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| NAME(S): |
Lucas Emery Bray
| NICKNAME(S): |
Luke (he prefers Lucas)
| D.O.B.: |
05/05/1974
| AGE: |
41
| SEX: |
Male
| SEXUALITY: |
Asexual
| APPEARANCE: |
With brown hair, darker eyes, and tanned skin, Lucas is almost plain. He’s neither particularly handsome nor awkwardly disfigured, and he doesn’t get quite close enough to symmetrical to be nobody you need to notice. His nose, being slightly bulbous, is probably his most prominent feature. He has few scars, all faded and inconsequential. Scrapes on his knees, a little circle on the sole of his right foot, a bit of acne scarring… He has no piercings, and no tattoos, just a few wrinkles starting to show. His weight could be another recognisable feature, as he has a relatively heavy frame, and often seems shorter than his actual 5’9” height. In fact, he slouches a bit and has a tendency to take up far less space with his presence than seems physically possible. He often seems younger than his years, despite the greying beard and creases around his eyes, both in his overall appearance and his behaviour. His lack of any particular fashion sense probably doesn’t help; his wardrobe is an eclectic collection of dull solid colours and Hawaiian shirts and comfortable sweats and hoodies, jeans, and loose shorts. None in top condition.
His hair does lighten with a few highlights if he stays out in the sun long enough, not to mention greying a bit more every year. It grows straight without any curl, is generally dishevelled, and is only cut when it starts getting into his eyes. He’s got broad, mobile eyebrows and small close-set eyes under an overhanging brow. His chin is always covered by stubble of varying lengths. There’s a bit of red in that bristle, though it’s mostly a match for his hair, both the brown and the grey, and its length varies depending on how much it annoys him versus how much he’d really rather not put in the effort. His face rounded out as he grew up, as did the rest of him.
His natural expression is a relaxed frown and quiet air of inattention, contentment or concern, but it can shift just as easily into a bright smile, confused disbelief or an angry glare as most expressions. His hands are often fidgeting, usually with each other as that is the safest for him to touch, but sometimes they skitter over surfaces rather nervously before settling. Lucas has a loud, ragged voice, often as full of emotion as his expression. It is a low tenor, with a slight nasal quality if he raises it too far. He has a tendency to shift speeds as he talks, from pausing between every word to saying a few together all at once.
His hair does lighten with a few highlights if he stays out in the sun long enough, not to mention greying a bit more every year. It grows straight without any curl, is generally dishevelled, and is only cut when it starts getting into his eyes. He’s got broad, mobile eyebrows and small close-set eyes under an overhanging brow. His chin is always covered by stubble of varying lengths. There’s a bit of red in that bristle, though it’s mostly a match for his hair, both the brown and the grey, and its length varies depending on how much it annoys him versus how much he’d really rather not put in the effort. His face rounded out as he grew up, as did the rest of him.
His natural expression is a relaxed frown and quiet air of inattention, contentment or concern, but it can shift just as easily into a bright smile, confused disbelief or an angry glare as most expressions. His hands are often fidgeting, usually with each other as that is the safest for him to touch, but sometimes they skitter over surfaces rather nervously before settling. Lucas has a loud, ragged voice, often as full of emotion as his expression. It is a low tenor, with a slight nasal quality if he raises it too far. He has a tendency to shift speeds as he talks, from pausing between every word to saying a few together all at once.
| GENUS: |
Homo-Virium
| CLASSIFICATION: |
Minerva
| ABILITIES/SKILLS: |
Psychometry.
Lucas can perceive the history of an object through proximity to it. This history can be anything from where it’s been and who or what interacted with it to how it moved and what its purpose was.
He doesn’t have to be touching the object for it to transmit whatever information it has to him, and he doesn’t choose whether or not it does, but the transmissions will remain uncontrolled until he does touch the object. Once in contact with it, he has more control over what information he receives, but it’s mostly just a method of making things clearer and easier to understand and focus on. To, in essence, make one voice or image stronger than the others to drown them out (with the same noticeable level of difference as between a crowded room and a single, clear note). With a good deal of concentration, he can siphon through the object’s memories, back and forth through time and even pick which sensory input he receives. Mostly, an object broadcasts the strongest moments of connection with it; whether this is through repetition of certain activities, like a pencil writing or a ball being tossed about, or a moment of strong emotion from whoever has possession of the object at the time, depends on the object and the moment.
Leaving populated areas for wilderness and leaving absolutely everything behind is about the only way for him to completely turn off his power, thankfully, he doesn’t have to go too far for it to work. And he’s learned the trick of holding something with unfamiliar memories to momentarily drown out the others to help him focus if he needs to .
He doesn’t have to be touching the object for it to transmit whatever information it has to him, and he doesn’t choose whether or not it does, but the transmissions will remain uncontrolled until he does touch the object. Once in contact with it, he has more control over what information he receives, but it’s mostly just a method of making things clearer and easier to understand and focus on. To, in essence, make one voice or image stronger than the others to drown them out (with the same noticeable level of difference as between a crowded room and a single, clear note). With a good deal of concentration, he can siphon through the object’s memories, back and forth through time and even pick which sensory input he receives. Mostly, an object broadcasts the strongest moments of connection with it; whether this is through repetition of certain activities, like a pencil writing or a ball being tossed about, or a moment of strong emotion from whoever has possession of the object at the time, depends on the object and the moment.
Leaving populated areas for wilderness and leaving absolutely everything behind is about the only way for him to completely turn off his power, thankfully, he doesn’t have to go too far for it to work. And he’s learned the trick of holding something with unfamiliar memories to momentarily drown out the others to help him focus if he needs to .
- He has a range of about 10’ with nearby objects, the smaller they are the closer he has to be to them, usually. But memories can bleed together through walls or connected objects and sometimes buildings, particularly large ones that see lots of activity, broadcast memories from up to 50’ away.
- In Lucas’ case, object means any inanimate thing that has been shaped by humans. A glacial boulder will give him nothing, a menhir might offer a few vague memories of the past, but a stone wall will let him know the most. Most foods don’t count, but particularly processed foods(like cheezwhiz or margarine) or combined foods(like baked goods) will sometimes have vague memories starting from towards the end of the making process.
- He can’t get a read off electronics as to what they were doing, beyond being held or poked or dropped. He can hear phone conversations, or youtube videos, or radio stations, but unless he can pick out precisely where a finger touched on a keypad or follow how the mouse moved and when it was clicked, he’s not going to know what was done on the screen unless people talked about it. And yeah, no, trying that would give him the worst migraine ever, also, basically impossible unless the electronic device can be taken somewhere without other distractions or it’s only rarely used.
- While he can generally repeat what he hears satisfactorily, if it’s in a language he doesn’t know, he won’t know what’s being said. And not all actions are easily deciphered or recorded.
- Remembering anything unless it’s been repeated often enough or written down is not easy for him.
- His main trouble with this power is a lack of focus and a tendency for it to get overwhelming. It can be hard for him to keep touch with reality and any sudden influx of recorded memories often leaves him relatively unresponsive or unaware of his immediate surroundings for a while.
- When he’s tired or sick, his mind wanders far more easily and he has a much harder time telling the difference between memory and reality.
- Being able to communicate with others clearly is a constant struggle, as is being able to think in a coherent, sequential manner.
- Knows how to sail/paddle small craft, might be a bit rusty. Also some rudimentary woodcraft and foraging knowledge along with camping knowhow.
- He’s not into great feats of athleticism, but he can walk forever.
- He can speak English, French, and a little bit of Spanish, and has a surprisingly prodigious vocabulary, for all he doesn’t use it much.
- Pretty good with dogs and understanding their behaviour.
- He has a strong will and stubborn focus, which he usually needs for talking, but pushing it further lets him pick up tricks or facts reasonably fast enough to be useful and have more than half a brain, though he can’t always remember them later and eventually has to stop pushing through all the noise even that little bit that keeps him coherent.
| BACKSTORY: |
Lucas was born and raised in Toronto, Ontario. He was an only child of a single father, with a relatively happy and normal childhood. He developed psychometry when he was 15, had it misdiagnosed and the treatment simply made it worse. Recovered after some time, found a life for himself that he could manage, then Kowalski happened.
Lucas was born and raised in the Summerhill district of Old Toronto. He grew up the only child of Gregory Bray, who raised him as a single father after a succinct divorce. It was not a difficult life, at least for Lucas. For Greg, raising a kid became a lifelong harrowing experience, but he persevered. And lucked out in having a good job, an understanding boss and parents more than willing to give advice whenever he needed it. He’ll admit he’s needed it a lot over the years, but he never regretted choosing to ask for custody.
Lucas spent his days amusing himself and making his dad laugh (or despair for a moment or two) until school started, and then he became very serious for half a year, full of a pretentious I’m learning stuff, attitude that his kindergarten teacher reminded him of right along into middle school. She was a nice little lady he couldn’t begrudge the ribbing though, and as classes got harder, he liked stopping by her room during the lunch hour, just to chat, before heading out to play football or ultimate Frisbee with his friends. Winters were for sitting in class until you were allowed to go outside and have snowball fights. Summers were for swimming and sailing and eating ice cream at the cottage they shared with a friend of his dad’s.
It was a normal, nice life broken only by the few rough spots of occasional arguments and sports induced injuries and the odd bad grade. Not that he always had good marks, but, y’know, some were worse than usual. Then, a few months before his 15th birthday, Lucas caught a football and suddenly couldn’t stand straight. The dizzy sensation of spinning uncontrollably unnerved him completely, but his friends just laughed, thinking he’d tripped, and he didn’t know where it came from. He shrugged it off; maybe he’d just needed a drink more than he thought. But that wasn’t the end of it. Gradually, he started hearing and seeing things too, sometimes clearly and other times too faintly to make out. But he found himself answering questions he hadn’t been asked or feeling people nearby when there weren’t any. He kept it quiet for a time, but anyone who knew him couldn’t help noticing the changes. He was more nervous and stopped talking as much, afraid to hear the telltale “What? What are you talking about?”
His dad noticed, Lucas had never been good at keeping things hidden, distracted as he was by these new, unbidden, complications, it was even harder than usual for him to act like everything was just fine. But he thought maybe it would solve itself, one of those phases everyone is so apt to say teenagers suffer from. Gregory was still hoping it was an ordinary bout of teenage rebellion maybe, when Lucas’ grades slipped too low not to point out. They had a talk, and while Lucas wasn’t happy with the consequences, he didn’t bring up the real problem either, just a vague ‘having trouble focusing, think I need to get a new mattress or something…’ It didn’t work. He failed that year, and finally caved under his dad’s disappointment. It wasn’t his fault everyone preferred talking over paying attention to the teacher.
So, Greg went to the school, talking with Lucas’ teachers. They all said the same thing, their students weren’t generally unruly, there was the odd conversation they had to stop, but nothing to disrupt the class enough to explain Lucas’ poor grades. In fact, he was the one doing most of the distracting… The next talk Lucas and his dad had, he came clean, he didn’t know who was talking, sometimes he thought he recognised a voice, sometimes it had to be a teacher. But it wasn’t just at school, and then he never knew who it was. The rest emerged more hesitantly when Gregory took Lucas to see a psychiatrist. He didn’t want to go, and Greg wasn’t sure he wanted to admit he must have done something wrong raising the kid, but they went.
The eventual diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia and they prescribed a treatment to help with the symptoms as soon as it became obvious they were there to stay and other causes were ruled out. The effect was, unfortunately, mostly the opposite of what they’d expected. The drugs, meant to diminish or stop the hallucinations entirely, seemed to work for the first few doses, in the end, however, they left him more susceptible to the outside influence of past moments. And he lost contact with his own thoughts for a while, unable to fight the influx of sounds and scents and feelings. When he came back to himself, his dad was driving them to the cottage, getting him out of the city for a bit, he said, or had said, when he wasn’t listening. The psychiatrist had changed their diagnosis to disorganised schizophrenia when Lucas’ mental condition deteriorated so rapidly, which had a worse prognosis, and Greg had wanted to just get away from every other responsibility while he tried to accept it. Lucas’ recovery was not instantaneous, but he did benefit from that trip, and he and his dad started working together to figure out the problem. Being away from a well-populated area certainly helped, but it was Gregory’s opinion that his son couldn’t go forever living in the middle of nowhere.
They worked on figuring out how he could stay focused through what another psychologist thought was too much stimulus. His dad wasn’t so sure it was a known disorder by that time, but he had no one to tell his suspicions to, and he didn’t know if he wanted his son to be one of ‘those people’ either. Thankfully, before they could become too discouraged, someone suggested having Lucas apply for welfare or employment services, since he was no longer a minor at that point and couldn’t live off his dad forever. And he obviously wasn’t ready to live completely without help.
The caseworker who worked with them was a hyperhuman himself, and suggested that they visit the nearest H.E.L.P. office after just one meeting. Lucas, who by that time didn’t care anymore, went along because his dad wanted him to. He was unsurprised to learn that they couldn’t solve anything with a snap of their fingers either, but they did have some idea how to help him that didn’t involve drugs or camping. He spent three years at the Collegiate in BC and came back home at 25 without a job or even a high school diploma, but he could keep his head together for the most part.
Over the next few years, he earned his diploma, applied for and received support from Ontario Works and found a routine that kept him from staying cooped up inside his apartment. He made friends of his caseworker and tried to keep tabs on what H.E.L.P. was doing, occasionally they even hired him to browse an item's memories. He spent ten years volunteering as a dog-walker at the Humane Society and eventually picked up a part-time job as a house painter with a boss more than willing to meet him halfway. But things started going downhill again once hyperhumans were outed.
While it had no immediate, direct effect, the growing fear that took hold of the general populace ate at him. And when H.E.L.P. was disbanded, he felt it even worse. Caught up in the fear, not wanting to leave his apartment, he lost contact with anyone who could have pulled him out of the slow spiral. His caseworker had been fired and forced to leave home. His father had died five years previously. Old friends had other thoughts occupying their minds, and new friends didn’t know how to find him even if they wanted to. He started thinking he was a ghost, hearing too many conversations in which he couldn’t take part, no matter how loudly he shouted.
Needless to say, he didn’t follow through on continuing welfare or rent or his job and he lost everything within the year. He wound up wandering, homeless and confused, until his feet carried him out of the city and his head started to clear. Gradually, he managed to pick up the pieces of his life enough to appear mostly presentable and was picked up by a small group of hyperhumans when they stopped to offer him a ride during a big rainstorm. That’s when he learned how bad the situation had become, and he’s been moving ever since. Sometimes with, sometimes without company.
Lucas spent his days amusing himself and making his dad laugh (or despair for a moment or two) until school started, and then he became very serious for half a year, full of a pretentious I’m learning stuff, attitude that his kindergarten teacher reminded him of right along into middle school. She was a nice little lady he couldn’t begrudge the ribbing though, and as classes got harder, he liked stopping by her room during the lunch hour, just to chat, before heading out to play football or ultimate Frisbee with his friends. Winters were for sitting in class until you were allowed to go outside and have snowball fights. Summers were for swimming and sailing and eating ice cream at the cottage they shared with a friend of his dad’s.
It was a normal, nice life broken only by the few rough spots of occasional arguments and sports induced injuries and the odd bad grade. Not that he always had good marks, but, y’know, some were worse than usual. Then, a few months before his 15th birthday, Lucas caught a football and suddenly couldn’t stand straight. The dizzy sensation of spinning uncontrollably unnerved him completely, but his friends just laughed, thinking he’d tripped, and he didn’t know where it came from. He shrugged it off; maybe he’d just needed a drink more than he thought. But that wasn’t the end of it. Gradually, he started hearing and seeing things too, sometimes clearly and other times too faintly to make out. But he found himself answering questions he hadn’t been asked or feeling people nearby when there weren’t any. He kept it quiet for a time, but anyone who knew him couldn’t help noticing the changes. He was more nervous and stopped talking as much, afraid to hear the telltale “What? What are you talking about?”
