Dr. Dingle

Aliases

Dingle

Description

Dr. Dingle is a notorious criminal operative, always seen in a black armored face mask, hoodie, and combat gear. Working for an unnamed mercenary syndicate, his identity is shrouded in mystery. Ruthless and violent, he thrives in chaos, using brute force and fear to get the job done. With a reputation built on broken laws and bodies, Dr. Dingle doesn’t follow rules, he breaks them, leaving a trail of destruction wherever he's sent. Cold, calculated, and always aggressive, he's the kind of man who doesn’t ask questions, he just eliminates obstacles that get in his way.

6,0 quick and agile. Unknown of his face. Average build

Dr. Dingle's attitude is pure aggression, short-tempered, relentless, and always ready for a fight. He doesn’t back down or play fair; he charges headfirst into conflict, fueled by rage and a thirst for dominance. Violence isn’t a last resort it’s his first move.

Dr. Dingle was never meant to be a killer, but the world made him one. Born into a war-torn city where violence was daily life, he grew up in the ruins of what used to be civilization. His parents, both medical researchers, were executed when he was just ten—accused of aiding rebels against a corrupt regime. He watched it all from a hiding spot, their screams burned into his memory. That day, something inside him snapped. Left alone, he survived in the underworld, scavenging for food, fighting off thugs, and learning the brutal rules of the streets. At fifteen, he was recruited by a paramilitary group that trained orphaned children to become killers. They stripped him of identity, gave him the name “Dr. Dingle” as a cruel joke, mocking his parents' past and forged him into a weapon. The name stuck, and so did the pain. He became their most efficient operative, quick, silent, aggressive. But the trauma never left. Every mission became personal, every kill a way to silence the ghosts in his head. Over time, he lost the ability to feel anything except rage. He eventually left the group, but by then, he was already too far gone. The mercenary world welcomed him, nameless and brutal as he was. Now, hidden behind a black armored mask, Dr. Dingle is a ghost of his past, driven by the pain he can't outrun. He doesn't talk about what happened—he just lets his fists, bullets, and blades do the speaking.

Dr. Dingle He entered the world in a dilapidated hospital on the outskirts of a war-ravaged Eastern European nation. His parents, once well-respected biomedical researchers, had turned their backs on government contracts to work with underground humanitarian networks. They believed science should heal, not harm. That decision made them enemies of the state. When he was just ten, masked soldiers stormed their home at night. His parents hid him under the floorboards, and he watched through the cracks as they were dragged out, tortured, and executed. He never screamed. He never cried. He just listened. That was the moment his childhood died. After their deaths, fled into the ruins of the city. With no family, no food, and no law, he learned to survive among other lost children, fighting, stealing, and sleeping with one eye open. His mind hardened. He stopped speaking. The world didn’t care, so he stopped caring too. At age fifteen, he was picked up by a brutal paramilitary faction that trained orphans to become assassins and field medics. It was there that he earned the twisted nickname Dr. Dingle, a mocking name assigned to him by his sadistic handler who found humor in turning a boy with dead scientist parents into a killer medic. The name stuck, and so did the anger. They taught him to kill, patch wounds, hack systems, and vanish without a trace. He became their best, agile, brutal, emotionally detached. But the longer he stayed, the more the nightmares clawed at him. Eventually, after a bloody betrayal within the ranks, he went rogue, disappearing into the criminal underworld with nothing but his mask, combat gear, and the weight of his past. He drifted for years through conflict zones, black market operations, and mercenary contracts across Europe, Asia, and South America. Each job paid well, but none filled the void. He stopped counting how many people he killed. He stopped trying to sleep. Then came Los Santos. The city was loud, chaotic, dirty, perfect. A place where monsters like him blend in with the background noise of corruption and violence. Here, Dr. Dingle carved out a name for himself as a top-tier enforcer for hire. He took contracts from gangs, corrupt execs, and underground warlords. Need someone erased? Need a crew silenced? Need your hands clean? Call the masked man with the dead eyes. He lives in the industrial district now, in a fortified safehouse lined with stolen weapons and encrypted files. No one knows his real name, and no one wants to. He speaks only when needed, fights like a machine, and vanishes like a ghost.