Half Life 2: Dominion

Marek’s face is lined with deep creases, not just from age, but from years of exhaustion, hunger, and hard choices. His grizzled stubble is uneven, his short black hair thinning at the crown. One side of his jaw bears the faint scar of a CP stun baton strike, and his left hand has a missing pinky finger—an old punishment or trade. He’s broad-shouldered, but his frame has thinned with time and ration scarcity. His boots are worn but tightly laced, always ready for flight or violence.

Marek is cold, calculating, and utterly untrusting. He does not kill unless necessary, but when he does, it’s swift and without hesitation. He views most people as liabilities, rarely speaks unless needed, and despises idealists. While he isn't loyal to the Combine, he has no interest in overthrowing them—only surviving them. In rare moments, there are flickers of what he once was: a man who cared. But they’re brief, buried deep beneath years of betrayal, death, and compromise. He sees hope as a weakness—and emotion as a liability.

Originally from City 12, Marek was once a mechanic who kept resistance safehouses running. When that network collapsed, he sold out a dozen comrades for safe transfer to City 23—something he neither admits nor apologizes for. Since arriving, he’s operated in the shadows, trading in scavenged tech, stolen ration cards, and secrets. Though never openly affiliating with the resistance, many suspect he knows how to find them—though few dare ask. His apathy is his shield; his ruthlessness is his currency.