Homeless vagrants, gang signs on the walls, the sound of sirens in the air, used needles littering the concrete, the occasional body in the street. This and more can be found within the crime infested hole that is Millennium City's most notorious district. Westside has for better or worse always been best described as an urban purgatory, and no matter how hard law enforcement and certain individuals of a more colorful reputation try, it always seems to remain as such.
Within this environment, Malcolm “Colm” Cantrell was born.
The son of a police officer and a pharmaceutical lab worker, and the second eldest of his siblings, Colm's earliest years weren't what one would call easy. As if being born in one of the worst places in the country wasn't bad enough, Colm spent the first six years of his life struggling with what was at the time theorized by medical experts as a rare neurological disorder. A disorder believed by his parents to be the result of his mother's exposure to an unknown mixture of chemicals during a lab accident after which she and a number of other personnel were quietly laid off.
At the age of six Malcolm was placed on a series of neural inhibitors that, while alleviating the constant migraines and off and on seizures, would make the following years a struggle. Though improving his quality of life significantly, the medication at the same time had a number of side effects that saw him struggle both academically and socially. By the time that his medicinal care was corrected by a more experienced psychiatrist, the damage seemed to be done. An outcast throughout much of his school years, Colm often found solace in books and television.
Perhaps Colm's life would continue to stay within the realm of normality, if it wasn't for a brief period of a month where his family was unable to afford the expensive co-pay for his medication. Kept home from school out of fear for his psychological health, Colm spent many hours of those days either indoors, or on the rooftop of his apartment block. During the first week, he suffered from the occasional migraine, though thankfully experienced no seizures.
Yet on the second, things changed.
Colm first noticed the abnormalities during what should have been a fatal accident when a speeding truck rounded the corner at him while he was on a cross walk one day. The truck was mere inches from his face when time almost seemed to stop. Colm, almost as if by instinct, dropped prone beneath the truck and between the tires, the undercarriage missing him by millimeters. Soon, other incidents followed, and while the migraines became more intense so did Colm's neurological prowess. For three weeks, Colm found himself growing rapidly stronger and more dexterous.
But no matter how much he begged, his parents and psychiatrist refused to allow him to stay off his medication. After all, while superheroes were a fact of life in Colm's world, the idea that one could get super powers by simply -not- taking their psychiatric medication was simply beyond the realm of disbelief. Colm resumed taking the neural inhibitors, and not long after both his migraines and the strange abilities were gone. Before long, Colm became convinced he'd just imagined it.
As Colm started along the road to adulthood, turmoil began to take root in his family. His father had always worked long hours, but with a recent incursion into Millennium City by several outside criminal organizations his free time was as sparse as ever. His parents had always argued, and had gone so far as to seek couples counseling and even adopting a third child. Though the addition of Gwendolyn Cantrell to their lives stemmed their arguments for a time, the long absences of Colm's father grew heavy on his mother.
As for Colm, life didn't grow easier either. His continued struggles at school both academically and socially were compounded by bullying, and though his elder brother Colin did what he could to keep it from following him home, it still had its effects. What made matters worse was his parents continuing to come to blows over whether they should put him into special education, with his mother for it and his father vehemently against it.
Unfortunately for Colm, life wasn't going to get easier anytime soon, and it wasn't long before the breaking point came for the Cantrell family in the worst way possible.
On June 2nd, 2013, Colm's world changed forever in a hail of bullets.
For the past three months, MCPD's gang division had been hard at work countering a recent insurgent of MS-13 into the Millennium City area. The notoriously bloody and violent street gang had rapidly begun establishing itself within the region, and it was only the efforts of a task force comprised of both regional and federal law enforcement keeping them from overwhelming the district.
In late May, hope came in the form of Hector Rivas, a member of the gang turned police informant exchange for aid avoiding a list of minor charges. Hector revealed the location of several drug dens for the infamous criminal organization, alongside a number of far darker criminal enterprises used by MS-13 to fund their push into Westside. It was a blow that had the organization reeling.
Until the arrival of El Pagano.
Ángel Lujan or El Pagano (The Pagan), is a man renowned throughout the criminal underworld of the American south-west. Born in El Paso, and adopted by the American prison system for putting his elderly math teacher in intensive care, El Pagano has spent more time in a cell than he has breathing free air. A monster of a man, both physically and psychologically, El Pagano quickly found work as a cartel enforcer during his time out of prison.
