Chris Hobbs walked into the common room. Not caring if he was late. He stood six foot even, with one hundred and ninety pounds of muscle. He wore a black leather duster over a turtleneck gray sweater. His urban camouflage pants were tucked into standard issue G.I. boots from his days in the spec ops. His black hair was slicked back and thick stubble accosted his cheeks and mouth. A cigarette hung out of his mouth.<br/><br/>He blew the smoke out of his nose, "Spook 29?" he muttered catching the tail end of the conversation. He never knew a lot about spooks lycans and vamps were his preferred  prey. "You got a vampire or something?" he complained. His voice was surprisingly deep. "Besides, it's easier to shoot a fur-ball or blood sucker." He stepped farther into the light showing off the thin scar that passed across his nose from the left eye to the right tip of his mouth. Smaller scars made small gaps in his eyebrows like he'd been slashed across the face. Which he had.