Jino la Haki
Background
Born into a small village that was razed before he turned ten, the boy who would become Jino la Haki was stolen by a warlord and forged into a weapon. Stripped of name, home, and family, he was broken down and rebuilt in the crucible of child soldiering—fed propaganda, starved of kindness, and drilled in death.
But his will remained unbroken.
He remembered his parents. The scream of his mother. The look on his father's face as bullets tore through him. That memory became his shield. He bided his time, absorbed their tactics, learned their weaknesses, and hid his growing awareness behind obedient eyes. In secret, he trained harder, built armor, stashed away weapons, and prepared.
On the eve of a full moon, he struck.
He killed the warlord with surgical precision. Took out the lieutenants. Released the child soldiers. And contacted UN forces with only five words: "Warlord dead. Bring food, not guns."
Since that day, he has had no name. No nation. No face. He is the mask, the shadow in the tall grass, the blade that ends tyrants and shields the innocent.
He is not a man. He is justice given form.
Personality
Stoic. Unforgiving. Disciplined. There is no indulgence in him—no time for softness. He speaks little, acts swiftly, and has no use for fame or gratitude.
But behind the mask is a broken heart that never healed—only hardened. He does not kill for vengeance. He kills because justice cannot wait for permission.
He does not claim to be righteous. He knows he walks the knife’s edge. But he’d rather damn himself than allow another child to be broken like he was.
Jino la Haki is not here to inspire.
He is here to end evil.
Born into a small village that was razed before he turned ten, the boy who would become Jino la Haki was stolen by a warlord and forged into a weapon. Stripped of name, home, and family, he was broken down and rebuilt in the crucible of child soldiering—fed propaganda, starved of kindness, and drilled in death.
But his will remained unbroken.
He remembered his parents. The scream of his mother. The look on his father's face as bullets tore through him. That memory became his shield. He bided his time, absorbed their tactics, learned their weaknesses, and hid his growing awareness behind obedient eyes. In secret, he trained harder, built armor, stashed away weapons, and prepared.
On the eve of a full moon, he struck.
He killed the warlord with surgical precision. Took out the lieutenants. Released the child soldiers. And contacted UN forces with only five words: "Warlord dead. Bring food, not guns."
Since that day, he has had no name. No nation. No face. He is the mask, the shadow in the tall grass, the blade that ends tyrants and shields the innocent.
He is not a man. He is justice given form.
Personality
Stoic. Unforgiving. Disciplined. There is no indulgence in him—no time for softness. He speaks little, acts swiftly, and has no use for fame or gratitude.
But behind the mask is a broken heart that never healed—only hardened. He does not kill for vengeance. He kills because justice cannot wait for permission.
He does not claim to be righteous. He knows he walks the knife’s edge. But he’d rather damn himself than allow another child to be broken like he was.
Jino la Haki is not here to inspire.
He is here to end evil.
Children
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