His dad noticed, Lucas had never been good at keeping things hidden, distracted as he was by these new, unbidden, complications, it was even harder than usual for him to act like everything was just fine. But he thought maybe it would solve itself, one of those phases everyone is so apt to say teenagers suffer from. Gregory was still hoping it was an ordinary bout of teenage rebellion maybe, when Lucas’ grades slipped too low not to point out. They had a talk, and while Lucas wasn’t happy with the consequences, he didn’t bring up the real problem either, just a vague ‘having trouble focusing, think I need to get a new mattress or something…’ It didn’t work. He failed that year, and finally caved under his dad’s disappointment. It wasn’t his fault everyone preferred talking over paying attention to the teacher.
So, Greg went to the school, talking with Lucas’ teachers. They all said the same thing, their students weren’t generally unruly, there was the odd conversation they had to stop, but nothing to disrupt the class enough to explain Lucas’ poor grades. In fact, he was the one doing most of the distracting… The next talk Lucas and his dad had, he came clean, he didn’t know who was talking, sometimes he thought he recognised a voice, sometimes it had to be a teacher. But it wasn’t just at school, and then he never knew who it was. The rest emerged more hesitantly when Gregory took Lucas to see a psychiatrist. He didn’t want to go, and Greg wasn’t sure he wanted to admit he must have done something wrong raising the kid, but they went.
The eventual diagnosis was paranoid schizophrenia and they prescribed a treatment to help with the symptoms as soon as it became obvious they were there to stay and other causes were ruled out. The effect was, unfortunately, mostly the opposite of what they’d expected. The drugs, meant to diminish or stop the hallucinations entirely, seemed to work for the first few doses, in the end, however, they left him more susceptible to the outside influence of past moments. And he lost contact with his own thoughts for a while, unable to fight the influx of sounds and scents and feelings. When he came back to himself, his dad was driving them to the cottage, getting him out of the city for a bit, he said, or had said, when he wasn’t listening. The psychiatrist had changed their diagnosis to disorganised schizophrenia when Lucas’ mental condition deteriorated so rapidly, which had a worse prognosis, and Greg had wanted to just get away from every other responsibility while he tried to accept it. Lucas’ recovery was not instantaneous, but he did benefit from that trip, and he and his dad started working together to figure out the problem. Being away from a well-populated area certainly helped, but it was Gregory’s opinion that his son couldn’t go forever living in the middle of nowhere.
They worked on figuring out how he could stay focused through what another psychologist thought was too much stimulus. His dad wasn’t so sure it was a known disorder by that time, but he had no one to tell his suspicions to, and he didn’t know if he wanted his son to be one of ‘those people’ either. Thankfully, before they could become too discouraged, someone suggested having Lucas apply for welfare or employment services, since he was no longer a minor at that point and couldn’t live off his dad forever. And he obviously wasn’t ready to live completely without help.
The caseworker who worked with them was a hyperhuman himself, and suggested that they visit the nearest H.E.L.P. office after just one meeting. Lucas, who by that time didn’t care anymore, went along because his dad wanted him to. He was unsurprised to learn that they couldn’t solve anything with a snap of their fingers either, but they did have some idea how to help him that didn’t involve drugs or camping. He spent three years at the Collegiate in BC and came back home at 25 without a job or even a high school diploma, but he could keep his head together for the most part.
Over the next few years, he earned his diploma, applied for and received support from Ontario Works and found a routine that kept him from staying cooped up inside his apartment. He made friends of his caseworker and tried to keep tabs on what H.E.L.P. was doing, occasionally they even hired him to browse an item's memories. He spent ten years volunteering as a dog-walker at the Humane Society and eventually picked up a part-time job as a house painter with a boss more than willing to meet him halfway. But things started going downhill again once hyperhumans were outed.
While it had no immediate, direct effect, the growing fear that took hold of the general populace ate at him. And when H.E.L.P. was disbanded, he felt it even worse. Caught up in the fear, not wanting to leave his apartment, he lost contact with anyone who could have pulled him out of the slow spiral. His caseworker had been fired and forced to leave home. His father had died five years previously. Old friends had other thoughts occupying their minds, and new friends didn’t know how to find him even if they wanted to. He started thinking he was a ghost, hearing too many conversations in which he couldn’t take part, no matter how loudly he shouted.
Needless to say, he didn’t follow through on continuing welfare or rent or his job and he lost everything within the year. He wound up wandering, homeless and confused, until his feet carried him out of the city and his head started to clear. Gradually, he managed to pick up the pieces of his life enough to appear mostly presentable and was picked up by a small group of hyperhumans when they stopped to offer him a ride during a big rainstorm. That’s when he learned how bad the situation had become, and he’s been moving ever since. Sometimes with, sometimes without company.
| MOTIVATION/OBJECTIVE: |
Most of Lucas’ day to day objectives are oriented around surviving, and having company that recognises he exists. Relatively simple requests to make of the world. His motivation is mainly fear; of what might happen should Hype Haters get their hands on him, and of losing himself to memories again. His secondary motivation is simple loneliness. He wants company for company’s sake.
| REFERENCE POST(S): |
| NOTES: |
- There are too many secrets playing in his head that nobody cares about for him to understand the value of someone sharing or keeping his mouth shut.
- His smiles, until he shows his teeth, are almost always an apology of some sort.
- Collects mementos.
- Eye movement when trying to find words for himself = towards the ceiling/sky, from the environment = towards the ground. Sideways is utter uncertainty.
- His writing is legible but distracted. Looks like this.
- Lucas cannot drive, and probably never should.
- Favourite drink is lemonade. Incidentally, he also really likes lemons straight up.
- Thai pizza, so peanut sauce and chicken with peanuts and sprouts and green onions, please.
Applications for Power
- On familiar territory(within city limits), Lucas wouldn’t get lost even if he was blindfolded, spun around three times and taken on a ludicrously circular route somewhere else, he’d know where he was without looking. And if he was able to focus, he could potentially(highly depends on his mental capacity at the time and any distractions) find his way back on an unfamiliar route provided he can go the same way as he came.
- He can learn things about individuals by the dominant emotions in their clothes and sometimes pick up on a shift in their mental state if their clothes echo whatever they’re feeling. Also, by whatever they’ve been saying and how.
- He can recognise people by their voice, and sometimes their habits. And can occasionally follow individuals in less crowded areas.
- He can get a bit of a general picture about what happened in the area, provided it’s an urban area.
- He can put together patterns and routines, learning a keycode or a safe place to walk or finding hidden things or how some items he’s never seen before are used. He can learn how to play a song on a piano or shoot a bow by copying what each remembers. Although he admittedly probably wouldn’t manage either well without practise…
- He can generally tell when something weird that happened was done by a hyperhuman or if it was just a skilled human or fluke or something else. Not always, but there are usually pretty good indications for or against, even when it isn’t obvious to the naked eye.
Writing the Memories
1. Memories are all linked to each other; even when not writing out the connection, there should always be one.
2. Similar actions, voices, emotions, weather patterns will draw out their counterpart or opposite in the memories of things more often than not.
3. The more something has been done to or around an object, the stronger that memory grows and the greater its priority in being shared.
4. Or, if an object is given routine, a break from it will be its greatest memory when touched.
5. Reflective materials(mostly mirrors and windows, though other metals and glass objects also work) can let him see what they ‘saw’ while non-reflective material won’t. Almost all objects collect sound, though walls do it especially well, and cloth, clothing in particular, absorbs a lot of emotion.
Bigg Slamm The Biggest Fish in the Sea
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
Expect my sheet soon. :3
My sheet's done, I'm just working on the organisation... and killing all the typos. Hopefully I'll catch any silly mistakes once I've had a decent sleep.
Bigg Slamm The Biggest Fish in the Sea
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
| NAME(S): |
Anthony James Sweetwater
| ALIAS(ES): |
Tony, Jimmy, AJ, Sweet Tea, The Borg
| D.O.B.: |
June/5/1991
| AGE: |
24
| SEX: |
Male
| SEXUALITY: |
Bisexual with homosexual tendencies
| APPEARANCE: |
Height: 6ft 4in
Weight: 189
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Slate Grey
Other Attributes: Wyvern tattoo across his chest, each ear pierced once on lower lobes with diamond studs, and has a gnarly scar on his stomach that derives him of a belly button.
Clothes: Has a tendency to wear darker shades of colors. Some of his favorite colors to wear are; blacks, reds, greens, purples, and the ocasional brown. Polos, slacks, and loafers are his favorite styles, but tries to stay fashionable when needed. Never is without a pair of Beats by Dre on his head or around his neck. Has quite the large hat collection with a variety of styles.
Weight: 189
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Slate Grey
Other Attributes: Wyvern tattoo across his chest, each ear pierced once on lower lobes with diamond studs, and has a gnarly scar on his stomach that derives him of a belly button.
Clothes: Has a tendency to wear darker shades of colors. Some of his favorite colors to wear are; blacks, reds, greens, purples, and the ocasional brown. Polos, slacks, and loafers are his favorite styles, but tries to stay fashionable when needed. Never is without a pair of Beats by Dre on his head or around his neck. Has quite the large hat collection with a variety of styles.
| GENUS: |
Homo-Virium
| CLASSIFICATION: |
Vulcan
| ABILITIES/SKILLS: |
Abilities
Technology Manipulation: Through the production and manipulation of a mysterious mercury like substance Anthony has the ability to manipulate, understand, interface, and control technology. The substance penetrates and takes over the existing electrical components allowing him complete control. Through this he can choose to use the technology in a number of ways. He can deconstruct and reconstruct said object into another machine, or even combine two machines that one would never think can be able to be put together and make a whole new machine. Another use is he can interface with devices with computing components essentially hacking into its hardware and controlling its software with just a thought. Also through the right amalgamation of parts he can essentially "revive" outdated or outmoded technology.
Technology Manipulation: Through the production and manipulation of a mysterious mercury like substance Anthony has the ability to manipulate, understand, interface, and control technology. The substance penetrates and takes over the existing electrical components allowing him complete control. Through this he can choose to use the technology in a number of ways. He can deconstruct and reconstruct said object into another machine, or even combine two machines that one would never think can be able to be put together and make a whole new machine. Another use is he can interface with devices with computing components essentially hacking into its hardware and controlling its software with just a thought. Also through the right amalgamation of parts he can essentially "revive" outdated or outmoded technology.
Limitations: Anthony must be in constant contact with his constructs for the duration of their transformation or they will completely fall apart. Same goes for when he interfaces with computers. If he is interrupted before he has a chance to recall his ether, as he calls it, the computer will short out and be rendered useless. His constructs also need their own power source. For he has a very short battery life he can provide. So he must either assimilate a power source or through the help of an eletro-type Mars class Hype conduct the energy needed. This has limits too because the Mars class has to be careful with the power they provide. Too much, like giving a light bulb the energy to power a car, and Anthony can short out and possibly die. Also the larger and more complicated the construct the longer it takes to assemble. Although he can transmorph and combine machines his constructs are limited to the parts provided. For example (thank you @Tyler for the reference) Anthony can't turn a clock and a toaster into a firearm. At least not until he has the right parts.
Weaknesses: As stated above Anthony has a short battery life that he can provide his constructs. Should that deplete his powers are rendered inert for a short while as he reboots. Should it deplete to fast he will pass out completely and the reboot time is practically doubled. Although he can conduct electricity a strong EMP can also render his power inert adding on the effect of debilitating migraines which makes his conscious reboot time longer. His limit of touch makes him a sitting duck so unless he is in his mechsuit any ordinary bullet could shut him down permanently. Which leads into his next weakness. His humanity. He is prone to disease, poison, injury, and any other illness humans are. His kryptonite is lead in more ways than obvious. Anything to do with lead he cannot touch, or even be near in large enough amounts. It saps his powers, battery, and his life if exposed long enough.
Weaknesses: As stated above Anthony has a short battery life that he can provide his constructs. Should that deplete his powers are rendered inert for a short while as he reboots. Should it deplete to fast he will pass out completely and the reboot time is practically doubled. Although he can conduct electricity a strong EMP can also render his power inert adding on the effect of debilitating migraines which makes his conscious reboot time longer. His limit of touch makes him a sitting duck so unless he is in his mechsuit any ordinary bullet could shut him down permanently. Which leads into his next weakness. His humanity. He is prone to disease, poison, injury, and any other illness humans are. His kryptonite is lead in more ways than obvious. Anything to do with lead he cannot touch, or even be near in large enough amounts. It saps his powers, battery, and his life if exposed long enough.
Skills:
Can cook like a pro.
Even without his powers he is a top notch hacker.
A mechanical engineer at heart he can see the potential for constructs in everyday things.
Due to his stint in the boy scouts he has high wilderness survival skills.
Black belt in Judo and Jiu-jitsu.
Extremely fit and in shape, can run a mile in five minutes and can hardly be winded. (Hardly noteworthy due to existance of Mercury-Class hypes, but he is still proud of it.)
Can cook like a pro.
Even without his powers he is a top notch hacker.
A mechanical engineer at heart he can see the potential for constructs in everyday things.
Due to his stint in the boy scouts he has high wilderness survival skills.
Black belt in Judo and Jiu-jitsu.
Extremely fit and in shape, can run a mile in five minutes and can hardly be winded. (Hardly noteworthy due to existance of Mercury-Class hypes, but he is still proud of it.)
| BACKSTORY: |
Anthony was born to Antoinette and James Sweetwater in Indianapolis Children's Hospital on the fifth of June, 1991. It was raining hard. A freak storm of biblical porportions passed over the city as Anthony came into this world. It seemed with every contraction the storm got worse until finally Anthony's first cries echoed through the maternity ward. As he finally stopped crying and was laid in his mothers arms the sun peeked through the clouds and shone through the window greeting the newborn. With a delivery like that anyone would say the child was special. Oh if they only knew how right they were. Anthony was early for everything. Sitting up on his own, walking on his own. and even his own birth. He was two weeks premature. Developing fast left him with a difficult childhood. No one wanted to play with the five year old who looked liked he was eight or nine, but still acted like a normal five year old.
Lucky enough when he was ten years old he found his niche. His parents signed him up for boy scouts, and thats where he made his first real friend. The two of them were inseperable. They went after the same badges, fought over the same toy, and wore the same clothes. All was fine and dandy until the year Anthony turned fourteen. It was an unnaturally hot day in September and the air conditioner was broke. Anthony and his friend was hanging out after school waiting for their moms ,who worked together, to get off work. Anthony was especially beat by the heat and went to the fridge for a soda. Upon opening the door he wished out loud that they had air conditioning. His wish was granted by the fridge transforming into an air conditioning unit. Spilling the contents every where as it transformed Anthony freaked out calling attention to his firend. Who when seeing the after math asked what happened. Anthony answered that he thought he had just turned the fridge into an air conditioner.
The friend promptly called his bluff to which Anthony then wished out loud for a fridge. When it didn't happen Anthony was confused. That's how it worked before. He then leaned on the machine to look at it closer. He then learned he had to touch the machine. Seeing the air conditioner change back into a fridge Anthony's friend was shocked. Anthony promptly told him he told him so. For the next hour Anthony and friend tested what he could change. Thier moms came home to the fridge an air conditioner, all the tvs in the house morphed into one, and the kids playing with highly modified rc cars. This was not a good day for Anthony as much as he thought. He saw a cool new toy, but his parents saw a freak condition. Doctor after doctor couldn't tell what it was and Anthony's parents were starting to get scared. Not knowing what to do they thought of putting him in an institution. To which a representative of PRCU agreed. An educational institution of course. It was there Anthony spent the rest of his educational years.
