From the Dark Heart of Africa
Cold eyes glare down at you from the imposing figure towering above. Battle scared, it is clear that this beast is a warrior, and has always been.
Most comfortable when he is fighting, Obayana has no need or desire to play the political game, unless it involves the tearing of flesh and crushing of skulls, as he has since the day he was born.
I have no need for words, but will take kindly to a threat, it will be just the reason I need to tear you to pieces. I am from a distant land, one that has been at war since time began, and shall always be.
They have brought me to this place, and you are not so different from those I have fought before. You try to use your words, but in the end we both know that quiet will come from battle, albeit until the next one comes along to fight. This is my life.
They have trained me well, I am stronger, faster, a re-born killer. You will know when I am coming for you. The last thing you shall see is my eyes, watching you draw your last breath.
My battles will now be on your streets, not the heart of the wilds as I am used to, but that does not phase me, war is war, blood is blood, be it from noble warriors or the scum of your streets. Look down on me if you will, it will be a mistake you will not make again, that I assure you.