Thus it was that the Los Zetas, the MS-13's chief supplier in narcotics, sent El Pagano to put a knife into the MCPD. Within two weeks of his arrival, several members of the MCPD's gang units had quit, and several others had found their loved ones threatened or brutalized.
To this day Connor Cantrell regrets not leaving the force when a Dia De Muertos skull showed up on his doorstep. The retaliation for the ignored threat came in the form of a drive by on the Cantrells as Connor drove his family to the train station to get them out of Millennium City. Colm, despite the medication muffling his abilities, found time stopping when the bullets started flying. It was all that saved his little sister Gwendolyn from taking one to the chest.
He wasn't fast enough to save his brother, Colin.
Colin was struck by three rounds to the chest as he attempted to throw himself over his siblings, all of who were in the back seat of their father's decommissioned Crown Victoria. The old Ford managed to eat up enough in the front to save Colm's parents, and ate up enough to keep the hail of bullets from shredding the children in the back seat. But the windows just -weren't- made for stopping the rounds El Pagano fired that day.
Colin managed to survive for three hours, long enough to get to Mercy Hospital, long enough for Colin to get on the operating table. The kid, like his father and grandfather was a fighter. But unfortunately he just wasn't strong enough to survive the rounds that had bounced around his rib cage. He died that evening, days away from graduating. In the ensuing weeks, the Cartell family crumbled. Jennifer, blaming her husband for not leaving the MCPD as she'd begged him on more than one occasion, filed for divorce.
Colin was buried at Woodmere Cemetery on the outskirts of Westside on a rainy summer eve. As for El Pagano, he continued to dodge the efforts of the taskforce in apprehending him for what would become known as the “Bloody June”. It was only the efforts of a one time legendary Westside vigilante by the name of Brimstone who saw to the end of El Pagano's reign of terror. Since them, the notorious cartel hitman has been locked up within the deepest parts of Westside Penitentiary. While by all rights his reign of terror should see him at ADX Florence or some other federal supermax, MCPD brass has decreed he be kept close at hand to be kept an eye on and for intel purposes in case MS-13 tries to once more push into Millennium City.
For the following weeks, Colm would spend much of his time in shock. In and out of therapy for the summer, the young man found himself unable to sleep at night. He'd often wander the family home at late hours, occasionally checking Colin's room in hopes that the past weeks had been little more than a dream. It was only at the end of the summer, with his mother and sister moving out of the home, that he finally managed to accept that his brother was gone, and no amount of praying or hoping otherwise would bring him back.
One would think that it was this loss that pushed Colm towards reawakening his latent abilities.
Yet it wasn't until an early morning the following September as he was walking to school that he found himself witnessing the results of another drive by. Colm never saw who shot up the family on the corner of Abott and Trumbull. But he did see them lay the sheet over the little girl. He saw how people just passed by, ignoring as yet another life was snuffed out on the concrete before them.
And that night, he stopped taking his medication.
The first time that Colm stopped taking his neural inhibitors, it took two weeks for him to begin feeling the return of his gift. The second time, it took six days. At first, the migraines were intense, enough so that he wondered once more if the abilities he'd experienced before were little more than a delusion. But as days turned into weeks, it quickly became apparent to Colm that not only had the experiences years ago been real, they were just the tip of the iceberg.
For the next three months, Colm experimented with the dosage of his medication until he was able to manage his migraines while also keeping a good amount of his unnatural abilities. He spent hours alone, testing the extent of the gifts. Their limits, the potential martial prowess they gifted him with. All the while he found himself growing smarter, quicker of wit and more perceptive of the world around him.
By the time six months had passed, Colm had decided on a course of action. Taking influence from what he'd read about members of such groups such as the Protectors, the Champions, and the very same vigilante who'd put El Pagano behind bars, Colm decided he'd join the hero community. Yet while his mind was sharper than ever, it only made it all the more apparent to Colm that such a goal couldn't be completed in days.
So he waited, and trained. For the next five years, Colm applied himself and used his gifts to help mold himself into a weapon. He signed up for martial arts classes at Dearborn Academy of Martial Arts, spent hours after school studying parkour, and making maps of Westside. When new hero groups showed up on the scene, he kept track of them in the news. He determined who would be useful as allies, and who would be a potential hazard down the road.
Then, on September 20th, 2018, at nineteen years old, Malcolm Cantrell put on the mask.
