Description
Photo Credit: (Jahan) Salman Butt by milchin, from Deviant Art. (Kwang Bin) Pure by Lareverie, also from Deviant Art. If you do not give permission for your photo to be displayed here, contact me and I will promptly remove it. 
Jahan is a muscular, well-toned, lean young man with olive-toned skin and dark brown, almost black hair brushed back over his face. His face is somewhat square, with angled features, an aristocratic nose, and distinctive eyes. He is somewhat tall, though not particularly so, and though well-trained and muscular, not easily identifiable as someone who cares for his physique. He dresses to blend in, and is an expert at altering his appearance, though he tries to do so with minimal effort, which, Jahan claims, is an art. Jahan's body is marked by several scars along his arms and legs, the marks of jobs gone wrong and confrontations he found unavoidable.
Interesting note:
Jahan's alias is John Alexander.
The name Jahan is the Urdu variant of the Anglicized name "John" (which derives from Hebrew Yochanan, which traveled through German Johannes). Yochanan means 'Yahweh is gracious'.
The name Iskander is the Arabic variant of the Greek name "Alexander", which means 'defender of mankind'.
Equipment
He has several knives and daggers, as well as a gun and a sidearm. Jahan also has an expertly forged Virginia driver's license under the name "John Alexander", and several passports also under that name. He has several business cards that simply say "John Alexander, Clandestine Services" with a phone number and email address.
When the need arises, he will arm himself further, and also owns things such as body armor, bulletproof vests, stabproof vests, grenades, smoke-grenades, battering rams, poisons, and such things.
History
Known to his clients as John Alexander, not much is known about Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui. According to law enforcement, he is a ruthless killer for hire. According to his past clients, he is an adept businessman who puts the customers first, going above and beyond the contract agreed upon between parties. He either has no family, or no one related to him is willing to disclose that. What most people do agree upon is that Jahan is incredibly skilled at what he does, making assassinations look like natural deaths, or complete accidents. He can also make deaths seem to be the responsibility of another individual or organization. . . It is also well-known among those who know of him that Jahan is of Pakistani extract, though no one is sure whether Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui is even his true name. Though wanted in several countries for his crimes, Jahan is not notorious, and not nearly as well known as the infamous Tahira Ali, whose organization Hataf has often retained Jahan's services.
Jahan's partner is Kwang Bin Yim, a man with a military background. Kwang Bin is a North Korean fugitive known for his unique combination of deadly military expertise and expert computer programming and hacking skills. Kwang Bin, like Jahan, is fairly nondescript and inconspicuous, and the two have been a pair for nearly ten years, after Jahan failed to successfully kill Kwang Bin, at the request of the North Korean government, which now wants them both dead. Kwang Bin is infected with the PK47 infection, which is spreadable by physical contact.
Their other permanent associates include:
Emanuel Secada, a Cuban who previously served as the Chief Interrogator of one of Cuba's prisons under Fidel Castro, and is known for his expertise in brutal interrogation methods. He is a man of average height, somewhat stocky, muscular, well-built, with crew cut dark hair and a round, almost babyish face. He wears a gold saint medallion around his neck, and dresses to intimidate. Emanuel's specialty is psychological torture combined with liberal doses of physical pain.
When contracted, the symptoms of PK47 are as follows:
Approximately ten to twenty minutes after infection:
- a burning sensation around the eyes. This is followed by redness and inflammation of the eyelids and overproduction of tears.
- inflammation of the soft pallet, discomfort when swallowing.
- a dry cough.
These symptoms commonly last no longer than an hour.
Approximately twelve hours after infection:
- elevated body temperature.
- dehydration.
- dry, itchy eyes and mouth.
It can take between 72 hours and a week for the characteristic white, horse-shoe shaped lesions to appear, and they can cover anything between 1% and 70% of the body. They are painful to touch, dry, and leak a translucent white fluid when cracked, as they are prone to do. The lesions last for several days before clearing up, though they scar badly. More lesions erupt even as the previous spate are healing. A bout tends to last for two weeks before there is an intermission period and then a relapse.
The plague can take several months to be eliminated from the body of a healthy individual; those weaker or more susceptible can suffer several years and have recurrent relapses.
The illness does not kill, though it weakens the immune system of the sufferer considerably.
-As provided by AugmentationAudit
Current Targets:
Ilse Klein Gauner Mel Elisabet Ibrahim El Ghamry
So begins...
