Name: John Thatcher
Alias: Kevlar
Age: 28
Height: 6'1"
Hair: Red
Eyes: Green
Occupation: Gunman for hire
Legal Status: Traitor to US Armed Services. Wanted in several countries.
Physical Characteristics: Slim body type. Burn scars cover much of Thatcher's torso, stretching down his left arm, right leg, and across the back of his neck. These scars partially destroy a tattoo on his right shoulder of a harp with a sword drawn across its strings. Scars may be hidden most times by his choice of clothing.
Abilities: Excellent marksman, with the skills to efficiently use even weapons he is not familiar with. Expert close-quarters combatant, with emphasis on kill-strikes from difficult or odd angles. Peak physical conditioning and mental discipline, enabling him to push his body beyond population norms; even through injury, drugs, or fatigue. Experienced tactician, infiltrator, and evasive survivalist. Fluent in Mandarin Chinese, German, and Russian.
History: John Thatcher had a normal American upbringing, choosing to enlist in the Army out of high school. His determination and talent quickly earned him a place in the Special Forces program, where he was eventually placed in the auspicious Delta Force. While still 'the FNG', Thatcher was told stories of small arms fire coming through the belly of helicopters into the family jewels of unlucky soldiers. To prevent this, he sat on his kevlar vest every flight. It's here that he earned his nickname, though later people would assume he just called himself that for the armor he wore. For several years, Thatcher followed his team, solidifying his place as his unit's go-to man for light-handed or quick-kill work, as well as the most likely to get into trouble for his quick mouth. But it seems, as they say, every man has his price.
Communication with Thatcher's unit was broken on an operation in an unstable and unfriendly country. A recovery unit found evidence of a well-timed ambush in a fire-gutted valley, with Thatcher's body conveniently missing from the count. Investigations soon found a large sum of money from an unknown party had been transfered to an account tied to Thatcher, and the ex-soldier was declared a traitor. Weeks later, he resurfaced, working for every kind of cartel scum he'd ever been trained to put down. Always a skilled infiltrator, he avoided several elimination attempts, and has eventually found the need to (reluctantly) return to U.S. soil.
Note!: The following is known only to Kevlar, a German PMC unit called the Nachtengel, and any PC who cares to follow the rabbit hole. (I'd appreciate you asking, first.)
Thatcher was in that valley right alongside his brothers, overwhelmed by local forces who'd known their entry route. Taking cover in a barn-like structure near the river, the Deltas could only continue to shoot for their lives. Eventually, their erstwhile bunker was set on fire, and the Deltas began to die. From here, all Thatcher recalls is fire, pain, and fear. His gear ignited, and in a panic he stumbled against the burning wall of the hayloft. Weakened by the fire, the timber gave way, and he fell from the second story into the mud, where the flames extinguished. Too injured to move, he went unnoticed until the barn was embers and the enemy began dragging him back through the jungle. He supposes, now, that they figured they could wring more money from their benefactor; either as a living hostage or to kill him to ensure he'd never talk. He doesnt remember gunfire cutting them down, or the shocked expressions of his saviors.
The Nachtengel, a small mercenary team that had worked with the Deltas on several occasions, had been in the area, and close enough to make out a broken call for help in the jammed radio channels. If it werent for his helmet and goggles shielding his face, they may never have recognized the badly-burned man. By the time they patched him up enough to move back into civilization, he'd already been pinned for the death of the team and declared a traitor to the US. Swearing them to secrecy, Thatcher preffered it that way. Someone with operational acess had planned all of this, and now he had the kind of reputation that would let him skulk about in the underworld, using their resources at the expense of his own reputation. He wanted to know -exactly- where the head of the snake was before he started cutting...
(Minor changes may follow. Thanks for reading!)