[hider=Gabriel Ardelean/Phantom]
[b]Birth Name:[/b]Gabriel Ardelean
[b]Alter Ego:[/b] Phantom
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Age:[/b] 23
[b]Country of Origin:[/b] Romania
[b]Archetype:[/b] Metahuman
[b]Allegiance:[/b] Unaligned

[b]Appearance:[/b]
[img]http://www.discussionsnetwork.com/forumfiend/uploads/images/104541.jpg[/img]

Beneath the mask, Gabriel is a 6' tall male weighing 176 pounds, with dark brown hair and muddy colored eyes. Roguish and somewhat handsome, Gabriel knows he isn't the prettiest fish in the sea, though doesn't have any good guess about how others feel he measures on such a scale, and so downplays it accordingly. With a well defined jaw, long eyelashes, and brushed back hair, he does his best to look his best; whether that's enough is up to others. Athletic in build, he is happy to be a healthy individual, though his lack of activity outside is exemplified by his light, not so tan skin.

[b]Powers/Skills:[/b]
Gabriel is a self stylized hero, with all of his equipment and gear being items he has acquired through meager funds and persuasion. However, that isn't to say he lacks skill or abilities beyond the normal human. Capable of willingly phasing through objects of his choice, Gabriel has used his power to supplement an adept level of training with two kukri, allowing him to fight using the curved weapons while still phasing effectively during combat.

Of course, despite Gabriel's talents and gifts, he is only human, and an unexpected bullet or knife still drops him just like everyone else. Unknown to him, though, magic and him don't exactly get along; anything of an arcane nature seems... well, unphased by his abilities, and will hit him just as badly as if he hadn't tried to avoid it at all. 

[b]Equipment/Resources:[/b] 
•Two Kukri- Gabriel's preferred weapons, these two knives, if you can call them that, are models of the weapons traditionally used by Indian Gurkhas, measuring 24.5 inches from pommel to tip and crafted in a black metal, including the blades. Bought from a pawn shop where they were sold as "machetes," he's used them for his entire career as a vigilante, and they haven't failed him yet. The sheaths he has are typically strapped to both sides of his hips, on the utility belt he wears.
•Utility Belt- Nowhere near the level of the famed Batman's, Gabriel's utility belt is a black strap of material with a few pockets that he managed to find at an army surplus store. Nevertheless, it is a valuable piece of equipment, holding up his sheaths for the kukri he uses and giving him pockets for a few other tools.
•CD and Flashdrive of 80's hits- Never one to skip a chance to fight bad guys to a good song, Gabriel works hard to find some way to incorporate his jams into a fight, and so has these two pieces of "very important" equipment to give him options and possibilities.
•Ball Bearings- Filling one of his utility belt's pockets, these metal orbs are easily found at a hardware store, and serve a variety of purposes, from annoying projectiles to slippery terrain.


[b]Biography:[/b] Being born in Romania, people don't have much chance at being special. They're not American, or British, or Russian, or Chinese, so to the world, they aren't important. At least, that was what it seemed like to Gabriel, growing up in the small town he called home. But unlike so many in Romania, and so many people he knew, he had a way out; father was a man of importance, working in the big corporate buildings that represented Ford Romania. Ford was American; Ford was special. At age seven, Gabriel was already thinking ahead, wanting to be special, and when his father found opportunity outside the country, the young boy was all too excited when, after a week of thought, his parents decided yes.

The real adventures of Gabriel Ardelean began on the shores of England, as he stepped from the plane and into the sprawling city: London. Walking through the streets, he saw people who knew they were important, men and women in suits and ties on sidewalks and buses going here and there and... The young boy's imagination ran wild. Each person gave him a new story to make up as to why they were special. They were British; of course they were special. Soon, he would be British, and he would be special too.

English seemed to almost come natural. He loved it. New words meant new ideas, and when he wanted to be secretive, he could hide behind his old language. The other kids tried making fun of him. He didn't care, and they found a more reluctant victim, who squealed and cried and gave them more fun. Gabriel, however, blended in, assimilated, and became one of them. He was British, absorbing the culture and becoming one with society, until noone could tell he was Romanian. He loved it in England, where opportunity abounded, and the country's power could be felt in his bones. It wasn't America, but it was a step up, and it was home...

Then one day, it wasn't. Mother had lung cancer, stage four, terminal, and it took six months of anxiety, stress, false hope, and finally, reluctant resignation before it claimed her. Father had lost a spark of energy, and London was full of memories, sour yet sweet, nostalgic yet miserable. Gabriel was fourteen at the time, and had just began to try and find himself. His father came to him, and after a talk, they agreed: their time in London was done. Mr. Ardelean had sealed a promotion: Dearborn, Michigan, home of Ford. They were going to America.

American English wasn't like British English. Gabriel said normal things, and he'd get funny looks. He relearned, and reaclimated, but he needed a solace. Mother wasn't there anymore. Sports were a no. Video games were a no. Art was a no. English was a no. By the time he reached martial arts, he expected another no... but he loved it, and it loved him, allowing him to focus, to channel, to think beyond the past. It gave him opportunity, and he took it. But, while inside he was struggling, finding strength through physical exertion and his newfound love of music, outside, his facade began to form, for father. He appeared happy go lucky, quick witted, and relaxed. He smiled, he laughed, he joked, he played, until the facade began to seep in, and his sorrow faded away. 

Then he began to fade away, in a more literal fashion. Living in a two floor home, he'd woken up under the bed, on the fridge in the kitchen below, and in the basement. They had thought it was sleep walking, and had played it off on that. That is, until he'd been walking home, returning from a friend's house, and a driver who'd had three too many made a mistake. Gabriel should have died, then and there, and indeed, in a way he did. He became a phantom, as car and driver passed through him and into the yard beyond. Scared and confused, Gabriel ran, returning home putting it away as he tried to forget.

He couldn't. The memory burned, and hesitantly, he began to explore what he could do, always in secret or alone. He moved through walls, floors, passed his hand through fans, and stuck it through the fridge. He began to test it further, and took knives to his arm, only for them to pass through, stuck his fingers in graters, only for them to return unharmed. He was special, and not because he was American, but because he was Gabriel.

When high school ended, he started getting ideas, and decided to avoid mainstream colleges. What he wanted to do wouldn't work with a college schedule, and as he began to form ideas, he worked harder, practicing his fighting skills and teaching himself how to use some "machetes" from a pawn shop. He moved away, to Detroit, and a job as a mechanic got him an apartment with some income. Months passed, and on his twentieth birthday, Gabriel headed into the streets. There, Phantom was born, and he has prowler the city streets ever since.[/hider]