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui grabbed onto the side of the building with both hands, craning his neck upward at the Pious Inquisitor, eyes squinted against the rushing, fierce winds, trying to see what the hell was going on. Who the hell were these people? Jahan stared upward, determined to find out. He wasn't keen in getting involved in other people's disputes or wars, unless he was paid to do so, of course, but now, at the very least, he was overcome with curiosity, a need to understand what was happening, so at the very least he would be able to figure into future events.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui always knows what he is up against.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui 's partner, Kwang Bin Yim, was also outside the bar, sitting across the street in a black SUV, yelling something incomprehensible into Jahan's earpiece over the din of the Pious Inquisitor's roar. What. The. Hell. Jahan heard distant thumps, or felt them, rather, and looked up, to see Aschen Marines grappling into the bar. Jahan debated whether to stay outside, or enter.
"Get back inside!" Kwang Bin shouted through Jahan's earpiece, at last discernible. "Get inside, dammit!"
Jahan, against all better advice, did just that, slipping back into the bar just in time to hear the familiar sounds of flash-bang grenades going off outside, a standard clearing tactic that he himself had used many times. Just as he entered the bar, it was perfect timing, because that's when his trained eye say the SpecOps men surrounding the bar. "Don't have to tell me twice," he muttered into his earpiece. "I think I just managed to avoid being accidentally shot."
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui dropped to the floor in a fighting stance, his gun immediately in his hand in a swift, now-habitual motion, coughing as he worked not to inhale the gas, which was difficult, but possible, with his extensive training and exposure from such things. He was now half-hidden behind a table, his gun in his hands, in a clearly combative stance, watching the Marines warily as he exhaled slowly, Kwang Bin's voice in his ear: "What the hell is happening?" but Jahan did not respond.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui was in pain from the gas, but he had been trained under incredibly stressful conditions, and so was only minimally impacted mentally, the pain shoved to the back of his mind, shelved for later notice. "What's going on?" Jahan hissed in his earpiece to Kwang Bin Yim.
"No frakking clue," Kwang Bin responded, voice crackling in Jahan's ear.
The assassin frowned, remaining in his clearly combative stance, gun aimed toward the Marines' general direction, keeping his eyes on the Marines, as he was still unsure what they were doing, why, and what would happen. Jahan wasn't keen on getting himself involved, but he wasn't about to let himself become a victim. He saw no reason to follow their orders, and so he remained where he was, half-shielded by a table.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui noticed a plasma rifle being aimed at him. "I don't think so!" he said, dropping further into a defensive stance, his gun still in his hands, though no longer aimed directly at the Marines, but instead pointed at the floor. He kept a wary eye on the Marines, unwilling to comply, perhaps out of a false sense of personal pride, but not willing to commit suicide by Marine either.
"Jahan, what the HELL is going on in there?" Kwang Bin asked through his earpiece. Jahan grimaced.
"I have no frakking clue," he muttered back, still watching the Marine in front of him, ready to roll and fire if attacked, though hopefully, it wouldn't come to that. He would have preferred to have simply left the bar, but as it was surrounded, it didn't seem like such a viable option.
"Well, watch out for yourself," came Kwang Bin's response.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui frowned imperiously, dropping further behind the table, as he raised his gun, unleashing a volley of automatic fire, as he had illegally modified his weapon, toward the Marines in front of him, while he shoved his body into the table, intentionally knocking it over, himself shielded now behind the table. "That's it," he muttered. "I'm not surrendering."
In his ear, Kwang Bin asked, "Jahan! What the hell are you doing?! Did I just hear you frakking SHOOTING?!"
"Let me alone," Jahan muttered into his earpiece.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui continued shooting toward the Marines as he crawled behind the table, hoping he could make it around to the back of the bar to get out through the exit there, but unfortunately, a round of plasma hit him in the shoulder, on his weapon arm, and Jahan winced in pain, switching sides as he moved, curiously watching McGregor and Izumi, though he couldn't make out their words from where he was, and not over the sounds of weapons firing.
"WHAT THE FRAK ARE YOU DOING?!" Kwang Bin shouted in his ear. Jahan didn't even bother responding at this point.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui was knocked to the ground, though it was temporary, as he clambered to his feet again, fourth degree burns around the immediate impact site, with third and second degree burns likely all around his arm and chest. He switched his weapon to his off hand, continuing to fire, now able to take shelter behind the side of the bar counter, though he was in massive amounts of pain at the moment, cursing himself for ever having gotten involved, but if he had wanted to quietly comply, it was a bit late now.
