((This from someone who suggests so harshly that they're correct as well.
Anyway, let's not clatter the GPD up with meaningless OoC. I'm sure they would definitely not want to return to this.))
Aleksandr's soft steps made collided softly with the concrete earth. It had been awhile, long times gone, since the gates of the Gaian Police Department stood before him. Long ago, they treated him as hostile, now...he was part of ancient history, parting wars that have long since been gone. The GPD would probably have some record of him, deep down in their files, but it would be insignificant, small, unknown to their world.
The last the GPD saw of him, he had been but a little adult, pursuing hostile intent, and trying to wipe them off the Earth with domination in his hands. The long idle Aleksandr has nothing now, at 40 years of age, he stands dormant, afraid to cry, fearing the losses that haunt him.
Of course, it wasn't the loss of power that harmed his emotions so, it was the loss of self. He was a man, without self.
He shuffled slightly, the jingle of fire-arms, amongst other things. Three in all. He wasn't planning on using them, and he hadn't in awhile, they lay quiet in his vest. A Glock20c in his carbine belt, sitting parallel to a colt SAA. The last one was a .44 Raging bull, which was slung across his chest along with extra bullets.
The man resembled a feminine version of Pancho Villa. His lithe, light body, slender with every movement, his whole face was hung underneath a large cowboy hat, and his eyes were lost amongst accessories long rusted. A patch over his left, protecting an eye destroyed by those he hated, and cherishes despite grievous wounds. Even more so, a lock of ivory hair patched over, hanging alongside a monocle. The man's face was ever held within a clump of items. With hesitation, he began his walk that would lead him to the perdition of what once was.