Name: Dominic Fawkes
Nickname: Dom, Domi, D, Fox (depending)
Hair: A rusty orange/red color, though he is in the habit of dying it. He wears it from anywhere to blond to brown to black. Longest point reaching down just below his shoulder blades, the length tapered up slightly on the sides and front to just touch his shoulders; no bangs.
Eyes: A pale brown that often looks more orange, resembling a brilliant topaz or citrine when the light hits them.
Tattoos: Tribal band around his upper left arm; another tribal design in a less obvious area.
Piercings: Ears pierced several times, lip, navel.
Personality: Usually quiet and calculating, remaining calm and collective in the worst situations. He's armed with a quick wit and a playful sense of humor that would tend to get him in trouble in his youth.
Skills and Abilities: Expert at handling most if not all firearms, and those he's not familiar with are learned quickly if he has the chance to use them. This includes, but is not limited to: hand guns, long guns, automatic weapons such as machine guns, submachine guns, automatic riffles... along with strictly military grade weapons such as grenade launchers, various forms of autocannons (Gatling, chain gun), and artillery guns (howitzer, carronade). Also very skilled in hand-to-hand techniques and unmatched at handling most forms of aircraft. His highly honed instincts and reflexes make him quite a force to contend with.
Dominic was raised in an orphanage from the ages of five to twelve, at that point a very wealthy man adopting him. Home life at that point was great, the man generous, always making sure that Dominic had everything he could possibly want. But things changed. It wasn't long before the man became less patient, cruel, violent. The nice things he was gifted with weren't enough to make up for it, but there was little he could do.
So it continued for the next several years, his seventeenth birthday quite a turn of events as the man started to fear his grip on Dom was too loose, that the boy would leave as soon as he came of age and he'd be alone again. To that, Brock tightened the leash, what was left of his generous nature diminishing, Dom often locked in his room. It was then that he began learning just how to escape, on several occasions Dom being returned by the police because he'd gotten into trouble.
It was the eve of his eighteenth birthday when they came for him. A small group of men managed to break in and deal with his adoptive father, busting down his door and fighting him out. They practically carried him out of the house, Dom catching just a brief glimpse of Brock lying on the floor in the living room as they passed by, the man lying in a pool of his own blood.
It was only a few days later that his training began... Dom learned all about the society, about the faction of it that he would serve, about how the other side must be shown no mercy. He learned how to handle himself... and how to use just about every form of weapon there was, eventually becoming one of the best with a gun, and definitely the best in the air. He used his thirst for knowledge -and the fact he'd been denied a life of his own for so long- to fuel everything that he did, everything that he learned.
This character has no avatar at the moment.