Quiet, reserved, forgettable. Or at least he would be if he didn’t look like that. He never raises his voice, never makes any sudden movements, everything is slow and deliberate. His past? Nothing on the Cortex about him. You’d think there should be, at least a photo or Spacebook page or something. But there’s nothing. There’s an unusual calm about him but it’s not apathy. His emotions show through his eyes and it’s uncanny how a look can convey his entire demeanor. He half smiles every now and then around the other members of his crew, but it doesn’t feel like it belongs on his face. Almost like he doesn’t know how, almost like someone had to teach him. He’s disciplined, focused, and the callouses on his hands tell the stories of a thousand fights his lips never have. It’s military training, it has to be. No one else can be that calm.
He stares off into the distance sometimes, almost as if lost in his own thoughts. Like someone that sees someone else they think they recognize before they remember they don’t know anyone around them. Maybe he’s trying to remember who he used to be. Maybe the thousands of faces of the lives he’s taken haunt him like a stadium of ghosts. Maybe he’s not as safe as you first thought, or maybe the safest place in all the Verse is by his side.