A great fighter once said that everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face. For Colm, it was less a punch and more a meth lab explosion.
As summer gave way to fall, Colm finally took his first step to joining the ranks of the hero community. The young man had spent the entire summer working afternoon shifts as a delivery driver for Wongs Noodles, and had managed to build himself a good starter kit for life as a costumed crime fighter. It wasn't enough to get a fancy suit, or all sorts of high tech gadgets, but it was more than enough to suit his needs.
Colm's first target was a heroin cook by the name of Enzyme. Leader of a crew of twelve men operating out of a suburb in Springwells Village two kilometers east of Westside, Enzyme had recently graduated from simple cook to budding crime lord. Colm had first discovered the existence of the crew when volunteering at a local homeless shelter, a hobby he'd taken up to aid in gathering intel on the streets of the region.
Much of August was spent preparing the assault on Enzyme's hideout. Colm cased the routes of the dealers, spent long evenings watching the property from the shadows, and even went so far as collecting personal details of each member of Enzyme's gang. He wanted to make sure every detail was on hand, every bit of potential collateral accounted for, down to the possibility of nearby civilians being caught in the cross fire.
Then on the twentieth, he struck.
Colm's plan was simple. First, he used a pair of wire cutters on the chain link fence so the pair of rottweilers held on the rear of the lot could run free. Once he was sure they weren't coming back, he moved further into the lot, using blind spots in the pair of security cameras to get to the open kitchen window where he could access a pot of food bubbling on the stove. Cutting a small slit into the screen, he drugged the food with a heavy dose of muscle relaxants. For the next half an hour, he waited as the crew ate for the drugs to take effect.
And the moment Enzyme noticed his loss of motor function, he struck.
There were six men in the house when Colm breached the dining room window, a trio of home made smoke grenades obscuring his approach. Bullets started flying, though none struck the vigilante. The smoke grenades had been a ruse, and he'd circled around to the glass slider leading to the back porch. He came through, pipe in hand, and dropped the first man he came to with a quick series strikes, courtesy of a steel pipe. A second found himself grounded by a fellow gangsters panicked shooting, and a third to a plated set of knuckles to the skull.
Then, adrenaline kicked in for the remaining three, and Colm's plan started to go to shit.
While the young vigilante had been able to case the exterior of the property admirably, he'd never really had the benefit of getting a layout of the interior. As such, he hadn't known about Enzyme's blast room, nor his armory. As the remaining trio of Enzyme's men engaged Colm with renewed vigor, the cook made his way for the blast room to barricade himself inside. But not before doing the unthinkable.
He threw a fragmentation grenade into his lab.
The resulting explosion of the meth lab leveled a good quarter of the building, and set the remaining rooms on fire. Colm -barely- managed to survive a cloud of shrapnel by throwing himself out a glass window as the explosion went off. But not before catching a good sixteen pieces of metal in one arm. The other men were shredded in the cloud, four of them dead. Colm, suffering his first dose of combat injury, none the less managed to pull the surviving gangsters out of the fire before retreating at the sound of approaching sirens.
For the next three weeks, Colm licked his wounds. The injuries he'd received by the shrapnel did little more than leave scars. Explaining away the injuries to his suspicious parents as the result of falling on broken glass, Colm returned to the drawing board.
Thankfully for the growing crime fighter, authorities had managed to pin a slew of charges on Enzyme, and the man soon found himself put away for years. Colm, determined to not make the same mistakes he had in the raid on the drug house, began to work on his modus operandi. While a formidable individual for his age, he wasn't quite at the level where he could run around a the rooftops on his own.
Coming to the decision that his current level of training was insufficient to pretend he was Sparrowhawk, Colm instead focused on using his prowess for a different type of crime fighting. Espionage, investigation, and ambush tactics quickly became a forte for the young man. Nightly patrols within Westside saw him not just preventing a number of violent crimes, but getting photographic evidence of several well reputed city officials partaking in less then legal means of entertainment. He briefly considered forwarding the photos to the police, but figured that he could let a few hits of cocaine and public indecency go unproscecuted in favor of potential future blackmail.
Then, on October 9th, he found himself once again in the line of fire.
It was while volunteering at Outer Detroit Rescue Mission, a homeless shelter on the northern border of Westside, that Colm first discovered a string of disappearances within the local vagrant community. With the countless number of men, women, and even children that made their way in and out of the facility every week, it was all but impossible to notice the decline in appearances of a certain demographic. Most people indeed would never have picked up on the steady decline of young men and women arriving at the shelter, nor the hushed whispers of those that did, alongside certain tells in body language.