"Jahan?" came Kwang Bin's voice.
"Here," he grunted.
"What the HELL are you doing?"
"Just got hit," he muttered.
"Get out of there!"
"Does it LOOK like I can?" Jahan shook his head in disgust, wincing at the movement.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui realized the Aschen were gone. He holstered his gun, making his way out of the bar, grimacing in pain, as Kwang Bin came rushing from the SUV towards his partner, shouting, "WHAT THE FRAK?! ARE YOU FRAKKING STUPID?!" as Jahan shook his head tiredly.
"Just drive," he said, climbing into the back of the SUV, looking for a first aid kit and some morphine. And they were gone.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui and Kwang Bin Yim had been sitting across the street from the bar in an old black SUV, watching to see if one of their many hits would stop by. It had been nearly an hour, and both men were famished, tired, and unwilling to sit outside any longer than they had to. The two assassins slipped into the bar, first Jahan, who took a seat at an empty table, and then Kwang Bin a few minutes later, who moved to the other end of the room, sitting in the back, so that between the two of them, they could watch all the entrances and exits. Both men seemed to be occupied with the various writings around the bar - the menu over the counter, the infamous bounty board, the announcements next to the bounty board, though in fact, both men were carefully observing the other patrons.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui had noticed the Assassin upon entering the bar, the man dressed in a distinct full body suit concealing all but his eyes. Jahan and Kwang Bin's policy was to dress to blend in, hiding in plain sight, so that no one would recall the other bystanders in the event chaos ensued. He let his gaze slide up to the man as the stranger approached, a small, guarded smile appearing on the Pakistani's features. "Just doing my work," Jahan commented, leaning back in his seat with his one leg crossed over the other, as his trained eye swept over the Assassin's body.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui Kwang Bin watched as the stranger approached his partner, unsure what to make of him. Clearly, the stranger was also an assassin, but with Kwang Bin and Jahan both dressed fairly inconspicuously, and doing nothing out of the ordinary, the Korean wondered just how Jahan had been identified. "Be careful with that one," he muttered, without moving his lips, into his earpiece. Jahan offered the slightest of nods, disguised as a mundane, involuntary movement, in response.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui was amused by the obviously fake accent, though he didn't laugh outright. It simply wouldn't be polite. "Yes, I do 'business'," Jahan responded, his voice tinged with the slightest vestige of a Desi accent, just one minor flaw in his near-perfect English.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui Kwang Bin sat up at the sight of Anya, who would have had to have walked directly past where he was sitting to sit in her booth. Intrigued, he said in his earpiece to Jahan, "I'ma talk to the pretty lady just come in," standing as he slipped uninvited into the seat across from yet another assassin, evidently unaware for the moment of her occupation. "Morning," Kwang Bin said, nodding. His own voice was tinged with something of an unfortunate Korean accent, more obvious than Jahan's.
Jahan leaned over, reaching into his pocket as he retrieved his card, which simply read "John Alexander, Clandestine Services" with a phone number and email. "You can take it," he said, "but no guarantees of anything. And you might as well drop the accent - it draws too much attention to yourself."
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui "If you do that, I'm not adverse to using force," Jahan responded, having noticed earlier what the Assassin had done to Saira. "Now... is there something I can do for you?"
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui Kwang Bin smiled politely. "It's not all right to just say 'morning' to anyone anymore?" he asked, teasing, his eyebrows rising to the ceiling.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui "Well, what brings you here?" Jahan asked, watching the Assassin closely. "I'm sure you must have....business matters to attend to."
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui That's when Special Agent Casie Schwartz fell through a suddenly torn hole in the ceiling, screaming profanities at someone whose only trace was footsteps slowly fading away. Casie dropped to the floor of the bar, in the center of the room, looking around in slight confusion, plaster from the ceiling coating her, her gun having fallen from its holster onto the floor, along with a few documents that she had been holding.
Jahan Iskander-Dannaoui nodded as the Assassin stood, unwilling to stand with him. He intended to stick around. "It was nice to meet you too," he said, somewhat dryly. "Give me a call if you need anything."
