Drakari Amariel was a large man built like a tank with more muscles coating his frame then a regular weightlifter. He was huge standing at just over 6'8" tall. He wore his long ebony black hair tied back into a long braid too keep it out of his way when he was working. His deep ice blue eyes were covered by opaque shades that hide them from view. These shades served two purpose one it hid his eyes from view and two it prevented anyone from knowing just who he was targeting. Drakari was a cold deadly man who rarely spoke even when spoken directly to and most of his responses were terse and cold. He was an assassin and he took this quite seriously. The man had never laughed and had never smiled a day in his life. His past is a nightmare that would make most sane people raving mad in terror and best left somewhere hidden behind walls of mystery and long buried paperwork. Only two fact that are widely known. Drakari is ex military and Drakari is the best assassin out there. You want the job done he's the man to call. He has yet to fail a mission. He's raving insanity and isn't afraid to take a shot to get the job done.<br/><br/>He runs from nothing. He will stand and fight even if it is suicide. Drakari dresses all in black with a long black duster to conceal the weapons he keeps on his person. It would take him at least an hour to disarm and go through airport security that is the shear number of weapons he has on his person. If Drakari stood naked he'd be covered in layers upon layers of scars. So many that one would wonder how the man could be alive. Most of the scars are over his body, but a few cut across his neck those are quire fine and barely visible. Only one scar mares the beauty of his handsome face.  A long cut running down across his left eyebrow, over his left eye and down across his cheek ending just on the right of his chin.<br/><br/>Drakari sat at an opaque glass desk in a stark white office with deep black marble floors and expensive exquisite art covering every wall expect for the floor to ceiling windows that stood right behind him. He leaned back casually in his black leather office chair surveying his current hit's file. His eyes darting across the pages quickly reading with a speed developed from necessity. He'd red this file a dozen times over, but something was eating at him today. Something just wasn't sitting right with him. It burned in his gut. A bad feeling that something was going to go wrong.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Get your head in the game asshole you've been hit before, you've never failed. So silence your feelings and focus or you really will die. Bastard.</span>he thought for the eight time that day. He looked at his clock. The mission would begin in less then an hour. He set the file down. Rose stretched and went to shower. Dressed in his battle gear nearly an hour later he was ready to get going. He headed out of his place and blended easily into the evening crowds of the New York street. Headed towards the loft apartment that his target would just be entering from work.<br/><br/>A few blocks later he entered the lobby of the apartment and without so much as a second glance was past security without them even noticing he was there and walking up the stairs. He always took the stairs. Elevators were dangerous and they were an easy way to get caught. He wasn't that dumb. He reached her floor. This was all too easy. He hated easy assignments they always unnerved him. This one was really unsettling him.<br/><br/>He reached her door. Looked around to make sure he was alone and with a few quick flicks he had the lock picked and was inside the darkened apartment. He closed and locked the door and quickly made his way into her living room. Hiding in the dark shadows blending into the night. From here she wouldn't see him until it was too late and he was about to kill her.