"Jason," [i]The thoroughly confused Russian mumbled to himself as he remembered his name, his voice deep, robust, rough, and yet strangely gentle, even warm.[/i] "Yeah, that's my name..." [i]He stood at roughly six feet and four inches, just a hair beneath five. His body was mesomorphic and very definitely well-built, shaped in a way that could be described as Adonis-like with a beefy neck, broad shoulders, thick arms, and muscles as hard as steel, while his legs were nothing to scoff about, either: long and muscular, fitting for someone who never skipped leg day. His taut skin was healthily tan, and yet, completely hairless as if he had waxed it away, leaving his only hair below the belt and on his face. As far as his face went, he was handsome for sure, if old -- early forties, no doubt. His jawline was strong and oaken with predominant cheekbones and a rounded chin, almost as if he was chiseled out of marble or rock. A large nose sat in the middle of his face above two thin, lightly coloured lips, slightly crooked to the right as if it had once been broken. His eyes were a deep, grey-silver colour, sheltered from above by two bushy eyebrows, grey as the rest of his hair. A short cut on the sides yet long on top formed his haircut. A short trim of dense stubble coated his jaw, curling around his mouth. He wasn't entirely free of blemishes, however, as his entire body was littered in scars; some old, some new, most of them gruesome. His chest, for starters, had two cuts from his left shoulder diagonally downwards to his right hip, each gash about an inch wide with two inches separating them, long since filled with champagne pink scar tissue. A burn covered his right shoulder, reaching even to his back. The rest were mostly miscellaneous, ranging from bullet wounds to stab wounds to burn wounds to everything in between.[/i] "What kinda flip-flopping motherfuсking horror story shitshow did I step into?" [i]A very colourful guy, this one.[/i]