While in PRCU he was taught how to control his power and how to defend himself. He made lots of friends there, and even some enemies. He couldn't believe even among outcasts you could be an outcast. When he came out about his sexuality when he was eighteen he was surprised to find out tolerance was still a rare commodity in those days. He had quickly become depressed and angry that so much hate could be in the hated. A professor noticed the changes in the usually upbeat and happy go lucky teen and counseled Anthony through it. Anthony was once again eternally grateful for the PRCU and it's staff. He went on to graduate early and with honors, although not even close to top of the class, but still top fifty. His celebration was short lived though when PRCU was exposed and shutdown. Anthony escaped back to the States and returned home to Indiana. There he found no respite either as his parents denied him after hearing what kind of monsters Hypes could become under the right people. They wanted nothing to do with him. After days of useless pleading Anthony left to make his own life.
Lucky enough when he was ten years old he found his niche. His parents signed him up for boy scouts, and thats where he made his first real friend. The two of them were inseperable. They went after the same badges, fought over the same toy, and wore the same clothes. All was fine and dandy until the year Anthony turned fourteen. It was an unnaturally hot day in September and the air conditioner was broke. Anthony and his friend was hanging out after school waiting for their moms ,who worked together, to get off work. Anthony was especially beat by the heat and went to the fridge for a soda. Upon opening the door he wished out loud that they had air conditioning. His wish was granted by the fridge transforming into an air conditioning unit. Spilling the contents every where as it transformed Anthony freaked out calling attention to his firend. Who when seeing the after math asked what happened. Anthony answered that he thought he had just turned the fridge into an air conditioner.
The friend promptly called his bluff to which Anthony then wished out loud for a fridge. When it didn't happen Anthony was confused. That's how it worked before. He then leaned on the machine to look at it closer. He then learned he had to touch the machine. Seeing the air conditioner change back into a fridge Anthony's friend was shocked. Anthony promptly told him he told him so. For the next hour Anthony and friend tested what he could change. Thier moms came home to the fridge an air conditioner, all the tvs in the house morphed into one, and the kids playing with highly modified rc cars. This was not a good day for Anthony as much as he thought. He saw a cool new toy, but his parents saw a freak condition. Doctor after doctor couldn't tell what it was and Anthony's parents were starting to get scared. Not knowing what to do they thought of putting him in an institution. To which a representative of PRCU agreed. An educational institution of course. It was there Anthony spent the rest of his educational years.
While in PRCU he was taught how to control his power and how to defend himself. He made lots of friends there, and even some enemies. He couldn't believe even among outcasts you could be an outcast. When he came out about his sexuality when he was eighteen he was surprised to find out tolerance was still a rare commodity in those days. He had quickly become depressed and angry that so much hate could be in the hated. A professor noticed the changes in the usually upbeat and happy go lucky teen and counseled Anthony through it. Anthony was once again eternally grateful for the PRCU and it's staff. He went on to graduate early and with honors, although not even close to top of the class, but still top fifty. His celebration was short lived though when PRCU was exposed and shutdown. Anthony escaped back to the States and returned home to Indiana. There he found no respite either as his parents denied him after hearing what kind of monsters Hypes could become under the right people. They wanted nothing to do with him. After days of useless pleading Anthony left to make his own life.
| MOTIVATION/OBJECTIVE: |
Ever since PRCU was shutdown Anthony has been searching the country for purpose and possibly some answers. Finding odd jobs here and there he would also help anyway he could. Homeless shelters, underground hype coalitions, and even volunteer firefighting, he helped. That's what he does, help. So if he can eventually help the PRCU re-establish and gain political footing he'd do whatever it took. Even if he had to become one of those infamous vigilantes. He could see the draw to it. Sometimes the police have their hands full and can't focus on more than what they got. Can't blame a hype for wanting to help. Just blame the bad hypes who abuse their powers. Anthony didn't wholly agree on the PRCU's stance on vigilantes, and how they dealt with the rogue hypes, but they helped him through two of his most difficult times in his life so it was his turn to help them. Recently he heard of a convoy in Louisiana not that long a drive away from his current home in Mobile Alabama. Heard they were looking for some kind of "sanctuary" for hypes. Well if they'd have him he'd be happy to help, and if along the way he can find clues on how to help PRCU return so be it. Strength in numbers right?
| REFERENCE POST(S): |
Renji Yamada - Serenity's Edge Monestary - Two Days Ago
Clash, clang, boom. The sounds of fighting reverberated through the garden. Two men battling it out in the center of a large makeshift arena. One man was young, tall, and defending blow for blow against an older shorter man. The movements were quick as lightning and flowed like water in a stream. It would seem like the elder had the upper hand, but one would be wrong. The young man soon retaliated with a flurry of wicked blows. The elder dropped to his knees and did something quite particular. He smiled. "Renji, my son, you make me proud. All those years of believing in you have finally paid off. As a father I am sad to see you go, but as your headmaster I couldn't be anymore excited." He said as he stood. Renji helped him up then pulled his father in for a hug. "I will miss you too father. I promise to write and send gifts of my travels." Said the young man.
"I will hold you to it. I also want you to show those city dwellers us country folk are not as weak as they think we are. Remind them that we were founded by one of their adored Huntsman, but most importantly you take care of yourself. I love you son." Admitted Renji's father. The young man chuckled relinquishing the embrace then said, "I will father. I love you too." The two of them then bow at each other then at the eastern horizon. A show of honor to each other and to the gods for a good fight. Before stepping off the arena they give each other one last hug. They walked together in meaningful silence to the entrance of the monestary where a Jeep was waiting for Renji. The pair stopped at the large wooden gateway. Bowing once again to each other they looked to each other with tears in their eyes. Renji nodded and his father smiled giving him a thumbs up.
With that Renji made his way to the Jeep and and likewise to the pretigious Beacon Academy.
_____
Renji Yamada - Beacon Courtyard - Monday Morning
Renji thankfully stepped off the airship happy to feel firm ground under his wooden sandles once again. He had never ridden one before and it just made his fear of heights much worse. After a long moment bent over gathering his center of gravity back he stood strait, adjusted the large ebony case on his back, straitened his straw sunhat, and made his way with the crowd into the courtyard proper. They all passed a fountain then split off into their own directions. Looking down at the scroll he had been given by the school representative at the airport his face scrunched up in confusion. He had never seen let alone used any piece of technology like this. Scratching at his temple he walked off blindly while examining the thing.
This was a mistake on his part. He soon bumped into another student who quickly began berating him and telling him to watch where he was going.
Renji was quickly bowing and and apologizing sincerely. This was mistake number two. Apartently the female was a city girl through and through and had no idea of outside customs. She then began tearing into him for being condecending and rude. That then was her mistake. "Ma'am I assure you I mean no offense. As for you I believe you should study up on culture this year. Not everyone is out to get you. As the great Atlam said, 'Those who hold themselves higher than others fear their own stature.'" He said in a calm yet commanding voice. The girl and her friends just stared at him like he had spoke in tongues and just walked away mumbling to themselves about how weird he was. Sighing deeply Renji noticed a nearby empty bench. Taking it he unloaded his case and laid it beside him. One to let bygones be bygones he returned his attention to the digital device in his hand.
Pushing the center button as he had been instructed to do by a fellow passenger he jumped a bit startled by it sliding open. The main screen popped up and offered many options. In Renji's mind it was a bit daunting at first, but there was better time to learn than the present. So with a deep breath he started pushing buttons. Screen after screen scrolled by delighting him more and more with each passing one. Soon though he got lost. Unable to return to the main screen he panicked. Pushing buttons at random hoping to find his way. That was his third mistake. Suddenly loud noises were coming from the phone. Some familiar, but most strange and very loud. He has happened to find the ringtone page. Then all of a sudden he dropped the device and gripped at his ears. The tone was a fog horn. A very sensitive frenquency for his damaged ears. "Oh gods please someone make it stop!"
Clash, clang, boom. The sounds of fighting reverberated through the garden. Two men battling it out in the center of a large makeshift arena. One man was young, tall, and defending blow for blow against an older shorter man. The movements were quick as lightning and flowed like water in a stream. It would seem like the elder had the upper hand, but one would be wrong. The young man soon retaliated with a flurry of wicked blows. The elder dropped to his knees and did something quite particular. He smiled. "Renji, my son, you make me proud. All those years of believing in you have finally paid off. As a father I am sad to see you go, but as your headmaster I couldn't be anymore excited." He said as he stood. Renji helped him up then pulled his father in for a hug. "I will miss you too father. I promise to write and send gifts of my travels." Said the young man.
"I will hold you to it. I also want you to show those city dwellers us country folk are not as weak as they think we are. Remind them that we were founded by one of their adored Huntsman, but most importantly you take care of yourself. I love you son." Admitted Renji's father. The young man chuckled relinquishing the embrace then said, "I will father. I love you too." The two of them then bow at each other then at the eastern horizon. A show of honor to each other and to the gods for a good fight. Before stepping off the arena they give each other one last hug. They walked together in meaningful silence to the entrance of the monestary where a Jeep was waiting for Renji. The pair stopped at the large wooden gateway. Bowing once again to each other they looked to each other with tears in their eyes. Renji nodded and his father smiled giving him a thumbs up.
With that Renji made his way to the Jeep and and likewise to the pretigious Beacon Academy.
_____
Renji Yamada - Beacon Courtyard - Monday Morning
Renji thankfully stepped off the airship happy to feel firm ground under his wooden sandles once again. He had never ridden one before and it just made his fear of heights much worse. After a long moment bent over gathering his center of gravity back he stood strait, adjusted the large ebony case on his back, straitened his straw sunhat, and made his way with the crowd into the courtyard proper. They all passed a fountain then split off into their own directions. Looking down at the scroll he had been given by the school representative at the airport his face scrunched up in confusion. He had never seen let alone used any piece of technology like this. Scratching at his temple he walked off blindly while examining the thing.
This was a mistake on his part. He soon bumped into another student who quickly began berating him and telling him to watch where he was going.
Renji was quickly bowing and and apologizing sincerely. This was mistake number two. Apartently the female was a city girl through and through and had no idea of outside customs. She then began tearing into him for being condecending and rude. That then was her mistake. "Ma'am I assure you I mean no offense. As for you I believe you should study up on culture this year. Not everyone is out to get you. As the great Atlam said, 'Those who hold themselves higher than others fear their own stature.'" He said in a calm yet commanding voice. The girl and her friends just stared at him like he had spoke in tongues and just walked away mumbling to themselves about how weird he was. Sighing deeply Renji noticed a nearby empty bench. Taking it he unloaded his case and laid it beside him. One to let bygones be bygones he returned his attention to the digital device in his hand.
Pushing the center button as he had been instructed to do by a fellow passenger he jumped a bit startled by it sliding open. The main screen popped up and offered many options. In Renji's mind it was a bit daunting at first, but there was better time to learn than the present. So with a deep breath he started pushing buttons. Screen after screen scrolled by delighting him more and more with each passing one. Soon though he got lost. Unable to return to the main screen he panicked. Pushing buttons at random hoping to find his way. That was his third mistake. Suddenly loud noises were coming from the phone. Some familiar, but most strange and very loud. He has happened to find the ringtone page. Then all of a sudden he dropped the device and gripped at his ears. The tone was a fog horn. A very sensitive frenquency for his damaged ears. "Oh gods please someone make it stop!"
Logan awoke with the sun that morning. Rolling out of bed he was greeted by his Golett, Oleg. "Good morning bud. You ready to make a new friend today?" Logan asked with a yawn as he stretched. "Golett." Affirmed the automaton pokemon with a nod. "Great. Me too. First let's get some food in us. Can't make friends on an empty stomach." Logan stated as he stood patting Oleg on the head. Getting dressed in his usual attire Logan made sure he had everything. Wallet, check. Backpack, check. Spare clothes, check. He felt like he was forgetting something. That's when Oleg elbowed Logan's thigh lifting up his pokebelt with Oleg's ball attached. "Oh, thanks bud. Sometimes I think I'd forget my own head if it wasn't screwed on." Chuckled logan taking the belt and latching it on around his waist. Oleg made an exaggerated head movement as if rolling his eyes. That is if he had any instead of glowing eye holes. Being a living construct had it's disadvantages. Now ready Logan and Oleg made their way out of the hotel room they had been staying in for the past few days. It had been a while since they last visited Lumiose, and they wanted to sight see before starting their journey.
After checking out the pair walked to the closest cafe and got a bite to eat. Blukberry crepes for Logan, and Kalosian Toast with Nanab Berries and chocolate for Oleg. They enjoyed breakfast then made their way towards Professor Sycamores lab. As they walked they could see others getting ready and heading that direction too. Kids young and old, and some evn with their friends and family making it a whole event. The sight sort of made Logan a touch homesick. He'd been gone a week and already missed his parents. Not letting it faze him much longer Logan shook it off and continued on his way with Oleg in tow. Speaking of Oleg. A small group of youngsters noticed him and started pointing as they oohed and aahed. One even going as far as shouting at his mom he wanted one. Logan just smiled and waved before moving on.
Finally they made it to the lab and noticed how crowded it was. "It's a bit crowded for you to be out bud. I'll let you back out when we are allowed in the sanctuary." Promised Logan taking Oleg's ball off his belt and returning him to it in a flash of red. Stepping into the foyer Logan then made his way to the meeting room. Finding a seat he sat and waited before listening to the assistant introduce herself and explain what was going on. After the speech Logan stepped up to the podium and pocketed some of the provided gear. A holocaster, a pokedex, and five pokeballs. Once inside the santuary Logan let Oleg back out. "Golett?" Cried the ghost type with an aggrevated tone as if asking what took so long. Oleg wanted to meet all the cute fluffy baby pokemon, dang it! "Sycamore's assistant had to explain what was going on. Relax, look." Logan returned by pointing a finger toward the inner part of the sanctuary. Oleg turned and stamped his feet excitedly.
Taking that as his cue Logan began to lead Oleg towards a more forested part of the building. He was feeling like he wanted something green. So a grass type was a best bet to be found in the thicker bush. Looking around Logan could see trainers scooping up pokemon left and right and grew ever more excited. Soon the reached the tree line began searching. Moving branches aside, interupting nests, and shaking out bushes. Their were some cute bug types and a snoozing hoothoot, but nothing stood out. That was until Oleg found something. Making excited grunts he got Logan's attention. "What is it bud? Found something you..." Was all he could get out before he saw the poor thing. A Chespin passed out covered in sweat with a Poison Sting dart lodged in it's shoulder. It must have gotten into it with one of the bug types. Logan scooped it up and carried it to the closest assistant availabe. He didn't have any gear on him he planned on getting that after getting his pokemon. To worried about the little guy Logan sat and waited to see if he would be ok.
After checking out the pair walked to the closest cafe and got a bite to eat. Blukberry crepes for Logan, and Kalosian Toast with Nanab Berries and chocolate for Oleg. They enjoyed breakfast then made their way towards Professor Sycamores lab. As they walked they could see others getting ready and heading that direction too. Kids young and old, and some evn with their friends and family making it a whole event. The sight sort of made Logan a touch homesick. He'd been gone a week and already missed his parents. Not letting it faze him much longer Logan shook it off and continued on his way with Oleg in tow. Speaking of Oleg. A small group of youngsters noticed him and started pointing as they oohed and aahed. One even going as far as shouting at his mom he wanted one. Logan just smiled and waved before moving on.
Finally they made it to the lab and noticed how crowded it was. "It's a bit crowded for you to be out bud. I'll let you back out when we are allowed in the sanctuary." Promised Logan taking Oleg's ball off his belt and returning him to it in a flash of red. Stepping into the foyer Logan then made his way to the meeting room. Finding a seat he sat and waited before listening to the assistant introduce herself and explain what was going on. After the speech Logan stepped up to the podium and pocketed some of the provided gear. A holocaster, a pokedex, and five pokeballs. Once inside the santuary Logan let Oleg back out. "Golett?" Cried the ghost type with an aggrevated tone as if asking what took so long. Oleg wanted to meet all the cute fluffy baby pokemon, dang it! "Sycamore's assistant had to explain what was going on. Relax, look." Logan returned by pointing a finger toward the inner part of the sanctuary. Oleg turned and stamped his feet excitedly.
