[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240828/688ac5d3d40c75e034e218d1778edf8d.png[/img][/center]
[center]LOC: Mafia Town, 17:45 hrs [/center]
[center]LVL: 1 [/center]
[center]WC: 604 [/center]
[center]EXP: 1/10 [/center]
[center]Interactions: OPEN, Intro Post[/center]


	
	The evening was quick to set in on this particular day; the cloud cover previously sprawling across the subdued sky now parting to reveal a sunset horizon of lavender, tangerine, and peace hues. Away from the clinking of silverware and tantalizing aroma of various cuisines emanating from the town center, a lone male figure leaned against the safety railing that overlooked the entryway to the port harbor; clad in a bulky, form-fitting grey bodysuit with two handguns nestled within beige holsters fastened at his hips. The man's enigmatic appearance only served to deepen if one took a closer look at him. His face was rough, scarred and weathered from various engagements- one of which cost him his left eye as a black eyepatch was secured around his head up and underneath the base of a short ponytail of dark brown hair. Yet perhaps the most interesting feature, and the one that could inspire fear and also single him out of a crowd, was the large titanium carbide coverings fixated to the upper left side of his head; acting as protective sheaths to secure the jagged shrapnel still embedded within his skull. Unfortunately, this unwilling accessory gave him the appearance of having a horn. It was an ugly fixture, yet it served to remind him of how he came to be, and who he was now.

	His remaining ocean-blue eye reflected the tranquility of the night's atmosphere, finally finding a brief moment of R&R as he dipped his head to glance over at a pouch that rested near the edge of his suit's side webbing. Reaching a red metallic hand down to fish through the pouch, he retrieved a short metal cylinder as he popped the cap off the end, stuck it in his mouth and inhaled as the tip lit up a bright crimson red. The man exhaled the herbal smoke out the other side of his mouth, and continued staring out into the glistening docks, lost in thought. The Mafia, though relatively harmless as far as he observed, ran through that dock with a smattering of goods. The days only changed in appearance, yet each was prescribed with the same set of events. Someone gets over-confident and attempts raiding one of the port crates, or perhaps even more brazenly, a whole damn cargo ship. Mafia promptly goes on alert, and almost always looks to him to apprehend the perpetrator- if only for how skilled he gets it done. It was a little monotonous, yet it put blood money in his pocket all the same.

	Another puff from his cigar, and the world felt brighter. The ritual of his evening unwind was something he'd found to start making routine when day turned to night, and people were put off enough by his appearance to usually stay away. [i]Usually.[/i] There was one person here who he'd seen on occasion, yet never met officially or on a call to action. A hyper-muscular man who wore the tight latex-like outfit of a comic book superhero; a bizarre uniform of white armored shoulder pauldrons against a blue suit body and red knee-high boots. Or, were they gold? He'd swear the man would swap them out every so often. Those white triangle-like markings for eyes on his mask would seem to shift with his expression, even if he never moved his mouth beyond a stoic frown. He didn't get the man's name in passing, yet the Boss had seen him enough to know he would be sure to be encountering him again. 

Which is precisely why the nature of this particular night felt different with each passing second..