The Killer Profile

Messy black hair, kept short,

Tousled, slightly spiked, like a hand run through it.

Jet black eyes, glistening,

With the confidence of a veteran,

And the amusement of someone,

Secure in his skill and ability.

A cocky grin adorning his face,

Bringing his surprisingly soft features into full focus.

A small slash on his right cheek,

Bleeding ever-so-slightly,

Not marring his looks,

But adding to the aura.

Lean and tall,

But solidly built, The make of a warrior.

Well-fitting black tee, full sleeve,

A bulletproof vest buckled atop it.

Thick-soled boots on legs so graceful, so still, A true predator of the night,

So still,

that the gravel doesn't crunch where he stands.

Gun casually but expertly held,

In hands jacketed by black gauntlets,

Completing the mercenary image of the mind.

A dangerous person,

That's what he is,

Trained of every muscle to kill.

But loyal to the last bone,

To the people he deems so worthy.

And dangerous he is,

But just as lovable in balance,

Should one dare to crack the exterior of ice,

And care to look far enough inside.

Yet, dangerous he is,

For should you touch the people he claims his,

Run,

For your life shall no longer be yours to control.