Stanley Willens is just an average joe with perhaps a hint of something special lurking beneath the surface.
Stanley is, for the most part, a bland individual. He has the occasional spat of anger, with some wry wit thrown into the mix. He walks as if in a fog, trudging to and fro, going about his daily life, though some would say that he had a certain air of mystery hanging around him like a cloud.
On his wrist, a watch containing a dart gun able to fire up to five poison darts thirty feet; the seam on his left pant leg is sewn with thread able to hold three hundred pounds; in the heel of his left shoe is the hook able to catch on a ledge or wrap around a beam, and in the heel of his right is a motorized pulley system able pull him up; his umbrella contains a converted nine millimeter with a twelve-shot clip contained in the handle, also with an attachable silencer. He also carries a small, black attaché case for his very important things -- papers, designs, etc. On the inside of each lapel, he carries a flat knife.
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