Taking that as his cue Logan began to lead Oleg towards a more forested part of the building. He was feeling like he wanted something green. So a grass type was a best bet to be found in the thicker bush. Looking around Logan could see trainers scooping up pokemon left and right and grew ever more excited. Soon the reached the tree line began searching. Moving branches aside, interupting nests, and shaking out bushes. Their were some cute bug types and a snoozing hoothoot, but nothing stood out. That was until Oleg found something. Making excited grunts he got Logan's attention. "What is it bud? Found something you..." Was all he could get out before he saw the poor thing. A Chespin passed out covered in sweat with a Poison Sting dart lodged in it's shoulder. It must have gotten into it with one of the bug types. Logan scooped it up and carried it to the closest assistant availabe. He didn't have any gear on him he planned on getting that after getting his pokemon. To worried about the little guy Logan sat and waited to see if he would be ok.
Dust fills the air of a busy inner city cross section. To those who survived they remember the sound of an explosion. To those who stayed conscious they remember the sight of two figures. One male and one female. To any of their own kind the sight of two quarreling people knocking each other senseless with the power of a speeding train and surviving was a normal sunday morning. The two forms rival siblings who had long fought for control of the planet had finally decided to end it once and for all. The benelvelent one Marcus and the malevolent one Camille had just fell from their thrones to duke it out one last time. Marcus clad in gold and silver armor blocks and parries strikes from the bronze and iron clad Camille. Watching in fear and awe are the humans of earth who as of sixty seconds ago believed they were the pinnacle of the human condition.
"Come on Brother I know you can do more than that." Laughed the red eyed raven haired Camille as she was parried once again only to be countered hapharzardly into the side of a parked SUV causing immediate irrepairable damage folding it nearly in half under the weight of the godlike woman.
"I know I can too, but I care not to hurt you nor the citizens of this city dear Sister." Called back the fleeing form of Marcus sharing the same red eyes and raven hair of his sister. His words true and honest his plan was to merely distract his sister until they enter an uninhabited swath of land so to minimalize damage to the city and his sister until he could finish this nonsense.
"You and I both know that isn't going to happen Marcus." Growled an agrevated Camille as she recovered from the throw tearing her form from the wrecked SUV. Marcus my have gained their mothers agility, but Camille had inherited their father's strength. Picking up the pile of rubble that used to be a vehicle Camille tossed it as if a baseball towards her running brother.
Hearing the exurtion of his sister Marcus knew she had tossed the truck at him. Sighing he stopped and turned just in time to face the scrap heap barreling towards him. Smiling he mearly closed his eyes and stretched his hands out to the projectile. Just before impact he braced his stance as if to catch it. The used to be car stopped in it's tracks and fell to the side leaving Marcus without a scratch. "Come on Sister I know you can do more than that." Marcus taunted with a smirk.
Camille didn't take it smoothly as he face scrunched into a fierce scowl and turned the same color as her eyes. With great virousity she charged at he brother like a raging bull and threw a devasting haymaker sending the previous chuckling Marcus howling through the air towards a conveinence store. Huffing like said bull proud of her work she called out to her brother. "How's that for more dear Brother?!" He taunted back returning his shit eating smirk.
"Not bad Camille, but definately not your worse. I'm afraid I still have all my teeth." Marcus barked back standing from the rubble that use to be the store front. The customers scared and confused hid behind what they could from the impossibly okay man that just flew through the wall of their favorite grocery. Noticing this Marcus frowned and turned to the cowering people. "I'm sorry about this I promise to pay for repairs. It's a little sibling rivalry. Nothing a good...what do you call it? Knuckle sandwich? Yeah, that. Nothing a good knuckle sandwich can't fix." He said with an assuring smile. As assuring as he could as he heard his sister charging again. Turning he called back, "Sorry again, but I got to go."
Meeting his sister in the middle of another cross section he tackled her to the ground causing a small crater in the blacktop. Mounting himself over her he began dropping clublike fists down towards her face grunting syllables with each swing. "Why. Won't. You. Learn? Humans. Are not. Subserviant. To. Us?" He asked a long unanswered question.
Ever since the beginning of recorded human history Marcus and Camille's kind(often times called gods, angels, demons, aliens, and many other names) have watched over and protected the human race. Often regarded as miracles or acts of gods their people rarely interfered with human history. However their were those rare envious few who truly believed they were the gods the humans claimed them to be and so believed the humans were to serve them. Camille who had been first born to their father who had no brothers was raised as a son and to the distain of their mother taught this rediculous doctrine. Marcus however was protected and taught by his mother that they were the true servants. To protect the humans from chaos, catastrophy, and disaster.
These two planes of thought had been feuding for centuries among their people. The debate has finally culmanated to a head between Camille and Marcus both available for next in line for the head of Family. Camille being first born and Marcus being firstborn son were both qualified.
Blocking blow for blow Camille grunted and hissed between clenched teeth. "When will you learn they are lesser than us? They are weak, ignorant, and scared. As they should be. To serve higher beings like us." She said finding an opening in Marcus' offense and kicking him off of her.
Marcus righted himself mid air and stood readying himself for his sister's counter attack. "No that is exactly why we should protect them until they are ready to protect themselves. We were put here to serve not subject. They are a beautiful race and deserve to live in peace." He rebutted as his sister began her barrage of powerful strikes.
Camille laughed heartily. "Ha! Don't make me laugh. How can they live in peace if all they do is squabble among themselves over petty things?" She responding in a cutting tone as she swung pinpoint punches and kicks aiming to disable her brother.
Marcus scoffed in pity. "Are we no different? Are we truly the best example right now for an already on edge race? They are not ready to know about us, but now it is to late. Because you want to play priness and can't wait your turn." He said with an equally cutting tone aimed at his spoiled sister. He knew he'd regret it later, but he knew Camille got sloppy when she was upset. She also unfortunately got stronger.
To be Coninued...
"Come on Brother I know you can do more than that." Laughed the red eyed raven haired Camille as she was parried once again only to be countered hapharzardly into the side of a parked SUV causing immediate irrepairable damage folding it nearly in half under the weight of the godlike woman.
"I know I can too, but I care not to hurt you nor the citizens of this city dear Sister." Called back the fleeing form of Marcus sharing the same red eyes and raven hair of his sister. His words true and honest his plan was to merely distract his sister until they enter an uninhabited swath of land so to minimalize damage to the city and his sister until he could finish this nonsense.
"You and I both know that isn't going to happen Marcus." Growled an agrevated Camille as she recovered from the throw tearing her form from the wrecked SUV. Marcus my have gained their mothers agility, but Camille had inherited their father's strength. Picking up the pile of rubble that used to be a vehicle Camille tossed it as if a baseball towards her running brother.
Hearing the exurtion of his sister Marcus knew she had tossed the truck at him. Sighing he stopped and turned just in time to face the scrap heap barreling towards him. Smiling he mearly closed his eyes and stretched his hands out to the projectile. Just before impact he braced his stance as if to catch it. The used to be car stopped in it's tracks and fell to the side leaving Marcus without a scratch. "Come on Sister I know you can do more than that." Marcus taunted with a smirk.
Camille didn't take it smoothly as he face scrunched into a fierce scowl and turned the same color as her eyes. With great virousity she charged at he brother like a raging bull and threw a devasting haymaker sending the previous chuckling Marcus howling through the air towards a conveinence store. Huffing like said bull proud of her work she called out to her brother. "How's that for more dear Brother?!" He taunted back returning his shit eating smirk.
"Not bad Camille, but definately not your worse. I'm afraid I still have all my teeth." Marcus barked back standing from the rubble that use to be the store front. The customers scared and confused hid behind what they could from the impossibly okay man that just flew through the wall of their favorite grocery. Noticing this Marcus frowned and turned to the cowering people. "I'm sorry about this I promise to pay for repairs. It's a little sibling rivalry. Nothing a good...what do you call it? Knuckle sandwich? Yeah, that. Nothing a good knuckle sandwich can't fix." He said with an assuring smile. As assuring as he could as he heard his sister charging again. Turning he called back, "Sorry again, but I got to go."
Meeting his sister in the middle of another cross section he tackled her to the ground causing a small crater in the blacktop. Mounting himself over her he began dropping clublike fists down towards her face grunting syllables with each swing. "Why. Won't. You. Learn? Humans. Are not. Subserviant. To. Us?" He asked a long unanswered question.
Ever since the beginning of recorded human history Marcus and Camille's kind(often times called gods, angels, demons, aliens, and many other names) have watched over and protected the human race. Often regarded as miracles or acts of gods their people rarely interfered with human history. However their were those rare envious few who truly believed they were the gods the humans claimed them to be and so believed the humans were to serve them. Camille who had been first born to their father who had no brothers was raised as a son and to the distain of their mother taught this rediculous doctrine. Marcus however was protected and taught by his mother that they were the true servants. To protect the humans from chaos, catastrophy, and disaster.
These two planes of thought had been feuding for centuries among their people. The debate has finally culmanated to a head between Camille and Marcus both available for next in line for the head of Family. Camille being first born and Marcus being firstborn son were both qualified.
Blocking blow for blow Camille grunted and hissed between clenched teeth. "When will you learn they are lesser than us? They are weak, ignorant, and scared. As they should be. To serve higher beings like us." She said finding an opening in Marcus' offense and kicking him off of her.
Marcus righted himself mid air and stood readying himself for his sister's counter attack. "No that is exactly why we should protect them until they are ready to protect themselves. We were put here to serve not subject. They are a beautiful race and deserve to live in peace." He rebutted as his sister began her barrage of powerful strikes.
Camille laughed heartily. "Ha! Don't make me laugh. How can they live in peace if all they do is squabble among themselves over petty things?" She responding in a cutting tone as she swung pinpoint punches and kicks aiming to disable her brother.
Marcus scoffed in pity. "Are we no different? Are we truly the best example right now for an already on edge race? They are not ready to know about us, but now it is to late. Because you want to play priness and can't wait your turn." He said with an equally cutting tone aimed at his spoiled sister. He knew he'd regret it later, but he knew Camille got sloppy when she was upset. She also unfortunately got stronger.
To be Coninued...
| NOTES: |
*Don't know how to link posts so I hope hiders are ok.
*Meatlovers
*Can't sing worth a damn due to being tone deaf. (Childhood Accident)
*Meatlovers
*Can't sing worth a damn due to being tone deaf. (Childhood Accident)
GreenGrenade
Member
Seen
4 days ago
It's pretty much done, but there's probably a lot of editing to be done in terms of grammar and stuff. I wanted to get it up now, though, because I most likely won't be on for the rest of the night.
| NAME: |
| NICKNAMES: |
| D.O.B.: |
| AGE: |
| SEX: |
| SEXUALITY: |
| APPEARANCE: |
| GENUS: |
| CLASSIFICATION: |
| ABILITIES/SKILLS: |
ABILITIES
SKILLS
| BACKSTORY: |
| MOTIVATION/OBJECTIVE: |
| REFERENCE POSTS: |
| NOTES: |
| NAME: |
Gareth Corrigan
| NICKNAMES: |
“Gar”
The Mindjacker
Mindjack
The Mindjacker
Mindjack
| D.O.B.: |
01/05/1984
| AGE: |
32
| SEX: |
Male
| SEXUALITY: |
Heterosexual
| APPEARANCE: |
Standing at 6ft, Gareth is of a large, muscular build. His hair is short, of a dark brown colour; when grown long, it takes on a sandy brown hue. His face is handsome, with a square jaw and lightly defined cheekbones. Stubble makes up a simple sort of beard, adding to, not subtracting from, his looks. Most notable of all, however, isn’t his jaw, or his cheekbones, or his dark and sometimes sandy brown hair – they’re his eyes. An icy, almost grey colour, they add to the illusion of an eerily calm, emotionless man, unsettling nearly all who don’t know him.
His wardrobe consists mainly of casual clothing; t-shirts, sweatpants, jeans and the occasional hoodie or sweater. His Mindjack attire is another matter, with black army pants, combat boots, a black Kevlar undershirt and jacket, and a ski mask to conceal his face.
His wardrobe consists mainly of casual clothing; t-shirts, sweatpants, jeans and the occasional hoodie or sweater. His Mindjack attire is another matter, with black army pants, combat boots, a black Kevlar undershirt and jacket, and a ski mask to conceal his face.
| GENUS: |
Hyperhuman
| CLASSIFICATION: |
Minerva
| ABILITIES/SKILLS: |
ABILITIES
Mindjacking | A form of mind control, you shouldn't be fooled – this is not mind control in the traditional sense. Gareth isn’t a mind controller so much as a mind invader, meaning that he can transfer his consciousness into another person’s mind, effectively pushing theirs to the background – mindjacking. While in somebody else’s mind, Gar can see everything – their thoughts, their memories, their secrets – and control them as the dominant consciousness. He sees everything through their eyes, and every movement is translated through their body, as Gar’s remains immobile, mindless. After exiting a host, they black out as their mind “resets”.
Limitations | Gar can only enter the minds of those that are within a 33ft radius (10 metres). Anyone who’s beyond that point is too far away, “inaccessible” to Gareth’s mind. When inside a host, Gar can only remain there for a limited amount of time, the longest he’s ever done being three minutes. Any longer runs the risk of “fading him out”, as the host body’s consciousness fights to regain control. Staying in a host for prolonged periods of time also takes a toll on Gar’s body; for reasons he cannot determine, the longer he’s in a host, the more strain is put on it, the side effects upon returning ranging from headaches, nosebleeds and blacking out entirely. In addition, controlling other hyperhumans is significantly harder than controlling regular humans, and drains Gar much more than usual. It’s probably needless to say that when in a host, Gareth’s physical ability is limited to that of the host’s; as such it would be much harder for him to run as a 250lbs couch potato as opposed to a fit Olympic athlete.
Weaknesses | Other Minerva-class Hyperhumans seem to negate Gar’s ability entirely; he couldn’t take control of them no matter how hard he tried. Also, a correctly-powered individual (e.g. a telepath) could, depending on skill level, “intercept” Gareth’s consciousness as he makes the jump from his body to another, or vice versa, effectively killing him as his mind and body deteriorate in a limbo. One cannot survive without the other.
Weaknesses | Other Minerva-class Hyperhumans seem to negate Gar’s ability entirely; he couldn’t take control of them no matter how hard he tried. Also, a correctly-powered individual (e.g. a telepath) could, depending on skill level, “intercept” Gareth’s consciousness as he makes the jump from his body to another, or vice versa, effectively killing him as his mind and body deteriorate in a limbo. One cannot survive without the other.
SKILLS
Martial Arts | Gareth is rather proficient fighter, a necessary skill for his line of work. Knowledgeable in Taekwondo, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Krav Maga and boxing, Gar is quite capable of holding his own in a fight.
Firearms | A former cop, Gareth has come to be skilled with firearms, primarily handguns. In his three year stint as Mindjack, he’s come to favour them, but also widened his range to carbines, shotguns and even sniper rifles when taking on, and controlling, Bill Zerilli’s men.
Deduction | Previously a detective in the Detroit Police Department, detective work comes easy for Gar. Where others see a mess of unrelated objects, he sees evidence; a useful skill when taking on the Zerilli Syndicate.
Interrogation | A skilled interrogator, Gareth knows just how to extract information from suspects – without torture. Using skills learned during his time as a police detective, his interrogative techniques have come in more than handy during his time as Mindjack.
Firearms | A former cop, Gareth has come to be skilled with firearms, primarily handguns. In his three year stint as Mindjack, he’s come to favour them, but also widened his range to carbines, shotguns and even sniper rifles when taking on, and controlling, Bill Zerilli’s men.
Deduction | Previously a detective in the Detroit Police Department, detective work comes easy for Gar. Where others see a mess of unrelated objects, he sees evidence; a useful skill when taking on the Zerilli Syndicate.