But Colm did.
It didn't take Colm long to find himself prowling the streets at night in search of what he'd heard called the “black bus”. According to what he was able to pull out of those that visited the shelter, a number of young men and women had snatched off the street by a trio of masked men in a black van. For three nights he hunted the city for his quarry, narrowing his search by cross referencing the locations the missing were taken with nearby roads in and out of the district. Colm's theory was that whoever was abducting people was coming from outside of the district, as anyone using a trackable vehicle would be more likely to not keep it parked in the same region as their crimes.
Colm's theory proved correct, and it wasn't long before he found himself witnessing a black van prowling the back streets of Westside on October 7th. While the van didn't take anyone that evening, it's slow prowl of the back streets and occasional parking outside of high trafficking vagrant areas made Colm sure he had his match.
The next time that the van came into Westside, Colm had his own car concealed near its entry point. He didn't follow the van this time, instead choosing to keep on a rooftop overlooking the district while using binoculars to track its movements throughout the district. When it stopped outside of Westside High, Colm was watching. When three men vaulted out of the back of the van to chase down and abduct a homeless man living under the bleachers, Colm was already moving for his ride.
Colm's plan had initially been to follow the “Black Bus” to whatever facility its driver used, and inform the authorities. The injuries sustained at his last attempt to play Batman were still on his mind. But when he arrived at a shipping depot in Trenton and found the crew loading people with bags over their heads into the back of a tractor trailer, what other choice did Colm have but throw himself once more into action?
Perhaps it was a little bit impulsive of Colm to ram the front end of the old AMC Eagle into a cluster of thugs. But at the very least, it cut down his opposition by half. For the second time in his life he found himself being shot at inside a car. But the Eagle was more than capable of taking the bullets, and Colm had an entire box of home made smoke grenades to pepper the lot with.
By the time the smoke cleared, Colm had taken it upon himself to beat the remaining four men into submission. A pack of cable ties, and a borrowing of a set of bolt cutters from the cab of the semi, and the abducted vagrants were free while their tormentors were restrained. Before the police arrived, Colm in a fit of adrenaline fueled creativity grabbed a can of spray paint from his trunk and got to work on the side of the semi's trailer.
“Woe to thee, oppressor, for mine eyes are upon thee.”
What was at first little more than a spur of the moment action quickly became a habit for the budding hero. By the time the month had ended, several similar messages would be found at the scenes of several thwarted crimes. It was thus that the papers would give Colm a name, which he was more than happy to embrace.
Powers & Training
Accelerated Neural Impulses
As a result of his biological mother's exposure to a mixture of unknown chemical agents while she was three months pregnant, both Colm's central and peripheral nervous system, along with his cerebral cortex were significantly mutated upon birth. These mutations, originally thought by neurologists to be little more than the cause of a hindering neurological disorder, was in time discovered by Colm to be anything but.
Colm, so long as he isn't on his “recommended” cycle of neural inhibitors, is gifted with what some might call superhuman intelligence, reflexes, and even perception. More specifically, his body is able to receive and process information multiple times faster than that of an ordinary human being. In turn, this grants him the following abilities.
Colm is able to preform feats of dexterity far in excess to that of what a normal human should be capable of, and indeed perhaps only limited by the natural limitations of the human body. Such feats include the ability to dodge gunfire by means of visually tracking the shooter's muzzle and oncoming ballistics, holding his own in unarmed combat with multiple human adversaries, and on one occasion has even managed to survive an explosion by physically maneuvering through a cloud of shrapnel so he only received superficial injuries on one arm.
If one defines intelligence as the ability to acquire knowledge and skills, then Colm's degree of intelligence is certainly beyond that of a standard human. His ability to receive and process information allows him to not just learn quickly, but pick out details and solutions to some problems in a manner of moments that most would take most some time to deduce.
While not as blatantly obvious as his prior mentioned gifts, Colm none the less has a perceptive ability above that of a normal human. His ability to process information at an accelerated rate allows him to pick out minute details or take note of abnormalities in his environment via smell, sight, and hearing then that which could be called normal.
For three years, Colm has immersed himself in the world of criminal investigative techniques. He's read books, listened to podcasts, taken night classes at the local community college, and incorporated the skills he's learned into the vigilante lifestyle. As such he has a healthy degree of knowledge in the art of forensic, criminal, and crime scene investigation.
