APPEARANCE
Usually tanned skin has been faded to paleness in recent months, making the tattoos descending from the neck to the knuckles stand out even more.  The usual eyecatcher of the work is a (NSFW) portrait of "... and she didn't run away" by Christine Banna on the right arm, the trailing arms, blood, and hair mingling with stylized Greek waves that finish that sleeve.  The other arm has Quetzalcoatl twisting up its full length, with the sleeve finished by smoke designs, some places looking to have faces contained within the wisps on close inspection. 

Dark hair formerly buzzed short with an eye for tactics has grown out, untrimmed and messy.  Facially, the features aren't put together bad, though the nose has been broken a time or twenty now and he bears those identifiable sort of facial scars one sees on old boxers. The one you'll be hit with first are eyes though; blue, but you may not notice when they're turned on you-- no matter what expression they convey, they do so with an intensity that's comparable to staring at the sun. "Too shrewd" might be a good descriptor.

Attire is a pair of plain black MMA shorts.  That's it.  The former heavy taping of joints is gone, especially notable around the hands and wrists.  There's one conspicuous exception-- his left thumb is heavily bandaged and taped.

HISTORY
Let's say... there was a man. No, there was a boy at that time, actually. A boy who spent thought and effort into clawing his way out of the gutter and not repeating the mistakes of his predecessors.

And to a degree... he succeeded, with the Pyrrhic victory of using the baser human tendencies to get there. And upon arriving, found that whether you have talent or not it doesn't fucking matter there. All that matters there is if you have the right clothes, car, girl, face, church, parents, house, interests, number of zeroes at the end of your bank account.

And so, the now-man descended back to the gutter, gleefully looking forward to telling those lying in it to stop blocking his goddamn skylight.

History? Deliberately obscured by a constant cavalcade of name changes-- expectations based on personal history grow tiring, people expect you to be just one thing at a time.  The single-letter/numeral moniker given long ago to shorten an unwieldy alias has a but a small slice of retrograde reference to the movie/comic many automatically think of at first; embracing Anonymous as an identity in a way that puts /b/ to shame, managing to do so despite a rather attention-attracting appearance, and... since his return from an incident that caused so many aforementioned recent changes... that strange freedom of having accepted death as the favored choice between that and having lost that last inch of his own will, and then having slipped by it.

FIGHTING STYLE
Learned hard, learned in the street, and didn't have the benefits of deep tissue massage or Tae Bo modern gym dance aerobics bullshit.  Got beat up a lot.  Had a growth spurt.  Still got beat up plenty.  Learned to not hesitate. Got a job as a bouncer, caught the eye of a pro wrestling trainer because he got up well and that's hard to teach.  Pro wrestling alone wasn't enough to feed the hunger.

Synopsis: Street brawling, augmented by ex-cons' tips > Pro Wrestling, a focus on puroresu and oldschool mat work > classes on Brazilian Jujitsu and Muay Thai.

Favorite target above and beyond all is the head, but the man is an opportunist by trade and by lifestyle.  It might actually be put down on census records as his religion.  Upright game is "Get 'em close, lock 'em up or knock 'em down."  Fists, kicks, or that shiny shiny clinch fighting.  Ground game is goal.  Ground and pound is a fun hobby that can be practiced for hours on its own, and also opens opportunities to lock in submissions.  Submissions are not overly complicated-- complication opens opportunities to the opponent, some of the most deadly submissions are the simplest.