Interrogation | A skilled interrogator, Gareth knows just how to extract information from suspects – without torture. Using skills learned during his time as a police detective, his interrogative techniques have come in more than handy during his time as Mindjack.
| BACKSTORY: |
Gareth Corrigan was born a child of Detroit. Growing up in the upper-middle class, he was fortunate enough to be removed from the rampant crime that plagued the city, his father never wanting him or his brother, Daniel, to go near the kind of people that turned their mother into a junkie.
From an early age Gareth’s father enrolled both him and Danny in self defence classes. Gar learned boxing, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Krav Maga and Taekwondo all alongside his brother, albeit more intensively than Danny, who only did it to earn the approval of their dad. Gareth, enjoying the challenges they provided, continued to practice them all through his school years, carrying his skills over into adulthood.
At school, he didn’t have many friends. Many students saw his calm, quiet, almost reserved demeanour as disquieting, and many avoided him. When he moved into high school, he was no longer the “quiet weirdo”, but the “hot brooding guy”, a term he never quite understood why it was applied to him. As such he avoided, and on some occasions outright denied the advances of some girls, believing them to be attracted to who they wanted him to be, and not who he really was.
His power began to manifest at around that time. After a fearful incident involving another student, Gar began training himself to control his newfound ability, testing its limits on unsuspecting passers-by. He didn’t do this without remorse, however, often leaving his blacked-out test subjects with a five dollar tip and a note saying “Sorry”. Thus began the urban legend of the Mindjacker, going on to reach Bogeyman status among the people of Detroit.
After high school, Gareth quickly began his college education, intent on applying for work at the Detroit Police Department. It was there that he met the first person to truly understand him – the love of his life, Leah Lovell. It didn’t take long for them to move in together, and by the time Gareth was officially inducted into the DPD, they were living happily as newlyweds.
Four years into his career as a police officer, Gar became eligible for detective work. At age twenty-five, he was officially made a part of the DPD’s detective squad. Over the next three years, it became abundantly clear that he was one of the department’s best, earning the enmity of his fellow detectives.
He had many horrifying cases during his career, but none ever came close to those he encountered involving the Zerilli Syndicate. The ruling criminal organisation in Detroit, the Syndicate was ruthless. The bodies of those who dared disrespect them were found every other week, be it a business owner who failed to pay protection money on time, or a cop that refused to be on their payroll. Despite Gar’s burning desire to go after them, his superiors adamantly refused to let him; he would not build a case against the Syndicate, and better yet, he’d let them put him on their payroll, in order to protect both himself and his family. Gar’s frustration at the Syndicate saw him considering going outside the law to fight them with his powers, but after discussing it with Danny and Leah, he decided against it. It was sorrow and loss that drove him to vigilantism.
Leah died in a car crash at the age of twenty-eight. Driving on the freeway, she noticed too late that a truck on the opposing lane had veered into her own, crashing into her car at ninety miles per hour. She died on impact.
Gareth wasn’t a grieving kind of guy. Yes, the loss knocked air out of his lungs, and yes, he felt like a piece of himself was now gone, but Leah’s death never crippled him – no matter how much he wanted it to. He attended the funeral out of love and respect for his wife, enduring her mother’s accusations, as she had never liked Gar to begin with, and when she was put in the ground he paid his respects and left the graveyard and Leah’s family, left his job and sold his home, seeking any change that might distract him.
He found that change in vigilantism. Feeling as if he had nothing left to lose, Gar began attacking the Zerilli Syndicate in a chaotic, disorganised fashion, achieving nothing but the enmity of the Syndicate’s boss, William “Bloody Bill” Zerilli. Confusion within the criminal empire as to how one man could turn so many loyal people against Zerilli allowed Gareth time to stop and formulate a game plan against the Syndicate, all while Bloody Bill refused to believe the rumours that the Mindjacker, the notorious local urban legend, was after him. Gar, now attacking Zerilli where it hurt, was quick to let the crime lord know that it was indeed the Mindjacker, going by the alias, Mindjack.
For three years Gareth tangled with the Zerilli Syndicate, elevating the Mindjacker from urban legend to hero – at least in the eyes of the public. Gaining the attention of the DPD was not a good thing, and soon all twelve precincts were on lookout for Mindjack. His willingness to use lethal force (if necessary) also garnered the attention of the Hyperhuman Intervention Taskforce, and Danny became desperate to convince Gareth to cease his vigilantism, fearing the possibility that his brother would be forced to become a fugitive. Gareth, unwilling to stop, assured Danny that that would not be the case – and one year following H.E.L.P.’s shutdown, he remained true to his word. But fate has a dark sense of humour, and the punchline came as the Hyperhuman Registration Act.
Though still in preliminary stages, the HRA was targeting those who’ve used their powers to commit crimes, and Gareth, having killed members of the Syndicate that would have otherwise killed him, was Detroit’s public enemy number one. Having heard of the hyperhuman convoys that were converging throughout the States, he left the Motor City, making his way to Pointe Bordeaux, Louisiana.
From an early age Gareth’s father enrolled both him and Danny in self defence classes. Gar learned boxing, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Krav Maga and Taekwondo all alongside his brother, albeit more intensively than Danny, who only did it to earn the approval of their dad. Gareth, enjoying the challenges they provided, continued to practice them all through his school years, carrying his skills over into adulthood.
At school, he didn’t have many friends. Many students saw his calm, quiet, almost reserved demeanour as disquieting, and many avoided him. When he moved into high school, he was no longer the “quiet weirdo”, but the “hot brooding guy”, a term he never quite understood why it was applied to him. As such he avoided, and on some occasions outright denied the advances of some girls, believing them to be attracted to who they wanted him to be, and not who he really was.
His power began to manifest at around that time. After a fearful incident involving another student, Gar began training himself to control his newfound ability, testing its limits on unsuspecting passers-by. He didn’t do this without remorse, however, often leaving his blacked-out test subjects with a five dollar tip and a note saying “Sorry”. Thus began the urban legend of the Mindjacker, going on to reach Bogeyman status among the people of Detroit.
After high school, Gareth quickly began his college education, intent on applying for work at the Detroit Police Department. It was there that he met the first person to truly understand him – the love of his life, Leah Lovell. It didn’t take long for them to move in together, and by the time Gareth was officially inducted into the DPD, they were living happily as newlyweds.
Four years into his career as a police officer, Gar became eligible for detective work. At age twenty-five, he was officially made a part of the DPD’s detective squad. Over the next three years, it became abundantly clear that he was one of the department’s best, earning the enmity of his fellow detectives.
He had many horrifying cases during his career, but none ever came close to those he encountered involving the Zerilli Syndicate. The ruling criminal organisation in Detroit, the Syndicate was ruthless. The bodies of those who dared disrespect them were found every other week, be it a business owner who failed to pay protection money on time, or a cop that refused to be on their payroll. Despite Gar’s burning desire to go after them, his superiors adamantly refused to let him; he would not build a case against the Syndicate, and better yet, he’d let them put him on their payroll, in order to protect both himself and his family. Gar’s frustration at the Syndicate saw him considering going outside the law to fight them with his powers, but after discussing it with Danny and Leah, he decided against it. It was sorrow and loss that drove him to vigilantism.
Leah died in a car crash at the age of twenty-eight. Driving on the freeway, she noticed too late that a truck on the opposing lane had veered into her own, crashing into her car at ninety miles per hour. She died on impact.
Gareth wasn’t a grieving kind of guy. Yes, the loss knocked air out of his lungs, and yes, he felt like a piece of himself was now gone, but Leah’s death never crippled him – no matter how much he wanted it to. He attended the funeral out of love and respect for his wife, enduring her mother’s accusations, as she had never liked Gar to begin with, and when she was put in the ground he paid his respects and left the graveyard and Leah’s family, left his job and sold his home, seeking any change that might distract him.
He found that change in vigilantism. Feeling as if he had nothing left to lose, Gar began attacking the Zerilli Syndicate in a chaotic, disorganised fashion, achieving nothing but the enmity of the Syndicate’s boss, William “Bloody Bill” Zerilli. Confusion within the criminal empire as to how one man could turn so many loyal people against Zerilli allowed Gareth time to stop and formulate a game plan against the Syndicate, all while Bloody Bill refused to believe the rumours that the Mindjacker, the notorious local urban legend, was after him. Gar, now attacking Zerilli where it hurt, was quick to let the crime lord know that it was indeed the Mindjacker, going by the alias, Mindjack.
For three years Gareth tangled with the Zerilli Syndicate, elevating the Mindjacker from urban legend to hero – at least in the eyes of the public. Gaining the attention of the DPD was not a good thing, and soon all twelve precincts were on lookout for Mindjack. His willingness to use lethal force (if necessary) also garnered the attention of the Hyperhuman Intervention Taskforce, and Danny became desperate to convince Gareth to cease his vigilantism, fearing the possibility that his brother would be forced to become a fugitive. Gareth, unwilling to stop, assured Danny that that would not be the case – and one year following H.E.L.P.’s shutdown, he remained true to his word. But fate has a dark sense of humour, and the punchline came as the Hyperhuman Registration Act.
Though still in preliminary stages, the HRA was targeting those who’ve used their powers to commit crimes, and Gareth, having killed members of the Syndicate that would have otherwise killed him, was Detroit’s public enemy number one. Having heard of the hyperhuman convoys that were converging throughout the States, he left the Motor City, making his way to Pointe Bordeaux, Louisiana.
| MOTIVATION/OBJECTIVE: |
First and foremost, Gareth is motivated by his late wife, Leah. As a police detective, she was the one that gave him drive to keep going despite the endlessly rampant corruption in the force. It was the sorrow of losing her that drove him to leave the DPD and take on the Zerilli Syndicate as Mindjack. And now, as he’s on the run from the government, it isn’t his brother that motivates him, and it most certainly isn’t himself; he couldn’t care less if he was caught or not – Leah’s dead. He doesn’t have a life worth living either way. No, what motivates him is the knowledge that Leah, whether six feet under or alive and healthy, wouldn’t want him to register. What motivates him is the knowledge that she wouldn’t want him to get caught.
| REFERENCE POSTS: |
#1: Green Arrow: Hawke, part one.
#2: Green Arrow: Hawke, part two.
#3: Green Arrow: Hawke, part three.
#4: The Flash... cooks some breakfast?
#2: Green Arrow: Hawke, part two.
#3: Green Arrow: Hawke, part three.
#4: The Flash... cooks some breakfast?
| NOTES: |
- People often see Gareth’s demeanour as intimidating; he’s too calm, too reserved for them to be around. It’s just the way it is.
- It takes a hell of a lot to get him angry, so much so that only his former workmates at the DPD have witnessed his fury.
- Always carries a handgun with him, be it on his person or in the duffle bag where he keeps his belongings.
- A picture of Leah always remains within his reach.
- He isn't interested in any romantic relationships. If asked whether he's looking for a relationship, he'll answer much in the same way as Robin Williams' character in Good Will Hunting: "My wife's dead."
- Meatlovers. I mean, come on. But if we’re talking about real pizza, than I’d probably have to go with margherita.
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
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Online
Alright, all CS's submitted thus far have been linked under the Pending Applications.
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Hillan I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.
Member
Seen
26 min ago
“I never did try to find a fight. The fight always found me.”
| NAME(S): |
Marcus Nate Weston
| ALIAS(ES): |
Mark, West.
Quantum
Quantum
| D.O.B.: |
19 / 1 / 1990
| AGE: |
26
| SEX: |
Male.
| SEXUALITY: |
Heterosexual
| APPEARANCE: |
Marcus stands at 189 CM, and weighs 70 kilograms. His build is muscular, showing off his years of rigorous training. His hair is short and brown, he has a rugged look about him, the fact that he is in rough shape is no secret as anyone can see his bloodshot eyes, his stubble and the bags under his eyes. Marcus dresses in second hand clothing, ripped stonewashed jeans, boots or sneakers. Wearing long-sleeved shirts over a T-shirt and under his jackets. He's not against donning baseball caps or trucker hats, but he dislikes wearing beanies and the like.
His skin is fair, but tanned from hours in the sun. His eyes are sunken in from sleepless nights and countless bottles of booze, making the hazel color look dim.
His skin is fair, but tanned from hours in the sun. His eyes are sunken in from sleepless nights and countless bottles of booze, making the hazel color look dim.
| GENUS: |
HyperHuman.
| CLASSIFICATION: |
Mars
| ABILITIES/SKILLS: |
GYROKINESIS
Marcus is able to generate, manipulate and alter gravitational energy, effectively having control over gravity. Green energy manifests from his eyes and his hands when using his power, sending out aurora colored rays from his body when he uses his abilities. The uses of his powers are many, but he uses them in few different ways.
GRAVITY MANIPULATION
His abilities allows him to change the affects of gravity in one area, or around one person, allowing him to get a advantage in a fight, as most are not ready to at a split second start fighting at the same gravity as the moon.
SINGULARITY CREATION
Marcus creates a gravitational pull, a singularity that draws things towards it. This has been used to generate a shield against gunfire, but even been used to turn a entire building into rubble in a few moments. The material that gets sucked into the 'sphere' of gravity can be reversed, spitting it all back out with varying degrees of force.
POLAR SHIFTING:
Mark is able to completely shift the polarity of the gravity applying to it, for instance forcing his opponents to fall to the roof and get pinned against it. This power is only used in small areas, like a room or a hallway. As doing it in bigger areas would not only cause absolute chaos but lead to deadly consequences for Mark himself.
MISC.USES
Marcus is able to remove, or lessen the effects of gravity upon himself, allowing him to perform impossible feats, such as walking on ceilings and walls.
He is able to constantly affect the gravity of something, or someone, allowing himself flight, however, his power is not one of precision, and there for he prefers to use a proxy when he desires to fly. Creating a disc shaped platform for him to stand on is his preferred method.
While it is a novelty ability, Marcus is certain he's capable of bending bullets, allowing him to shoot around objects.
SKILLS
Marcus is for all intents and purposes a law enforcement agent as he's spent almost a decade being trained into a agent of H.I.T. He's been trained in many ways, survival, hand to hand combat, marksmanship, detective work, interrogation and Hyperhuman combat all being among the things he's well versed in. Besides that, he's a excellent driver, preferring modern muscle cars over all else. He's a passable mechanic and surprisingly very good at playing the violin.
LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES
One could argue that his biggest weakness is his humanity. He has the powers of a force of nature, but if he doesn't catch the bullet as it comes for him – he's as dead as any other Joe. His personal issues conflicts with the use of his powers, they're bound to his concentraion. Marcus suffers from severe PTSD due to his time in H.I.T and coupes with it by abusing alcohol, leaving him at less than full mental and physical prowess.
His powers are within themselves without any real weaknesses, only ways Marcus can not control them. He cannot open full on black holes – as he doesn't know how to close them. He is weak against airborne attacks, as most of the applications of his powers are based on forcing an opponent to a surface, or away from one. Likewise, he will not increase the gravity on the wall of a building by a thousand – as that would make the entire building collapse on itself.
Marcus can easily affect gravity by ten, either by multiplying the force, or dividing it. He's been known to affect gravity with much greater force than that. Relying on how concentrated he is and how well he is focusing.
Marcus is able to generate, manipulate and alter gravitational energy, effectively having control over gravity. Green energy manifests from his eyes and his hands when using his power, sending out aurora colored rays from his body when he uses his abilities. The uses of his powers are many, but he uses them in few different ways.
GRAVITY MANIPULATION
His abilities allows him to change the affects of gravity in one area, or around one person, allowing him to get a advantage in a fight, as most are not ready to at a split second start fighting at the same gravity as the moon.
SINGULARITY CREATION
Marcus creates a gravitational pull, a singularity that draws things towards it. This has been used to generate a shield against gunfire, but even been used to turn a entire building into rubble in a few moments. The material that gets sucked into the 'sphere' of gravity can be reversed, spitting it all back out with varying degrees of force.
