The dead man's hair blew gently in the wind. The sun shines on the iced over landscape and nature takes no notice of the man, or his pierced breast. The world is gorgeous and clean around him as he becomes a black spot on a sheet of paper...his arms lay longwise, in an odd version of Jesus on the cross. An effigy forever, he is damned for his sins to lay unremembered for eternity. His name is erased from the books.
Without his power armor on, Batts stands 6'3. He is Wolf Pack's newest member, a more-than-qualified marksman with all firearms, and an avid knife and fist fighter.
He wears the usual T-45d
His .45 cal 1911, spotless as ever except for the usual wear.
A gentleman's bowie, as good for a machete or a camp tool as it is for dismembering tribals.
His .50 caliber rifle, meant for long range but adapted for balls nasty close up.
Subject: Jm. Kt. Lewis Batts 
Sun Aug 26, 2012 4:56 pm
