Cornelius is a 5'9'', well built man with short, crop cut styled hair and muddy brown/green eyes. Fair skinned, and with a badly styled goatee, Mr.Jak is by no means remarkable in any way.
Personality[may rp out]: A simple man, with simple tastes. Kept his head low in order to avoid becoming 'collateral damage' during the fighting. Since it stopped he's been left relatively to his own devices, even returning to his old job overseeing the factory machines, and making sure nothing breaks down. Not one to shy away from the bottle, he spends most evenings settling down with a tumbler of whiskey and a newspaper.
Weapon: He keeps a small combat knife in his jacket, just in case.
History: Cornelius was born before the war, to a stay at home mother and a father who worked in the police force. Growing up, he longed somewhat for the company a sibling would provide but his mother and father decided one was enough. Cornelius eventually grew out of this need for siblingship, instead embracing the fact he was an only child and accepting the inevitable spoiling his parents gave him. He learnt to entertain himself and how to be his own person. During school he very much kept himself to himself, and drifted through without much of note happening. Eventually he took his final exams and left with average grades. Unfortunately, the fighting started just as he was applying for his first job. He, like many men, decided that the army was the place to go, and fought alongside fellow soldiers and these 'weapons' he never really cared learning too much about. He survived the war relatively unscathed, a few war scars being his only markings left over physically. Emotionally however, he was devastated to discover that his house had been one of those bombed and his parents killed. The funeral was a sad affair, those who survived the fighting turning up to a mass funeral for all of his family that had died. Eventually he found the job he has today, and whilst he doesn't have a partner just yet, thinks that perhaps he'll bump into someone at the bar, or the shop, or where ever fate decides.