he was given the “special” option of joining FTPNS instead of serving out his legal sentence, thanks to his history, and his monstrous physical constitution.

Medical: Broken left leg at age 6. Gunshot wound in the left arm, age 16. Gunshot wound in right shoulder, age 19. Gunshot wound in the right leg, age 23. Broken foot, age 24. Bayonet injury to torso, age 26. Gunshot wound in torso, age 26. Gunshot wound in left arm, age 26. Gunshot wound in right arm, age 26. Gunshot wound in right shoulder, age 26. Gunshot wound in neck, age 26. Gunshot wound in buttocks, age 26. Broken left arm, age 26. Broken left leg, age 26. Gunshot wound in left foot, age 32. Broken right foot, age 33. All injuries non-fatal and fully recovered after maximum 1 year rest and rehab.

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Ames lowered himself onto the roof slowly and easily. That’s how he had broken the last foot, after all. Dropping from a chopper sloppily. And he had been that leading officer in that mission—completely embarrassing!

At least he didn’t have to worry about these American dogs respecting him. He didn’t need their respect. All he wanted was the FBI out of his derriere. Oh, and the money. Couldn’t forget that. They’d promised to pay for his early retirement as an extra incentive to stay out of crime after he’d played along with their little paranormal squad. He’d hadn’t counted on the couple dozen thousand Euros he had amassed while at the Legion drying up so quickly, and he needed money. He shrugged inwardly. The past was past, in his eyes.

The thing that mattered lay in front: a solid door, freshly picked by one of the Americans, and whatever had apparently killed everyone in a hospital, plus a SWAT team, beyond that. Ames wasn't really surprised when he realized he was being asked on a mission so clearly so important: American crime enforcement didn’t have a great reputation abroad. Still, he wasn’t surprised how the US government needed him. He’d be the one to slay the perpetrator. The chopper, his “teammates” — they were all just window dressing.