Hank Grissom signed on to Hope six weeks ago as hired muscle, if by muscle you mean a guy who’ll shoot his guns on your behalf. How well he shoots has yet to be seen, as the mission thus far has been quiet. Hank told his new captain right off that he’s got travelling papers and he’s warrant-free. Whatever’s in his past, it’s not dark enough that he fears the law. Those papers name him Henry P. Grissom, but what follows the P is only a smudge of ink obscured by a thick crease off-center in the document.

Hank began the job cool and distant, but affable enough. He’s been slow to connect with his shipmates, but after the last few weeks he’s been opening up a bit and sometimes even sharing a joke (or at least a snide comment). Hank doesn’t talk much about himself, but he watches and listens. He’s new to the Aurora system, where he bounced around from one unsteady short-term job to another. His coolness under fire and his readiness (but not eagerness) to use violence got him noticed enough by someone to earn him a referral to Captain Marcus, when Marcus was recruiting.

Hank’s a small fellow, not quite five five, and slender without seeming skinny. His features -- brown skin, big dark eyes, long and straight black hair -- indicate a frontier amalgam of bloodlines: Mexi-Chinese, or something more complicated. His face is handsome enough, clean-shaven and unblemished, giving the impression of youth that’s probably misleading. He claims to be 30, but looks 22.

Hank favors well-worn but clean clothes. He typically chooses tight grey trousers, flared at the cuffs to accommodate his bulky combat boots, and a simple brown tunic, with lacings rather than buttons at the collar. He often wears an expensive-looking sort of truncated jacket, open in the front, with a high collar, padded shoulders, and short but wide sleeves. The jacket’s all crimson and gold, with paisleys.