POLAR SHIFTING:
Mark is able to completely shift the polarity of the gravity applying to it, for instance forcing his opponents to fall to the roof and get pinned against it. This power is only used in small areas, like a room or a hallway. As doing it in bigger areas would not only cause absolute chaos but lead to deadly consequences for Mark himself.
MISC.USES
Marcus is able to remove, or lessen the effects of gravity upon himself, allowing him to perform impossible feats, such as walking on ceilings and walls.
He is able to constantly affect the gravity of something, or someone, allowing himself flight, however, his power is not one of precision, and there for he prefers to use a proxy when he desires to fly. Creating a disc shaped platform for him to stand on is his preferred method.
While it is a novelty ability, Marcus is certain he's capable of bending bullets, allowing him to shoot around objects.
SKILLS
Marcus is for all intents and purposes a law enforcement agent as he's spent almost a decade being trained into a agent of H.I.T. He's been trained in many ways, survival, hand to hand combat, marksmanship, detective work, interrogation and Hyperhuman combat all being among the things he's well versed in. Besides that, he's a excellent driver, preferring modern muscle cars over all else. He's a passable mechanic and surprisingly very good at playing the violin.
LIMITATIONS AND WEAKNESSES
One could argue that his biggest weakness is his humanity. He has the powers of a force of nature, but if he doesn't catch the bullet as it comes for him – he's as dead as any other Joe. His personal issues conflicts with the use of his powers, they're bound to his concentraion. Marcus suffers from severe PTSD due to his time in H.I.T and coupes with it by abusing alcohol, leaving him at less than full mental and physical prowess.
His powers are within themselves without any real weaknesses, only ways Marcus can not control them. He cannot open full on black holes – as he doesn't know how to close them. He is weak against airborne attacks, as most of the applications of his powers are based on forcing an opponent to a surface, or away from one. Likewise, he will not increase the gravity on the wall of a building by a thousand – as that would make the entire building collapse on itself.
Marcus can easily affect gravity by ten, either by multiplying the force, or dividing it. He's been known to affect gravity with much greater force than that. Relying on how concentrated he is and how well he is focusing.
| BACKSTORY: |
No one from a happy home wants to join the army. Marcus's home put the “fun” in dysfunctional. His parents were both abusive, to each other and to Marcus and his two sisters, Cecilia and Karin. Karin being older, and Cecila being two years younger than Marcus. Their parents verbally abused them and hit them around, Karin moved away as soon as she could, leaving Marcus to care for Cecilia. When he was 16, Marcus got in a fight with his dad, and following the fight he ran away from home, never to return. He went to join the army, the only choice that made sense.
While he scored highly in all of the tests, he was denied entry, on the grounds of government interference, and soon after his attempt, his hyperhuman abilities began manifesting. It started out with him crushing a can of soda with a thought. Making it implode with the blink of an eye. He soon found himself in Canada, attending the PRCU, the academy for the freaks of the world.
Marcus proved to be a excellent candidate for the Hyperhuman Education and Advanced Training Program, and after two years at the academy, he was taken into the program, to be trained to work for H.E.A.T, become a agent of the Hyperhuman Intervention Taskforce. During training, Marcus proved to be one of the brightest young trainees, scoring in the top in every test and displaying excellent skill. This was the first thing in his life he had been truly good at. And damn, he was good.
During the attacks of Yakob Kowalski, whom reveled the presence of the superpowered people, Marcus was part of a strike team whom went to battle the Hypers dubed by Yakob into doing his bidding. His unit took down several rogue hypes, protecting countless people. But his part in the conflict came to an end in the city of Winnipeg in Canada. Where his unit were sent to take down one of Yakob's highest ranking men, a powerful telekinetic. The aftermath of the battle left most of the city in ruins, thousands dead, the operation going down as one of H.I.T's greatest failures.
Since then, Marcus has drowned himself in one bottle after another – two years of constant drinking has left him a shell of his former self, barely functional, he stays in Pointe Bordeaux, Louisiana, because it's one of the few cities where he doesn't owe anyone money.
While he scored highly in all of the tests, he was denied entry, on the grounds of government interference, and soon after his attempt, his hyperhuman abilities began manifesting. It started out with him crushing a can of soda with a thought. Making it implode with the blink of an eye. He soon found himself in Canada, attending the PRCU, the academy for the freaks of the world.
Marcus proved to be a excellent candidate for the Hyperhuman Education and Advanced Training Program, and after two years at the academy, he was taken into the program, to be trained to work for H.E.A.T, become a agent of the Hyperhuman Intervention Taskforce. During training, Marcus proved to be one of the brightest young trainees, scoring in the top in every test and displaying excellent skill. This was the first thing in his life he had been truly good at. And damn, he was good.
During the attacks of Yakob Kowalski, whom reveled the presence of the superpowered people, Marcus was part of a strike team whom went to battle the Hypers dubed by Yakob into doing his bidding. His unit took down several rogue hypes, protecting countless people. But his part in the conflict came to an end in the city of Winnipeg in Canada. Where his unit were sent to take down one of Yakob's highest ranking men, a powerful telekinetic. The aftermath of the battle left most of the city in ruins, thousands dead, the operation going down as one of H.I.T's greatest failures.
Since then, Marcus has drowned himself in one bottle after another – two years of constant drinking has left him a shell of his former self, barely functional, he stays in Pointe Bordeaux, Louisiana, because it's one of the few cities where he doesn't owe anyone money.
| MOTIVATION/OBJECTIVE: |
Redemption, security, self improvement. Marcus feels like he owes the world to make up for his actions, but he realizes that he's broken, and that in time, he might get put back together again. He strongly believes in the ideals that drove him to joining H.E.L.P many years ago – in serving the public and saving people, weather they're human or hyperhuman.
| REFERENCE POST(S): |
| NOTES: |
Ham, always and forever ham. Mushrooms work, too.
Marcus carries a Colt 1911 that used to belong to his grandfather.
His favorite drink is 9 day old whiskey from Tennessee.
Preferring blondes over all else, Marcus is quite the flirt.
Marcus carries a Colt 1911 that used to belong to his grandfather.
His favorite drink is 9 day old whiskey from Tennessee.
Preferring blondes over all else, Marcus is quite the flirt.
Insatiable 𝚁 𝙴 𝙼 𝙴 𝙳 𝚈
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
| NAME(S): |
Benedict Fletcher
| ALIAS(ES): |
Ben / Riftwalker
| D.O.B.: |
March 11, 1983.
| AGE: |
33
| SEX: |
Male
| SEXUALITY: |
Heterosexual
| APPEARANCE: |
Ben stands at a fairly average height of 183 cm and weighs at about 78 kg. For a man working as a news reporter, he does possess a certain physique which one might consider, if he/she observes constructively, to be belonging to a person who spends a half of his life training physically and participating towards the Olympic games. Exaggerations aside, Ben's body frame mainly constitutes an athletic build composing of broad shoulders and lean, compact muscles contracted among his limbs. Most of these were the result of an extensive physical training and a healthy, well-regulated diet which he developed as he decided to embody himself towards a disciplined lifestyle. His face resembles a diamond-like shape structured with a defined jawline enclosed by a small thicket of facial hair. He has grey eyes, topped with a thin pair of eye brows and between, is a straight nose line. His hair is trimmed regularly but that shouldn't obviously sound as a surprise given the job he's into.
As a man working at the media department, he's often formally clothed since that's how all attires should be when facing in-front of the camera and speaking to a lot of people watching national television. Off work, he wears his usual clothing line which comprises of sweatshirts and jeans. He doesn't fuss himself over his own style of clothing as he considers these matters as something rather insignificant. He'd prefer worrying about his weekly haircut style and his bonuses since alcohol isn't cheap.
As a man working at the media department, he's often formally clothed since that's how all attires should be when facing in-front of the camera and speaking to a lot of people watching national television. Off work, he wears his usual clothing line which comprises of sweatshirts and jeans. He doesn't fuss himself over his own style of clothing as he considers these matters as something rather insignificant. He'd prefer worrying about his weekly haircut style and his bonuses since alcohol isn't cheap.
| GENUS: |
Homo-Virium
| CLASSIFICATION: |
Mercury
| ABILITIES/SKILLS: |
Adhesive treading/balancing: Ben is able to walk on any solid surface, be it uneven, crooked, round, or whatever pattern a course may weave, he's able to walk on it smoothly and without a single worry of falling. The concept doesn't actually centralize mostly on the fundamental laws of gravity as the power's function comes mainly from the atomic structure built inside of Ben. Each of the atoms composes a certain molecular property that allows his mass to be accustomed against any layers of matter. To simply put, Ben possesses an inherent stickiness to the earth's surface, allowing him to freely tread anywhere he wants as long as the track he's traversing is a solid surface. This bucks him up to walk on any constructions. He can go on top of a 50-floor high rise by just walking on its exterior all the way to the uppermost part of the edifice. He can, and of course, walk upside down. Also, he can easily march on a swinging steel platform while it's being lifted up by a crane several feet from the bottom. At times, he can even travel towards an impassable, mountainous terrain as if he's just going in for a morning jog. These common practices present most of what Ben is capable of but there are others which are yet to be discovered by him.
Parkour: Though not an expert at it, Ben has basic knowledge of vaulting, swinging and rolling from different obstacle courses using a handful of techniques, and of course with the use of his ability, he's able to pull off some few invented tricks of his own. He's not an expert because his body isn't the most flexible nor the most agile, and having that condition won't be enough to maneuver the most complex of exhibitions. Still, he has his basic understanding and what he learned is what he often uses in combat.
Hand to hand combat: Ben was trained for three years with the disciplines and techniques of Silat and Muay Thai by a man named Steven Wan. After ending the teaching program they've agreed, Ben is now able to exhibit different approaches on both fields, garnering knowledge on basic principles and tactics to bring his opponents down. Although he has yet to reach his master level, Ben has his own inherent impressiveness to improvise techniques he haven't learned yet and use them along with his Hyperhuman ability to produce lethal dynamics.
Parkour: Though not an expert at it, Ben has basic knowledge of vaulting, swinging and rolling from different obstacle courses using a handful of techniques, and of course with the use of his ability, he's able to pull off some few invented tricks of his own. He's not an expert because his body isn't the most flexible nor the most agile, and having that condition won't be enough to maneuver the most complex of exhibitions. Still, he has his basic understanding and what he learned is what he often uses in combat.
Hand to hand combat: Ben was trained for three years with the disciplines and techniques of Silat and Muay Thai by a man named Steven Wan. After ending the teaching program they've agreed, Ben is now able to exhibit different approaches on both fields, garnering knowledge on basic principles and tactics to bring his opponents down. Although he has yet to reach his master level, Ben has his own inherent impressiveness to improvise techniques he haven't learned yet and use them along with his Hyperhuman ability to produce lethal dynamics.
Although Ben is able to walk anywhere and everywhere, limitations will always be inevitable. There are some conditions where he's not able to set his feet into, not unless he mans up, decides to take the risk and die a painful death afterwards. One of which, and of course the most apparent of all of his limitations, is that he can only set foot around safe zones because obviously, if he tries walking on top of a surface that - for example - is bushing with flames or constructed with high voltages of electricity, then he'll certainly be harmed severely or die. Second is that traversing through a looping surface can cause him dizziness. Meaning, that if he somehow becomes dizzy, he'll lose focus, and since it's a vital element that allows Ben to sustain the use of his ability, he'll eventually lose balance and fall. This can also apply to flat surfaces. As long as there are some external forces that can push Ben out of his concentration, then they will definitely stop him from ever sticking his feet.
Water - one formidable component which Ben needs to avoid most of the time, especially when he's making use of his ability. Water can partially mitigate the adhesiveness of Ben's unique atomic properties simply by being soaked over a large amount. As it seems, the ability is nullified but can still, however, function only with a limited use compared to its original value.
In addition, while Ben can easily walk anywhere and everywhere, he still needs to convoke his concentration when putting his abilities to use. He must direct his mind upon the surface he's treading, feel that he's roaming by around a street where people normally pass by. This counts as a weakness since at dire times, especially when facing combat, his concentration tends to drift away since he should also put his attention into fighting or defending himself. Thus, why he often obliged himself every now and then to equally consolidate his mind and body whenever using his ability.
In addition, while Ben can easily walk anywhere and everywhere, he still needs to convoke his concentration when putting his abilities to use. He must direct his mind upon the surface he's treading, feel that he's roaming by around a street where people normally pass by. This counts as a weakness since at dire times, especially when facing combat, his concentration tends to drift away since he should also put his attention into fighting or defending himself. Thus, why he often obliged himself every now and then to equally consolidate his mind and body whenever using his ability.
| BACKSTORY: |
Following the accounts of the Riftwalker's publicity were early recorded way back in April 2013 when an organized hostage taking was conducted by a number of masked individuals. Their target was the branch office of an automotive industry, demanding for ten million dollars in negotiation of their employees' freedom. Many could've said that the situation was easily handled but the thing is, there was a bomb planted on the particular floor where the incident was held. In addition, it was inside of a 30-floor skyscraper and the suspects suggested that if any police personnel would dare take foot near one of the building's entrance points, they will detonate the bomb and kill the hostages. Once tensions rose, a footage of a man wearing a dark formal suit, a cape and a white mask took live feeds on security cameras. No one knew where he came from let alone who he was but they were thankful that he arrived. After the masked man left, everything was taken care of. The bomb was diffused and the suspects were knocked off their feet. The hostages were safe and not a single one of them were injured. The masked man left a lasting impression but people were in question of what his true motives were, whether it was for a heroic cause or just to portray his overambitious exploits to the public eye. A month thereafter and sightings about this masked man withered from the media, although some encounters were testified by a few witnesses. Still, authorities decided not to let his existence surface throughout television as they feared that it will result to an unlikely outcome of mass confusion.
Originally from Chicago, Ben and his sister Diane moved to New Orleans since Diane was requested by the law firm she worked from to transfer at a different branch, so Ben was dragged along since he was obliged by his parents to protect his sister no matter where she goes. Their new lives were easily settled. Ben immediately found a job as a news reporter since his previous one was highly accredited by the company he applied to. His income moved evenly and despite having a few problems of his own, both him and his sister sustained quite a privileged lifestyle.
Ben witnessed how special he was by the time he realized that he was able to walk effortlessly on top their mansion's rooftop without faltering at the slightest bit. At first he assumed it was some of his own tricks he failed to notice, but after several attempts of doing it and observing throughout the process, he therefore concluded that what he could do was beyond normal. However, Ben knew that divulging his uniqueness could potentially put his family in jeopardy and strip his parents off of their reputations. He became aware of how much controversy it could pose, hence why Ben later decided to hide his true capabilities from the people he was close to. He lived his life into hiding, kept his mouth shut as one would normally do once they found out they're some kind of freak with unusual abilities. Ben knew it was the only right solution he could put himself into. Besides, it would only be logical to reason out how worse situations might become should he settle on revealing himself to his parents.
The first incident that drove Ben into dealing with crime was when he saved an old man from a gang who kidnapped him and was close to being beaten to death. It happened around when he was driving towards home from a day spent on his job. He didn't reckon the true motive behind the unpleasant acts of such hostile people but even when he knew that he was far from being a hero, Ben was undoubtedly certain that what he did was right despite him being injured in the end. Nevertheless, that wasn't his last attempt. The alley districts of New Orleans, which was located just around the corners of the city, have been known to hold violent activities of crime and drug trafficking. Prostitution was also evident and that alone was enough to tell how dangerous and dark the said district could be. So it occurred to Ben that if he wanted his hands to get involved, he needed to be stronger and more capable in combat.
Then on a day when he was seeking for a private trainer, he met a 50-year old man named Steven Wan who was a Malaysian American. He was a master on Silat and carried a decent knowledge on Muay Thai - both were later taught to Ben along with their cultural disciplines. During months spent training with Wan, the man subsequently discovered Ben's true nature as a Hyperhuman. Wan was also the first person who knew what he was. Surprised, he wasn't against Ben and nevertheless, continued the training until he eventually met the end of their agreement three years thereafter. It was a month after departing from each other when Ben uncovered the truths behind the person who trained him. Similar to him, Wan was also a Hyperhuman as checked and investigated from his records. He committed crimes such as money laundering, drug trafficking and more - all which impelled Ben to find the man and bring him to answer all of his questions.
