<div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/d877c5682db95d289a08c6cc098b9d4b/tumblr_mewk5rPYYy1rkjs0wo5_500.jpg)</div><div class="floatright">(http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdi0oyRvO41rzalkko1_500.gif)</div><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Hank Riordan<br/>Age 28<br/>Former Marine Critical Skills Operator.<br/></span></div><br/>Hank is a Texan born-and-bred, but the Corps was his second home from the tender age of eighteen. His unit bounced around the Rockpile for a couple years before being brought back stateside for retraining, returning the young Marine home with a pretty shiny record, full of glowing comments from his superiors. Shortly after getting back to The World, his sergeant's chevrons caught up with him, making him eligible for Selection into the Marine Special Operations Command. That meant a lot of tests, physical, mental, psychological, the whole list. Then it meant more training, in everything from heavy weapons to flaking a flint knife for a weapon and using it to count coup on the instructors, not to mention the classroom stuff like languages and strategy, tactics and geography, et cetera...<br/><br/>Long story short, he got into the Marine equivalent of Green Berets and went off to do a lot of good work on bad people, most of it involving heavy things which go boom or get hot or both. Sometimes it was sharp and heavy things which can also get hot, but only when you want them to. Then he got kicked out of the Marine Special Operations Regiment because of a classified incident, which could be summed up as "reckless civilian endangerment" (the bomb wasn't that big). He knows how to use just about anything ever designed to kill people or big animals effectively, though his personal preference is for heavy-weapons, particularly those with a large caliber and high rate of fire. He's also big as a frappin' house, so don't piss him off or he'll pull a Chewbacca on you. See what I did there, "pull" a-- Nevermind...<br/><br/>Apart from being big enough to rip arms out of sockets and knowing his way around every weapons system known to man, Hank also speaks Spanish fluently, Farsi, Arabic, and Kurdish passably, with a little Russian and German thrown in for good measure. He is fastidious in matters of his body as far as exercise and what sort of chemicals go into it, but he has a taste for Lucky Strikes, which he smokes only very occasionally.