His name was "Wraith": A participant in the Tournaments from the age of 19, Wraith has taken part in some of the most savage battles fought on the arena floor. Considering his long history of combat, and the injuries he has incurred, it begs the question of which may be more scarred: his body or his mind?
He is In the Tournament for taking the fall for a mob killing in New-New York*. His first kill was unarmed on his way to be executed he managed to kill the cop taking him there.
The Empire saw him as a potential morale-booster for the colonies and enrolled him in the Tournaments at once. His first few matches were fairly boring; a little hiding, sniping and then a weasel finish by timeout. But when the Empire put malfunctioned robots into the Tournament he had to change the way he fought. He has never been the same since "Widowmaker", a Military failure, fired a shock rifle at Wraith's head and it scorched a scar from his left cheek to his right eyebrow, blinding him in his left eye.
"Jeez! When will they ever stop with the crap food in this place? HEY, DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH AN ENERGY BOOSTER IS? I CAN'T JUST BE REPLACING IT EVERY DAY!" Wraith yelled at the Gen 'Mo Kai Chef.
"Shut up, man, just 'cus ya got a new Flak Cannon doesn't mean you can go shooting yer mouth off at Empire staff." Torch whispered across the table.
"Hey, I got Widowmaker today, and you know what he uses?" said Wraith with a shudder.
"Yeah…a Shock Rifle" was the solemn reply
"I…Hate Shock Rifles".
Just then, the Siren sounded and all the combatants (Living anyway) left the canteen for their Arenas.
"Well good luck." shouted Torch as he walked to the spectator lounge. "Your gonna need it!"
"WRAITH! WRAITH! WRAITH! WRAITH! WR…BOOOO." Wraith could guess what had happened to make the crowd change their chant: it was Widowmaker. He could hear the heavy metal-on-metal footsteps of the dreaded robot. "As Wraith won the coin-toss he gets to pick the arena."
Wraith had been practicing his reflexes and had learned to hit the button for whichever arena he desired.
"DeathMatch-Gael!" the announcer called through the speaker.
A cold rush of dread went through Wraith's body like jolt of electricity. Gael was a small, about fifty maybe sixty foot, squared room with the combatants at both ends. This was exactly the way Wraith didn't want to fight Widowmaker but sure enough, it happened and the all too familiar sight of the teleporter appeared above both their heads.
*The Empire melted the polar ice caps so the coastal cities were wiped out, but in memory of them new cities were erected further inland.