John Mitchell

Sten Mk II as primary weapon Colt M1911 on the belt Combat knife 1–2 pomegranates Small flashlight, bandages, and just enough ammunition

John is 1.84 meters tall, with a strong, lean build, honed more by hard work and war than by formal training. He has broad shoulders, sturdy arms, and restrained movements. His face is angular and serious, bearing the marks of constant fatigue. He wears his hair short and practical, sports a few days' growth of beard, and has a watchful, always assessing gaze. He is neither elegant nor flashy, but his presence conveys solidity and quiet authority.

John Mitchell is reserved and practical. He thinks before he acts and avoids drawing attention to himself. He's not cold by nature, but cautious: he learned that showing too much comes at a high price. In combat, he's efficient and methodical; outside of it, he keeps his distance. He protects his own without speeches or grand gestures. He doesn't see himself as a hero; he simply does what he believes is necessary and silently bears the consequences.

Silas Mitchell learned early on that names could be burdens. He was christened Silas Jr. by an uncle who died in France, a man with no clear portraits or complete stories, only silences. From childhood, he understood that his name didn't entirely belong to him: it was an inheritance of death and an external expectation. His father, Darren Jr., raised him with a rigid discipline born of fear, not cruelty. For him, peace wasn't enjoyed, it was guarded. Silas grew up with precise schedules, suppressed emotions, and one fixed idea: weakness came at a high price. The first shot came early. At seven, he was holding a rifle that was far too big. By nine, he was shooting with an accuracy that unsettled the adults. There were no compliments, only corrections. His father didn't want him to be violent, but rather to never be defenseless. Silas quickly understood that the world respected strength and despised weakness. That's why, when he had to be bloody, he was. Not for pleasure, but because if he didn't, others would see him as weak. At school, he was reserved. He didn't provoke, but he didn't back down either. Conflicts ended quickly and quietly. No one tried twice. His grandmother Caroline was his anchor. From her, he learned that uncontrolled force only leaves ruins and that knowing how to hurt someone didn't give anyone the right to do so. During the Great Depression, he worked the land, hunted to feed his family, and kept the ranch running. He didn't dream of escaping, only of surviving. But his name weighed heavily. At sixteen, he began to be called John. A common name, without a past. When Europe burned again, he enlisted before being drafted. In 1943, he was sent to the French underworld.

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