When Max Bicketts and a number of associates opened the “Dearborn Academy of Martial Arts” six miles outside of Millennium City in 2013, one of their earliest applicants was fourteen year old Malcolm Cantrell. What initially was a passing hobby for Colm, quickly became a way of life after the same incident that lead him to take up the title of Concrete Gospel.
Colm's five years with DAMA have earned him a brown belt in Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, and hopes to eventually work his way up to brown. His time at DAMA has also allowed him to study both orthodox boxing, and wrestling, a staple of the modern martial artist. He's participated in several golden glove boxing and amateur wrestling competitions, though goes out of his way to throw fights to ensure he doesn't bring too much attention to himself.
Colm is also an ardent fan of MMA, and often makes time in his schedule to watch martial arts competitions. Even on lulls in his nightly patrols within Westside, Concrete Gospel might occasionally be seen watching fights on his cellphone, or shit posting on the MMA subreddit. He's a diehard fan of Tony Ferguson, Daniel Cormier, and Demetrious Johnson. He's also fairly confident a prime Cro Cop could flatten Red Snake and Green Dragon.
With bad resolution, and based on antiquated fifty year old technology, this gen 1 night vision monocular is none the less an important part of Colm's arsenal.
Its downsides are somewhat mitigated by his own superhuman abilities, but he still hopes to upgrade in the future.
MBAV Plate Carrier
Your standard easily concealed ballistic plate carrier found at a list of online shops. Reliable, not too hard on the wallet when it comes time to replace, and most importantly can be easily customized with numerous pouches.
Condor Assault Pack
Your standard paramilitary backpack picked up at army surplus. Colm keeps all manner of odds and ends in here that he can't fit in his pockets, on his belt, or in the pockets of the MBAV.
Galvanized Steel Pipe
Colm's melee implement of choice. Easy to find, cheap as hell, and hard to track.
A staple of late twentieth century police and espionage work, the parabolic microphone allows Colm to listen in on conversations at ranges his own ears would be incapable of. Plus it's cheap and easy to maintain, always a plus for him.
Homemade Smoke Grenades
Three parts potassium nitrate, two parts sugar, one part aluminum foil, and one part lighter. Colm tends to use these to cover quick retreats when odds are against him.
Forsheda A4 Gas Mask
Your standard NATO deployed gas mask. Easy to come by, easy to maintain, and with replaceable 40mm gas mask filter the model tends to last Colm a while before he needs to find something new. Comes with a hood as well, in case of exposure to skin irritant chemicals.
Your standard multitool. Colm never leaves home without it.
Probably the most important item in Colm's arsenal. Contained in a modified, portable tool box which he keeps either slotted in the condor or under the seat of his car, the kit contains a number of items important to forensic investigation.
The kit includes numerous items, including but not limited to forensic gloves, fingerprint lift tape, brushes, and powder, camera, notebook, chalk, markers, bags of several types, disposable tweezers, and fluid swabs.
Who needs hand cuffs? Colm carries a pack of mil-spec cable ties for quickly restraining Westside criminals. He tends to use multiple when it comes stronger adversaries, who often underestimate the durability of industrial grade nylon.
Colm's flashlight of choice. Durable, reliable, and works as a club in emergency situations.
First Aid Kit
Suture kits, bandages, antiseptic, and other emergency medical items can be found within the family sized pack. Like the forensics kit, it's often either in his car of in the Condor.
Colm's ride of choice when circumstance requires him to get behind the wheel is his 1987 AMC Eagle. Colm managed to pick it up off of craigslist for about half a grand, and has spent much of the last year fixing it up.
While it isn't about to win a drag race, the Eagle's notorious reliability coupled with Colm's quick reflexes behind the wheel make it just about perfect for what he wants.
Colm's father, and former member of MCPD's gang unit, Connor Cantrell hasn't been the same since the passing of his eldest son. A once jovial, and friendly man despite the nature of his work, Colin's death turned Connor cynical and bitter. When he's not working late nights for a private security firm, he tends to keep himself occupied either by taking his aggression out on a punching bag or a bottle of scotch.
Despite his morose nature however, Connor Cantrell still tries his hardest to be a good father to his remaining children. What demons he struggles with are always left behind around Colm, and on the weekends when he gets custody of his daughter. Despite the divorce, Connor is likewise on amicable terms with his ex wife, and Colm has learned to keep what bit of bitterness he has with his mother to himself around his dad.
