Jason Trapp is an agent with the CIA.
At least he used to be. Up until six months before the first recorded adventure. He had been an operative for the Agency for two decades and had not thought about doing anything else, seriously at least. Then things on an assignment in Yemen had gone wrong and he ended up dead. Not really, of course, but as far as his up-until-then former employer was concerned he was.
"He liked being a dead man. There was a freedom to it. Trapp had spent the last twenty years in the service of his country, shuttling from war zone to war zone, solving America's problems with the barrel of a gun. That kind of work does things to a man. Changes him. Makes him jumpy."
"Mostly, Trapp looked like any other man. His face wore a rough, dark stubble that could be shaved off or grown out at will, and hid fresh scars only just beginning to fade. He was tall, at least six three, and topped with dark brown hair that was tousled and overgrown, intentionally disguising his rugged good looks. His sizeable, muscular frame was similarly lost in the bulk of a jacket that was two sizes too large. The only outward clue that he wasn't like other men could be found in his left eye. The right was a cold battleship gray, icy in the gloom and glittering in the light. But the left was different: split in two, black as night on one side, the same icy gray on the other."
Just because he was no longer among the officially living, though, did not mean that Trapp had nothing to do. He had a mission of his own, one created because of the betrayal he suffered in Yemen which cost him his partner and nearly his own life. The mission was to find the one or ones who had decided that he was expendable and that their motives were more important than the stated objective and when he found them, he was going to make them pay.