Blair
Blair Uknown (a.k.a. Wraith)
They call him Wraith because the second he set you as his target you're as good as dead. Hit man. Willing to take out just about anyone for the right price, as long as it's through the scope of his rifle. He grew up in a low income home. He wasn't part of the gangs in his area, but his old man definitely taught him how to shoot a gun, just in case. His dad had been in the army and one of the only expensive things in their house was a gun safe. One day, he snuck in and grabbed the biggest gun in there and rode out of the city with it and went out into the forest to shoot whatever he wanted. Tin cans mostly. As he was learning the scope and learning how to line up a shot, his sight swung a bit wide and lighted on a deer. He tracked it as the wind ruffled his hair. It must've smelled him, because it looked up suddenly in his direction, and as he saw its eyes down the scope his finger pulled the trigger. Blood rushed in his ears as the deer was downed a bullet straight through its left eye. The next day he met up with an acquaintance of his, Walker, who had just moved in on one of the gangs in the area. He calmly told him he wanted in. Something had changed when he shot that deer. He needed that rush again, and it's so easy to kill for a cause. Even if it wasn't one he believed in. It started small, just supporting the crew from high points. Lasers lighting on the foreheads of the people they were threatening. Then word got out. People started making offers, and he ghosted from his parents house.
He had his own rifle, now, he doesn't need his dad's. The money was good and he didn't really care who he was taking out as long as it stayed that way. The people he'd been working for lately had been getting vaguer and vaguer with their orders. A time, place, and something specific about the person so he knew who to hit. They'd stopped giving him pictures. They'd stopped giving him names. He didn't want to know those anyway. The high came from killing he didn't need to humanize his kills. They were notches not people. This newest order was the vaguest yet. He hoped not that many people were around or he wouldn't know who to shoot. The whole day would be a scrap. He focused. He was trying to set his sight on a guy around his twenties with long, brown hair. Should be carrying a green backpack, they said.
His eye skimmed over the people and a flash of green caught his eye. He tracked the backpack, tilted his gun to aim and the back of the guys head and waited. He had just decided this was the guy. He didn't know why they wanted him dead, but he was sure acting shifty. Blair caught a glimpse of his face when the guys phone rang and he turned to answer it. He dismantled his gun, packing it way, and for the first time in his life walked away from a job. He wasn't taking out the guy who got him into this business. Walker wasn't going to die like this. He got picked up by the police when trying to catch a cab. Some bullshit charge of possession with intent to sell. He didn't have any weed on him. They had found tons of it in his apartment, when they got an anonymous tip. He guessed this was the quickest way for them to get him off the street without incriminating themselves in murder.
He had already stored his gun, knowing that by not finishing the job, they'd be after him. He sat in a holding cell for five days when they, suddenly, moved him to an interrogation room. A tall, full figured woman walked in. She had unnaturally red hair and bright green eyes that strayed over his slumped form. He wished he could tuck his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie, but they had taken it from him. She sat down across from him and smiled. She greeted him by name and he froze. One of the reasons he hadn't been processed was because they couldn't get his name to fill out the forms. His blood froze in his veins as this last hope shattered. Then she stood up opened the door and left. He sat their stunned at the open door. Was this some kind of trick? He heard her in the hall ask him whether he was coming or not.
He had his own rifle, now, he doesn't need his dad's. The money was good and he didn't really care who he was taking out as long as it stayed that way. The people he'd been working for lately had been getting vaguer and vaguer with their orders. A time, place, and something specific about the person so he knew who to hit. They'd stopped giving him pictures. They'd stopped giving him names. He didn't want to know those anyway. The high came from killing he didn't need to humanize his kills. They were notches not people. This newest order was the vaguest yet. He hoped not that many people were around or he wouldn't know who to shoot. The whole day would be a scrap. He focused. He was trying to set his sight on a guy around his twenties with long, brown hair. Should be carrying a green backpack, they said.
His eye skimmed over the people and a flash of green caught his eye. He tracked the backpack, tilted his gun to aim and the back of the guys head and waited. He had just decided this was the guy. He didn't know why they wanted him dead, but he was sure acting shifty. Blair caught a glimpse of his face when the guys phone rang and he turned to answer it. He dismantled his gun, packing it way, and for the first time in his life walked away from a job. He wasn't taking out the guy who got him into this business. Walker wasn't going to die like this. He got picked up by the police when trying to catch a cab. Some bullshit charge of possession with intent to sell. He didn't have any weed on him. They had found tons of it in his apartment, when they got an anonymous tip. He guessed this was the quickest way for them to get him off the street without incriminating themselves in murder.
He had already stored his gun, knowing that by not finishing the job, they'd be after him. He sat in a holding cell for five days when they, suddenly, moved him to an interrogation room. A tall, full figured woman walked in. She had unnaturally red hair and bright green eyes that strayed over his slumped form. He wished he could tuck his hands deep into the pocket of his hoodie, but they had taken it from him. She sat down across from him and smiled. She greeted him by name and he froze. One of the reasons he hadn't been processed was because they couldn't get his name to fill out the forms. His blood froze in his veins as this last hope shattered. Then she stood up opened the door and left. He sat their stunned at the open door. Was this some kind of trick? He heard her in the hall ask him whether he was coming or not.
Physical Description
General Physical Condition
Lithe, strong arms, a little pudgy in the tummy.
Body Features
Hispanic
Facial Features
Five o'clock shadow at all the o'clocks. Round face.
Physical quirks
Likes to take up as little space as possible, he's always very tense, his shoulders are always up to his ears he's so tense.
Apparel & Accessories
Always has a hoodie on.
Specialized Equipment
Sniper Rifle.
Mental characteristics
Education
High school drop out.
Intellectual Characteristics
Spatial.
Personality Characteristics
Personality Quirks
He's a fidgeter. He doesn't smoke, but he always has a lighter on him.
Social
Contacts & Relations
Relationship: Grey Walker, Spencer Pharaoh
Family Ties
His family is still alive and well and have no idea where he is.
Social Aptitude
Awkward in public and in private.
Speech
Quiet, doesn't really speak unless spoken to.
Year of Birth
1992
25 Years old
Children
Current Residence
St. Dismas
Gender
Male
Eyes
brown
Hair
black, tucked into beanie or hood
Height
5'6"
Aligned Organization
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