It was at 2014 when Ben reunited with Wan just months before the terrorist Yakob Kowalski proclaimed his enmity against Hyperhumans. Wan revealed himself to be working under Kowalski's name, fooling Ben to be embedded with his conviction when he trained him. As he was angered by what he discovered, Ben took the risk on bringing the man down. But he was outnumbered, and as soon as he was dragged and beaten, Wan took mercy on his trainee and left him severely injured at an alleyway, leaving him there for good.
Ben recovered after two weeks which forced himself to refrain from committing to any of his secretive operations. Months followed by and he went back to his normal working days. Soon afterwards, leaked information were brought by a few of the company's journalists regarding a convoy of Hyperhumans directing some sort of Exodus, as what was described in incomplete detail. Ben took the opportunity on taking part of a broadcast at Pointe Bordeaux, but his main intentions were to find Wan, wherever he was hiding.
Originally from Chicago, Ben and his sister Diane moved to New Orleans since Diane was requested by the law firm she worked from to transfer at a different branch, so Ben was dragged along since he was obliged by his parents to protect his sister no matter where she goes. Their new lives were easily settled. Ben immediately found a job as a news reporter since his previous one was highly accredited by the company he applied to. His income moved evenly and despite having a few problems of his own, both him and his sister sustained quite a privileged lifestyle.
Ben witnessed how special he was by the time he realized that he was able to walk effortlessly on top their mansion's rooftop without faltering at the slightest bit. At first he assumed it was some of his own tricks he failed to notice, but after several attempts of doing it and observing throughout the process, he therefore concluded that what he could do was beyond normal. However, Ben knew that divulging his uniqueness could potentially put his family in jeopardy and strip his parents off of their reputations. He became aware of how much controversy it could pose, hence why Ben later decided to hide his true capabilities from the people he was close to. He lived his life into hiding, kept his mouth shut as one would normally do once they found out they're some kind of freak with unusual abilities. Ben knew it was the only right solution he could put himself into. Besides, it would only be logical to reason out how worse situations might become should he settle on revealing himself to his parents.
The first incident that drove Ben into dealing with crime was when he saved an old man from a gang who kidnapped him and was close to being beaten to death. It happened around when he was driving towards home from a day spent on his job. He didn't reckon the true motive behind the unpleasant acts of such hostile people but even when he knew that he was far from being a hero, Ben was undoubtedly certain that what he did was right despite him being injured in the end. Nevertheless, that wasn't his last attempt. The alley districts of New Orleans, which was located just around the corners of the city, have been known to hold violent activities of crime and drug trafficking. Prostitution was also evident and that alone was enough to tell how dangerous and dark the said district could be. So it occurred to Ben that if he wanted his hands to get involved, he needed to be stronger and more capable in combat.
Then on a day when he was seeking for a private trainer, he met a 50-year old man named Steven Wan who was a Malaysian American. He was a master on Silat and carried a decent knowledge on Muay Thai - both were later taught to Ben along with their cultural disciplines. During months spent training with Wan, the man subsequently discovered Ben's true nature as a Hyperhuman. Wan was also the first person who knew what he was. Surprised, he wasn't against Ben and nevertheless, continued the training until he eventually met the end of their agreement three years thereafter. It was a month after departing from each other when Ben uncovered the truths behind the person who trained him. Similar to him, Wan was also a Hyperhuman as checked and investigated from his records. He committed crimes such as money laundering, drug trafficking and more - all which impelled Ben to find the man and bring him to answer all of his questions.
It was at 2014 when Ben reunited with Wan just months before the terrorist Yakob Kowalski proclaimed his enmity against Hyperhumans. Wan revealed himself to be working under Kowalski's name, fooling Ben to be embedded with his conviction when he trained him. As he was angered by what he discovered, Ben took the risk on bringing the man down. But he was outnumbered, and as soon as he was dragged and beaten, Wan took mercy on his trainee and left him severely injured at an alleyway, leaving him there for good.
Ben recovered after two weeks which forced himself to refrain from committing to any of his secretive operations. Months followed by and he went back to his normal working days. Soon afterwards, leaked information were brought by a few of the company's journalists regarding a convoy of Hyperhumans directing some sort of Exodus, as what was described in incomplete detail. Ben took the opportunity on taking part of a broadcast at Pointe Bordeaux, but his main intentions were to find Wan, wherever he was hiding.
| MOTIVATION/OBJECTIVE: |
Ben's current objective is to track down where Steven Wan - his martial arts mentor - is hiding and bring him once and for all down to his knees as a sentence for his crimes and betrayal from his taught disciplines. There aren't many that'd bring a lot of motivation towards Ben's standpoint. He doesn't consider himself as a hero when he deals with crime as he only sees it as the right thing to do - something which most people failed to accomplish despite having their established hold of power and influence.
| REFERENCE POST(S): |
| NOTES: |
- Owns two dogs named Rose and Shiver. Ben's sister is more of a cat person, so they don't really blend well with each other at times.
- Despite maintaining a healthy diet, Ben absolutely hates the food he eats. (i.e. veggies but with a few exceptions) He mostly prefers pasta over anything.
- Drinks like a beast at parties.
- When he's in the mood, Ben sometimes uses unnecessary puns when broadcasting but that depends on how nonsensical or stupid the news can be.
- Upon venturing within the darker districts of the city, Ben masquerades as a man wearing a dark formal suit with a cape and a mask that hides the upper half of his face. This took inspiration from a graphic novel he read.
Bigg Slamm The Biggest Fish in the Sea
Member
Seen
1 yr ago
just noticed something. we have yet to have a female app. :3
Hillan I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.
Member
Seen
26 min ago
just noticed something. we have yet to have a female app. :3
Good.
1x Laugh
Divine Darkness Numb
Member
Seen
1 mo ago
<Snipped quote by Bigg Slamm>
Good.
Hillan I'm a writer - Lying's what we do.
Member
Seen
26 min ago
<Snipped quote by Hillan>
3x Laugh
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
Member
Online
And phew, finally finished my own sheet. Will be starting to evaluate the submitted sheets now then.
GM
Lord Wraith Actually Three Otters in a Trenchcoat
Member
Online
Emory Fairchild
I have no complaints or concerns, I'm going to go ahead and accepted Emory. You may put him back in the Character Tab.
1x Thank
Stein That's Queen Stein, thank you.
Member
Seen
4 mos ago
Ilani Marie Jackson
| NAME(S): |
Ilani Marie Jackson
| NICKNAME(S): |
Marie, Illy, Il, Lani
ALIAS(ES):
Sly Spectre
| D.O.B.: |
08/21/1990
| AGE: |
25
| SEX: |
No thank you.
| SEXUALITY: |
Heterosexual
| APPEARANCE: |
So like, this bitch is giving you Black Furiosa realness. She's slick and subtle, a slight Tinkerbell coyness to her. But, she's got that look in her amber eyes that if you cross her, she will DRAG YO ASS FO FILTH! Giving you all types of fierceness, she COME THRU on a bitch with her legs for days and years of bitch stompin, pounding the pavement...and sports have toned her body.
Her hair stays short and crisp, giving you some androgyny realness. And you see that fucking part in her hair, curved like a swinging backhand? She stays on that style. Her nose stud is subtle, something she can take in or out, but enough of a SHBLAM! when she wants it to be.
Her hair stays short and crisp, giving you some androgyny realness. And you see that fucking part in her hair, curved like a swinging backhand? She stays on that style. Her nose stud is subtle, something she can take in or out, but enough of a SHBLAM! when she wants it to be.
| H-CLASS: |
MINERVA
| ABILITIES: |
Ilani's MINERVA-Class powers manifest primarily in her Occipital lobe and have led to a variety of applications.
Enhanced Occipital Lobe:
Remote Viewing:
(Slightly) Enhanced Coordination: The proximity of the occipital lobe to the spinal cord has made Ilani's hand-eye coordination more proficient as well.
Distorted Vision:
Enhanced Occipital Lobe:
Her earliest indications of her ability were shown in the enhanced functioning of her Occipital lobe. Ilani can process more stimuli and faster than the average human. Colors are more vibrant, texture is apparent on anything she sees. Scanning a room provides a wealth of detail and information. With focus, she can hone in on one aspect of a visual and study it. She has utilized this to study expressions, making her an apt casual lie detector (definitely a perk when it comes to her work). However, her eyesight can be overstimulated if she's not careful (I.E. Scanning excessively large crowds). Her focus is key in situations such as this.
Remote Viewing:
Her ability went on to mature slightly, manifesting psychic properties. Ilani is able to "zoom" her view in on something via an accute version of psychic projection. This "remote viewing" gives her the ability to see objects from farther away. (With a bit of concentration, she can even focus her enhanced perception simultaneously with her remote viewing, allowing her to "zoom in" on smaller objects to an extent.) Currently, she can zoom her eyesight approximately 2X normal human eyesight with ease, and 4X with some effort.
(Slightly) Enhanced Coordination: The proximity of the occipital lobe to the spinal cord has made Ilani's hand-eye coordination more proficient as well.
Distorted Vision:
Further maturation of her abilities has now allowed Ilani to briefly distort the vision of an individual she makes contact with for an extended period of time (at least 3 seconds). This ability briefly blocks the connection between the eyes and the occipital lobe. This prevents the eyes and mind from making sense of what's being seen, distorting vision (flipping it and blotching parts of it).
SKILLS:
-Superior Marksmanship: Maybe a byproduct of her powers, but Ilani has held a slight affinity for accuracy based activities since birth. After becoming accustomed to any ranged weapon, she can fire with superb accuracy and precision.
-Superior Perception: Ilani can be very aware of her surroundings, subconsciously taking in everything for an easy conscious recall. Illusions and mind tricks are typically ineffective against her, as she can usually notice when the process begins or even where it starts from.
-Reporter’s Eye: Even without her abilities, Illy can see a story anywhere. She notices inconsistencies in people and things. Puzzles present little challenges to her and her critical thinking skills are something to note.
-Retention: Though not eidetic, Ilani has an uncanny memory. Her recall is impressive and she has memorized entire scripts and poems in a matter of minutes.
-Superior Perception: Ilani can be very aware of her surroundings, subconsciously taking in everything for an easy conscious recall. Illusions and mind tricks are typically ineffective against her, as she can usually notice when the process begins or even where it starts from.
-Reporter’s Eye: Even without her abilities, Illy can see a story anywhere. She notices inconsistencies in people and things. Puzzles present little challenges to her and her critical thinking skills are something to note.
-Retention: Though not eidetic, Ilani has an uncanny memory. Her recall is impressive and she has memorized entire scripts and poems in a matter of minutes.
| BACKSTORY: |
Ilani’s mother told her--time and time again--throughout her childhood that “She was blessed with a light smile, feather eyes, a sharp tongue and a heavy mouth.” A questioning child-and a blunt one at that-with an unwavering eye, Ilani found it of the utmost importance to inquire on whatever was relevant.
That tended to be just about everything.
A “grown woman in a tyke body”, Ilani was just as happy alone as with others. Discovering the world around her was a past time and coming up with answers on her own brought her more joy than asking her barrage of precise questions. She studied the home around her, seemingly fascinated with every detail. A visit to the pediatrician yielded no worrying signs and hinted at no deficits.
As she grew, everything became of interest to her. She wanted to know the world. Its ins, outs, places of light, dark, muddied gray and passionate red (her mother especially balked in those areas, her nostrils flaring and her chest rising). Nia and Terry Jackson eventually couldn’t keep up with her seemingly endless number of interests, so they began to plant some of their own. They placed her in extracurricular activities where she would be distracted, yet stimulated and occupied. However, they didn’t expect her interests to change so quickly.
She grew bored of martial arts, even though the teacher stood mildly impressed at her natural aptitude. She loathed dance classes, throwing a small tantrum (that was swiftly halted) after the third day. And her vocal coach recommended “other professionals” in the area after her first session. They finally stumbled across archery. Soon after came baseball, and after that, football (soccer). She quickly acclimated, and excelled, in each sport, finding new venues to pursue. Ilani expanded her tastes, finding other avenues to take up her time. It was around this time that her powers began to manifest. For a 2 month span, Ilani dropped all of her extracurricular activities and took to secluding herself in her room in darkness. None of her friends reported having seen any indications of new friends, drug habits or anything traumatic. Ilani barely ackowledged them in her room. Her parents feared the worst, and were a step away from taking her to see a medical professional. However, Ilani began interacting with the world once more, seemingly as if nothing had happened. She didn’t seem to be hiding any secret shame, and in fact seemed more lively. So her parents tried to remove it from their minds.
That tended to be just about everything.
A “grown woman in a tyke body”, Ilani was just as happy alone as with others. Discovering the world around her was a past time and coming up with answers on her own brought her more joy than asking her barrage of precise questions. She studied the home around her, seemingly fascinated with every detail. A visit to the pediatrician yielded no worrying signs and hinted at no deficits.
As she grew, everything became of interest to her. She wanted to know the world. Its ins, outs, places of light, dark, muddied gray and passionate red (her mother especially balked in those areas, her nostrils flaring and her chest rising). Nia and Terry Jackson eventually couldn’t keep up with her seemingly endless number of interests, so they began to plant some of their own. They placed her in extracurricular activities where she would be distracted, yet stimulated and occupied. However, they didn’t expect her interests to change so quickly.
She grew bored of martial arts, even though the teacher stood mildly impressed at her natural aptitude. She loathed dance classes, throwing a small tantrum (that was swiftly halted) after the third day. And her vocal coach recommended “other professionals” in the area after her first session. They finally stumbled across archery. Soon after came baseball, and after that, football (soccer). She quickly acclimated, and excelled, in each sport, finding new venues to pursue. Ilani expanded her tastes, finding other avenues to take up her time. It was around this time that her powers began to manifest. For a 2 month span, Ilani dropped all of her extracurricular activities and took to secluding herself in her room in darkness. None of her friends reported having seen any indications of new friends, drug habits or anything traumatic. Ilani barely ackowledged them in her room. Her parents feared the worst, and were a step away from taking her to see a medical professional. However, Ilani began interacting with the world once more, seemingly as if nothing had happened. She didn’t seem to be hiding any secret shame, and in fact seemed more lively. So her parents tried to remove it from their minds.
By college, she had stumbled into the world of journalism. Having learned to tap into her powers on a light level, Ilani used her gift to her advantage. Her “eye” for detail served her well in investigative reporting, being able to note micro-expressions, the pause before a word, dilated pupils and sweat gland production. If she was the first on the scene, her reports were lavishly descriptive, taking in detail and minute points of observation. The more she saw of the world, the more hunger Ilani had to tell it’s story. Stories of triumph in the everyday man and reflections on the human experience as seen through all walks of life, Ilani felt she saw it all. It certainly translated in her work, gaining her notoriety on her university campus among students and professors alike, if you read the paper or the online articles.
A crisp night in October of 2014 saw Ilani huddled in an alley, slumped against the wall, clouds of enraged and wavering breath exhaling from her. 14 individuals, beat to death in cold blood. For enjoyment. For sport! Their entire lives, ended at the behest of a privileged whim. When Ilani had stumbled across the first inklings of this story three months prior, her passion for it fueled six consecutive nights of non-stop digging and chasing leads. Finally, compiling a lengthy cache of evidence to support her latest narrative: A string of homeless murders, that held too many similarities to be coincidence. All from the same neighborhood. The proclaimed “ghetto” of the city. A place where no justice seemed to ever exist, or no one cared enough to see its light shone there.
She strutted into her editors office. Though only recently an intern-turned-staff, she had already caught his eye and though she knew the piece would be hard sell, she stood firm.
