Micheal Cliffords-Bosch -- District 2 (PK) (WIP)

Micheal was scrawny and rather meek looking. He stood just under six foot, which was unimpressive for a grown man. No amount of Peacekeeper training helped this man improve his physique or strength. However, it wasn't that he was undertrained, he was just consumed by his work. He didn't spend his time on silly things like food or sleep.

Micheal had short brown hair that parted to his left, it was always neatly combed when appearing in public. In addition to the hair, he had short sideburns that stopped just above where the ears ended. No facial hair seemed to be growing on his face, as it was always smooth and well shaved. Although, there were rare occasions, such as when he was on a case, where he would have some chin stubble. No mustache, however. His brow was almost always furrowed above his deep blue eye. Singular. His right eye was fine, however his left was missing the eye and in it's place was scarred over skin.

As an Investigator he was not required to wear the standard Peacekeeper uniform. Instead, he chose a black Capitol-made suit with a white undershirt. The undershirt's collar was loosened, and it was already loose where his cuffs were. Covered by the jacket was a standard sidearm holstered under his shoulder. To be fair, it was really only for show, he wasn't much of a shot.

Blood clouded his vision, but he could still see flashes of his own life...

Micheal Cliffords-Bosch was born April 14th to Kelly Cliffords and Stephen Bosch. They were not officially nor legally married, but became so three days later. During his infancy he was a typical baby. He cried, he drank milk, the usual. He was a normal child except for his late blooming into walking, about a year and a half after his birth. He was well looked after, as his mother was a stay-in-mom, and his father worked in the quarry.

Before his teen years he was an active and healthy kid. Micheal was an avid player of sports and spent most of his time outside getting fresh air. Needless to say his favorite time during Elementary was recess. He was a sociable kid, and often had people he knew to play with.

During his teenage years he had to get used to his name being put into the drawing for the games. Micheal didn't want to go, but he treated it without too much worry. After all, if his name was called chances were likely that a Career would volunteer to take his place. Micheal was paying more attention in class around this time, as well. His parents wanted better grades out of him. Seeing as how High School doesn't have recess, he decided he'd at least try to pay attention.

Micheal also noticed something strange during these years. His parents were growing distant, or so it seemed to him. He swore he could hear arguing at night sometimes. Other times he would come home from school and walk in on shouting. What it was he couldn't begin to guess, although he had heard that the company his father worked for had fallen on hard times, and he'd turned to the drink.

A few days after his nineteenth birthday Micheal was still light-headed with joy. He didn't have to worry about school anymore, and he'd made it through every reaping day without his name even being drawn. This is why he hadn't been expecting anything, hadn't even seen it coming. Micheal was out with friends, celebrating still. He came home around afternoon going into evening. What he saw that day would never leave him.

There was his mother, broken, battered, bloodied, and dead on the couch. Her husband stood over her, bottle in one hand, pick-ax in the other. When Micheal came in it must of startled his father, because he turned, screamed, and charged at his only son. Micheal was frozen, he couldn't begin to comprehend what he was seeing in front of him. He saw no glint of recognition in his father's eyes, and he had no idea what to do. All he could manage to do was lean back slightly, which probably saved his life. Instead of the sharpened tool piercing his skull and entering his brain, it barely glanced the bone area next to his left eye. However, this was all that was needed. Bone crushed, flesh ripped and his world went red as he fell toward the ground.

Even through his befuddled state of mind, he could hear shouting voices. He could pick one voice out from the rest, one that was filled with rage...

Micheal woke days later in a hospital bed. He could see machinery all around him, strange electrical sounds coming from them. Micheal began to panic, he couldn't remember what happened. He started shouting and soon enough a nurse appeared, attempting to soothe him. With a promise to return soon she left Micheal. He spent an impatient fifteen minutes, getting a good look around the room. After awhile the nurse returned with a peacekeeper who pulled up a chair next to Micheal. The man who had graying hair sighed after a moment studying Micheal. "I'd like a mirror, please." The man finally spoke. "You're sure?" the nurse replied, "Better to get it over with."

The nurse reappeared with a small hand mirror which the peacekeeper accepted it and turned back to Micheal, staring at him for a long moment. "What? He finally said. "I just want to make sure you're ready." The gray-haired man held up the mirror and Micheal blinked with one eye. With all the panic he'd failed to notice his vision was lacking. In the place of his left eye was a white, taped down patch. He reached up a hand and the peacekeeper grabbed his wrist. "Don't do it." But Micheal shook his head, "I've got to, I just.." It took a moment but the man let go of Micheal's hand, and he looked straight at the mirror as he peeled the patch away. He had to fight off the urge to scream.

A bright red splotch remained from the pick ax's strike, spreading from where it struck at the temple down into his left eye-socket. There was no more eyeball or even eyelashes. Just a disgusting indent with nothing in it. Micheal remembered then, and it came back to him in a flash. His brain processed it, and he couldn't help but break down crying. "Sorry, kid.. we don't have any of the Capitol's fancy skin repair tech.. You're lucky to be alive.. Most would be dead or.. damaged.." The peacekeeper knew it wouldn't comfort him, because he knew Micheal wasn't crying over his ruined looks. He set the mirror down and reached over to grip Micheal's hand. "I'm sorry.. really, I am." Between sobs Micheal managed to work out a few words. "I.. it's just I.. Thank you.." At that Micheal turned his head away, tears still streaming from his right eye. The peacekeeper took the hint and stood, nodded to the nurse, then left.

(Not sure how to post a picture, I have one of him. His suit, anyways.)