[i]One of the ship's hired mercenaries walked into the lounge, his cloak down from his head. On his back, barely poking out from under his cloak, were a sword and a SCAR-H, at his hips, two magnums. On his left leg, a bowie knife sat fixed in a boot sheath, and on his shoulder, a khukri was prominently visible. The mechanized armor he wore looked intimidating, powerful, yet mobile. It was painted matte black, with scratches and scrapes crisscrossing across certain parts of it. Across his chest, he carried two regular leather bandoliers. However, what stood out the most was the man's mask. The eyes still glowed an eerie blue, and the mask was also all matte black, save for three wide gashes across the left side of the figure's face, the inside of which were bright white, made to look as if a skull was beneath the paint. He bore a set of old Marine Corps dog tags, and two insignia on his left and right shoulder pauldrons respectively, that of a rook chess piece, and that of a howling wolf. Walking over to a chair in the room, he sat down, and took off the mask. Shaking his head, the man beneath the metal was young, he didn't look to be much older than 22. He had a fair complexion, no scars or stubble on his face. His curly dirty blonde hair was just long enough to cover his ears. His eyes were a light blue, his expression calm. Reaching into one of the pockets on his bandolier, he drew forth an old bandana, and he unsheathed his father's bowie knife. Leaning back, he wiped the blade.[/i]