“My theory: as you can see from the correlation in coroner reports and timestamps from the footage, these deaths are connected. And to go further, they’re by a group. Wealthy socialites is my guess. You can look here...and right here, to see the almost indistinguishable marks on each victim. And--”
Her piece was shut-down before it could take its first breath. “Straw grasping”, “beneath you”, “better quality,” were the terms her editor tried to pepper and obscure the air with. But Ilani’s gaze never wavered. She saw them, the micro expressions of fear, amazement (at her) and panic. Ben Manley, her editor, balking in the face of the truth. Which meant he knew something or he simply didn’t care about the ghetto’s, just like everyone else in the damned city.
The man tuttled on, but Ilani’s mind only saw hot flashes of anger. She turned in the middle of his lecture on “delivering quality pieces”, smiled at him, and sauntered out, leaving all of her work for the past months.
Following the confrontation with Mr. Manley, the night landed Ilani Marie in her apartment, drunk and fuming. Though her inquisitive and precise nature was what she was known for, her blatant and stubborn opposition to injustice locked into slot 2 of her “Most Notable Defining Elements”. She couldn't back down. She wouldn't. After an empty bottle of Myx Moscato, her idea came through in a clear flash:
"Tackle it from a different angle."
A crisp night in October of 2014 saw Ilani huddled in an alley, slumped against the wall, clouds of enraged and wavering breath exhaling from her. 14 individuals, beat to death in cold blood. For enjoyment. For sport! Their entire lives, ended at the behest of a privileged whim. When Ilani had stumbled across the first inklings of this story three months prior, her passion for it fueled six consecutive nights of non-stop digging and chasing leads. Finally, compiling a lengthy cache of evidence to support her latest narrative: A string of homeless murders, that held too many similarities to be coincidence. All from the same neighborhood. The proclaimed “ghetto” of the city. A place where no justice seemed to ever exist, or no one cared enough to see its light shone there.
She strutted into her editors office. Though only recently an intern-turned-staff, she had already caught his eye and though she knew the piece would be hard sell, she stood firm.
“My theory: as you can see from the correlation in coroner reports and timestamps from the footage, these deaths are connected. And to go further, they’re by a group. Wealthy socialites is my guess. You can look here...and right here, to see the almost indistinguishable marks on each victim. And--”
Her piece was shut-down before it could take its first breath. “Straw grasping”, “beneath you”, “better quality,” were the terms her editor tried to pepper and obscure the air with. But Ilani’s gaze never wavered. She saw them, the micro expressions of fear, amazement (at her) and panic. Ben Manley, her editor, balking in the face of the truth. Which meant he knew something or he simply didn’t care about the ghetto’s, just like everyone else in the damned city.
The man tuttled on, but Ilani’s mind only saw hot flashes of anger. She turned in the middle of his lecture on “delivering quality pieces”, smiled at him, and sauntered out, leaving all of her work for the past months.
Following the confrontation with Mr. Manley, the night landed Ilani Marie in her apartment, drunk and fuming. Though her inquisitive and precise nature was what she was known for, her blatant and stubborn opposition to injustice locked into slot 2 of her “Most Notable Defining Elements”. She couldn't back down. She wouldn't. After an empty bottle of Myx Moscato, her idea came through in a clear flash:
"Tackle it from a different angle."
Her plan was simple: She had to find a vigilante to cover, their rising prevalence was something everyone wanted to hear about. Maybe, by working with one, she could predict the next attack, or narrow it down. And from there, prevent the attack and cover the story. She didn't have to be an inferno, she could just be the spark to the brush. Get the people talking about it, get all eyes on this string of deaths.
Hell, she would even give her story to someone else so she didn't catch the flack for it. Anything so these stories were told and justice was served.
---
After a month of searching and sleuthing, she finally made contact with a vigilante.
Or rather, he found her. Since the Kowalski terrorist incident, so many of them had been popping up, and so many of them too green for their line of work. But not this one. A Hype himself with ability to hyper-extend his limbs up to 20 feet, he had been doing the job for a little over a year.
---
"Are you stupid? Hunting around out here is dangerous."
"Last time I checked, no," she smirked at him from beneath hood. He didn't intimidate her in this alley they stood in. "What if I was out here looking for monsters, or the men who have the courage to take them down?" She eyed him curiously. He wore a simple cowl and almost looked a little comical running around in shorts and a cut off hoodie. But she supposed stretchy clothes were a bit hard to come by.
"You'll get yourself killed," he responded simply, lightening his hold on her against the alley wall.
"People die everyday and I'm trying to make sure maybe a few less get killed if I have a say-so." She eyed him now, pulling back her hood and pushing him back. "Either help me help the people, or get the hell out of my way."
Hell, she would even give her story to someone else so she didn't catch the flack for it. Anything so these stories were told and justice was served.
---
After a month of searching and sleuthing, she finally made contact with a vigilante.
Or rather, he found her. Since the Kowalski terrorist incident, so many of them had been popping up, and so many of them too green for their line of work. But not this one. A Hype himself with ability to hyper-extend his limbs up to 20 feet, he had been doing the job for a little over a year.
---
"Are you stupid? Hunting around out here is dangerous."
"Last time I checked, no," she smirked at him from beneath hood. He didn't intimidate her in this alley they stood in. "What if I was out here looking for monsters, or the men who have the courage to take them down?" She eyed him curiously. He wore a simple cowl and almost looked a little comical running around in shorts and a cut off hoodie. But she supposed stretchy clothes were a bit hard to come by.
"You'll get yourself killed," he responded simply, lightening his hold on her against the alley wall.
"People die everyday and I'm trying to make sure maybe a few less get killed if I have a say-so." She eyed him now, pulling back her hood and pushing him back. "Either help me help the people, or get the hell out of my way."
---
Apparently, her resolve was enough to get him to stop and listen to her. Something about the defiance in her eyes, he told her as they sat down at her apartment the next day. She had made the effort to extend trust by opening up her home.
From there, she and the vigilante -- Mr. Limbs was his alias -- compiled her work and spent the next week plotting all the information she had on the attack. He made connections she couldn't with his experience in crime. She saw consistencies and patterns he couldn't due to her nature and abilities. Together, they made a powerful duo of intellect and might.
At the end of their week, Illy stood back, looking at their work. Diagrams, maps and reports all leading to a localized area for the next attack. Beside it, a narrowed list of possible perpetrators that still seemed to be inconclusive. They were missing something--but one things was sure: the culprit was moving the bodies postmortem. And they had finally narrowed it down to a building in the abandoned district of the city.
But something felt "off" to Illy. These victims, none of them could be traced to the city at all. And a majority of them seemed to be Hypes. Something didn't make sense.
--
"We've got to do it though!" Erick, Mr. Limbs, spoke up. "These are my people dying out there."
Illy bit her tongue. She still hadn't revealed being a Hype herself. For some reason, she hadn't wanted to come clean with the information. "Look, that doesn't mean I don't want them saved too. But we have to tread lightly. What if the guy or group is in this building right now? You go barging in, then what?"
"I do what I've been doing for over a year: I fight, I win and I protect. Look, you're the one who came to me and--"
"Therefore I should be calling the shots," Illy interrupted stepping to him. "I'm saying stop so we can go in fully prepared. But if you want to charge in, you go right on ahead!"
Erick stormed off then, leaving her to fume in her apartment. It wasn't long before her gut overtook her stubborn nature and she was out the door as well, hoodie and walkie-talkies in tow. This damned story would get her killed.
---
She met Erick at the site, a looming warehouse district that couldn't have looked more typical and cliche. She voiced her concerns again, eventually able to talk him down to promising to simply scope the area out tonight.
When they found the actual warehouse, however, she knew that promise was going to be broken.
Illy had been the one to see it, the smudge of filthy windows providing little conceal for the warehouse. She stood atop another building peering in. Blood covered the floor and smears and dried splashes. She could also spot sterilized tools of torture lining a metal table. Seats lined that area as well and Illy felt sick to her stomach. Some group was killing people for entertainment and reveling in it. She debated on calling it in to Erick, knowing what his reaction would be. But, she had to.
The moment she mentioned the blood, he stopped responding on his walkie-talkie. From her vantage point she could see the sector he was in and soon made him out, charging to her indicated warehouse.
"Erick! Erick wait! We don't know if there's anyone in there! We need to catch them in the act and make sure they don't do anything!" She pleaded into the walkie, but knew the situation was fruitless. Something in her warned against this. She analyzed the building, straining her eyes to find any signs of current life in the building.
Mr. Limbs burst through the doors of the warehouse, and Illy expected to hear shouts and gunfire, but nothing happened. He strode in. She could make him out through the window panels and all seemed fine, but she didn't trust it. Something was off.
"Sly!"
Illy jumped at the sound of her walkie. It was Erick.
"Sly, I hear muffled banging from the back area. Sly, I think there's people trapped in here. I knew it! I'm going in."
"Limbs wait!" She tried to tell him once more. Her eyes narrowed on the back area. And suddenly she could see into the building, the window providing a good line of sight. She finally knew what was off about the building. Why it seemed so open. Why the door had been unlocked. She understood the blatant advertisement. She understood everything when saw the red trip wire running across the length of the door Erick was walking to. The source of the muffled banging.
"ERICK --!"
The explosion halted the rest of her speech as she fell back. Flames lit the sky and area around her and even from her position, she could feel the gust of heat as it expelled from the building.
Apparently, her resolve was enough to get him to stop and listen to her. Something about the defiance in her eyes, he told her as they sat down at her apartment the next day. She had made the effort to extend trust by opening up her home.
From there, she and the vigilante -- Mr. Limbs was his alias -- compiled her work and spent the next week plotting all the information she had on the attack. He made connections she couldn't with his experience in crime. She saw consistencies and patterns he couldn't due to her nature and abilities. Together, they made a powerful duo of intellect and might.
At the end of their week, Illy stood back, looking at their work. Diagrams, maps and reports all leading to a localized area for the next attack. Beside it, a narrowed list of possible perpetrators that still seemed to be inconclusive. They were missing something--but one things was sure: the culprit was moving the bodies postmortem. And they had finally narrowed it down to a building in the abandoned district of the city.
But something felt "off" to Illy. These victims, none of them could be traced to the city at all. And a majority of them seemed to be Hypes. Something didn't make sense.
--
"We've got to do it though!" Erick, Mr. Limbs, spoke up. "These are my people dying out there."
Illy bit her tongue. She still hadn't revealed being a Hype herself. For some reason, she hadn't wanted to come clean with the information. "Look, that doesn't mean I don't want them saved too. But we have to tread lightly. What if the guy or group is in this building right now? You go barging in, then what?"
"I do what I've been doing for over a year: I fight, I win and I protect. Look, you're the one who came to me and--"
"Therefore I should be calling the shots," Illy interrupted stepping to him. "I'm saying stop so we can go in fully prepared. But if you want to charge in, you go right on ahead!"
Erick stormed off then, leaving her to fume in her apartment. It wasn't long before her gut overtook her stubborn nature and she was out the door as well, hoodie and walkie-talkies in tow. This damned story would get her killed.
---
She met Erick at the site, a looming warehouse district that couldn't have looked more typical and cliche. She voiced her concerns again, eventually able to talk him down to promising to simply scope the area out tonight.
When they found the actual warehouse, however, she knew that promise was going to be broken.
Illy had been the one to see it, the smudge of filthy windows providing little conceal for the warehouse. She stood atop another building peering in. Blood covered the floor and smears and dried splashes. She could also spot sterilized tools of torture lining a metal table. Seats lined that area as well and Illy felt sick to her stomach. Some group was killing people for entertainment and reveling in it. She debated on calling it in to Erick, knowing what his reaction would be. But, she had to.
The moment she mentioned the blood, he stopped responding on his walkie-talkie. From her vantage point she could see the sector he was in and soon made him out, charging to her indicated warehouse.
"Erick! Erick wait! We don't know if there's anyone in there! We need to catch them in the act and make sure they don't do anything!" She pleaded into the walkie, but knew the situation was fruitless. Something in her warned against this. She analyzed the building, straining her eyes to find any signs of current life in the building.
Mr. Limbs burst through the doors of the warehouse, and Illy expected to hear shouts and gunfire, but nothing happened. He strode in. She could make him out through the window panels and all seemed fine, but she didn't trust it. Something was off.
"Sly!"
Illy jumped at the sound of her walkie. It was Erick.
"Sly, I hear muffled banging from the back area. Sly, I think there's people trapped in here. I knew it! I'm going in."
"Limbs wait!" She tried to tell him once more. Her eyes narrowed on the back area. And suddenly she could see into the building, the window providing a good line of sight. She finally knew what was off about the building. Why it seemed so open. Why the door had been unlocked. She understood the blatant advertisement. She understood everything when saw the red trip wire running across the length of the door Erick was walking to. The source of the muffled banging.
"ERICK --!"
The explosion halted the rest of her speech as she fell back. Flames lit the sky and area around her and even from her position, she could feel the gust of heat as it expelled from the building.
| MOTIVATION/OBJECTIVE: |
Illy stayed the rest of the night, shocked and in complete silence. She counted 15 bodies of charred remains being wheeled out as the authorities made it on the scene. Erick's was among them, and Illy wept for him.
The incident that night was never reported. It never made the news or any paper and officially, it was faulty wiring with no reported deaths. That told Illy everything she needed to know. 15 people dead and no one cared. No one knew. No one spoke for them.
---
It was only a series of small steps from then on before Illani Marie Jackson committed to the mantle of a vigilante. She came to find that the individuals had all been Hypes traveling through the city on their way to find safety. Innocent people looking for sanctuary.
She felt keeping her powers from Erick might have played a small hand in the events that night. Making him feel like he had to be the one who acted because he was the only Hype who knew. It was senseless to think, but Illani couldn't help herself.
It's been 6 months since that night and Illani has dedicated much of her time to protecting and has even played around with idea of joining one of the convoys making its way to this fabled Sanctuary.
The incident that night was never reported. It never made the news or any paper and officially, it was faulty wiring with no reported deaths. That told Illy everything she needed to know. 15 people dead and no one cared. No one knew. No one spoke for them.
---
It was only a series of small steps from then on before Illani Marie Jackson committed to the mantle of a vigilante. She came to find that the individuals had all been Hypes traveling through the city on their way to find safety. Innocent people looking for sanctuary.
She felt keeping her powers from Erick might have played a small hand in the events that night. Making him feel like he had to be the one who acted because he was the only Hype who knew. It was senseless to think, but Illani couldn't help herself.
It's been 6 months since that night and Illani has dedicated much of her time to protecting and has even played around with idea of joining one of the convoys making its way to this fabled Sanctuary.
| REFERENCE POST(S): |
Vigilance: Rise of the Mavericks: IllAdvised, Angel and Feral heed their Call to Arms as Mavericks for a city who has laid in want. But, can they stand against their own demons?
Vigilance: Blood and Justice: Resident Magni and drunk Sarks Hummel can’t catch a break in this city. Things were much easier across the Pond. The persistent rain and his missing personal assistant aren’t making things much easier.
The new Eidolons: In the realm of Elenthalheim, all is not as it seems of the society, fighting for survival. Deep in the heart, they prepare for the day when their world will need them most. And that day is rapidly approaching.
EXTRA: Vigilance: Rise of the Mavericks: Want to know what it’s like inside the mind of a sultan serving the face of a god? Take a glimpse at a juicy snippet inside the life of Raja.
Vigilance: Blood and Justice: Resident Magni and drunk Sarks Hummel can’t catch a break in this city. Things were much easier across the Pond. The persistent rain and his missing personal assistant aren’t making things much easier.
The new Eidolons: In the realm of Elenthalheim, all is not as it seems of the society, fighting for survival. Deep in the heart, they prepare for the day when their world will need them most. And that day is rapidly approaching.
EXTRA: Vigilance: Rise of the Mavericks: Want to know what it’s like inside the mind of a sultan serving the face of a god? Take a glimpse at a juicy snippet inside the life of Raja.
| NOTES: |
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