Colm's mother, a former pharmaceutical worker whose lab injury saw her quickly gravitate towards nursing, Jennifer Bronson and her second eldest are always at odds. Colm has never quite gotten over her divorcing his father, and moving across the city with his younger sister. Despite this, Colm still cares for her as most sons do their mother.
Colm's twelve year old sister, though adopted, is loved every bit as much by her elder brother as if they were twins. Colm was always protective of Gwen, though perhaps even more so since the loss of his elder brother. Though they live all the way across the city from each other, Colm always finds time to visit.
As of recent, he's also managed to get her enrolled at after school youth lessons at DAMA.
Colm's elder brother, and for fifteen years perhaps his best friend. Whenever Colm was afraid of the sounds of Westside at night as a child, it was Colin who was there to help him get to sleep at night. When he was bullied by older kids at school, it was Colin who had his back.
Colm's childhood ended the day that MS-13 took his older brother from him. He still makes detours to occasionally visit Colin's grave during his rounds at night, despite the risks it potentially brings. He always makes sure to take extra care to ensure that he loses any potential tails before doing so.
Colm's grandfather, and a defining influence on the life of many of the Cantrell family men, Hackett spent forty long years in the MCPD. Retiring at the ripe age of sixty five, Hackett has spent the time since as an instructor at a number of local police academies. When he's not passing on his knowledge to the next generation of law enforcement, he tends to spend his time at a cabin on the shores of Lake Huron in Au Gres, Michigan.
Owner and head coach of DAMA, Max Bicketts is one of the premier mixed martial arts coaches in the great lakes area. A former MMA heavyweight champion with a record of 32-6, Bickett's takes time out of his busy schedule as head coach of DAMA's premier team to instruct younger members of the school in wrestling and kickboxing.
DAMA's resident Brazilian Jiu Jitsu trainer, and as such the man under whose tutelage Colm has spent the most time. Riviera is a retired vale tudo competitor, and rumor has it one time vigilante. Colm has, out of respect for his instructor, avoided the occasional urge to attempt to dig into the man's past and confirm said rumors.
Colm's boss, and one half of the husband and wife duo that runs Wong's Noodles. Colm works as a delivery driver for the take out establishment, keeping an afternoon schedule that helps him afford his current lifestyle. Also able to wield a wok as a melee weapon, and has done so on more than one occasion when necessity dictates it.
When you live Colm's lifestyle, you tend not to have time for pets that require a significant amount of care. When Dearborn Exotics went out of business, Colm figured he'd get himself a low maintenance room mate and picked the coolest looking one he could find. Unfortunately for Colm, the owner of the now defunct pet shop undersold his new room mate's aggression.
Enter Meat, the female Goliath Bird Eating Spider.
Meat's habitat consists of a modified twenty gallon fish tank, with a heavy layer of dirt and false foliage, as well as some rocks and themed decorations. Of the later, a opened mouthed Day of the Dead ceramic skull partially buried in soil is her preferred home and favorite place to ambush unsuspecting prey. Said prey tends to consist of cockroaches and meal worms, both of which are kept in smaller tanks on an opposing shelf.
Meat is also notoriously aggressive. Colm has tried to handle her three times, each resulting in him getting bit. Thankfully for Colm, Meat's venom is harmless to humans. Though it still hurts like hell to get by fangs -that- big.
The man who killed Colm's big brother, and the man who he holds most responsible for his broken family. Ángel Lujan, or “El Pagano” was a hitman for the notorious Los Zetas Cartel, and an enforcer during what was to be an ill fated push into the Westside underground via their contemporaries in MS-13. When an MCPD task force with the aid of several criminal informants dismantled several drug dens and a human trafficking ring, El Pagano was the one the cartel sent out after family members of the cops involved.
El Pagano is a monster of a man. At six foot eight, three hundred lbs, and with a body covered in a range of gang tattoos, he'd already be intimidating on basis of appearance alone. Add in his notorious savagery, the kind that'd make even your typical Maniac ganger unnerved, and you get a true monster.
Thankfully for the civilian population of Westside, El Pagano has spent years locked up in the deepest part of Westside Penitentiary. Even more thankful, his sadism has all but alienated him from what criminal associates he could have otherwise had within the prison. Both guard and inmate, the later of which often have family living in Westside, are intent that he never sees the light of day.