Essential InformationName/Aliases: Jackson Crowley
Sex: Male
Age: 25
Appearance: Jackson, what an average looking man he is. His facial features are average, if not somewhat British looking. His eyes are a dark grey blue and his hair is black. He stands at about Five foot nine feet tall with long limbs and a sickly looking thin figure, giving him a gangly look despite not being all that tall.
Jackson's usual clothing style could be described as "Like someone threw an apocalypse survivor and a poorly dressed nerd into a blender", the reasoning behind this mostly files down to one simply article he wears near constantly; his gasmask. Yes, Jackson is that sort of person. The mask he wears is, quite specifically,
an old Russian model GP-5 from the early 90's he found in an antique shop.Paired with the gasmask his attire mostly consists of a black peacoat style Jacket, a grey hoodie with a large brooding hood that Jackson prefers to leave up, a large military looking satchel, and casual under clothes such as t-shirts, jeans, Chuck Taylor converse shoes, and black fingerless gloves.
Personality: Jackson isn't a cold person, he's simply awkward, shy, and completely mentally broken. You see, there's this thing that happens when people you care for die and it is completely your fault. And that thing is called depression, and Jackson sure as hell has it.
When in social situations Jack often comes across as cold and quiet, opening up only to people he knows he can put his trust in. Though this is an extremely rare event, as Jackson's trust issues are rooted childhood deep and keep being reaffirmed.
The man is actually very empathic towards others, and feels quite a lot when it comes to other people. But he doesn't know how to express himself anymore and simply chooses to remain stoic.
His empathy is somewhat of a weakness of his, as any harm he inflicts upon his fellow man will come to haunt him. Jackson's mental state is very likely to degrade during the course of this roleplay.
History: Jackson was born to unloving, narcissistic parents in a barely above middle class home. His father was an abusive alcoholic sadist who enjoyed taking his anger out upon his poor wife and son. His mother was the ideal fifties housewife, always doting around her husband and cleaning the house. However, she was also one to take out her anger, and from the poor treatment of her husband she had a lot to take out. Jackson was routinely beaten by both of his parents and treated as nothing more than a burden.
His grades were good but never good enough for his drunken father and stressed out mother. His friends were non-existent due to his inability to function properly in any social situations. He was bullied commonly for his short stature and general weakness during his highschool years. All in all life was an absolute hell.
And so when he graduated he left home as fast as he could, taking all of his savings and running away. Jackson moved into a shitty apartment near the ghetto and began to look desperately for a job. All the while he was still attempting to go to community college as he wished to gain a degree in computing.
And that was where he met her, the girl named Victoria. She had long flowing red hair and intelligence to spare. To Jackson, she was the most beautiful girl in the world. His attempts to get to know her finally managed to break the man out of his shell. It would take years but eventually the two would marry, both still working on their degrees.
Naturally, the parents of Jack were uninvited.
And then, like a flash, it was over. No more happy marriage, no more smiles, no more nothing. And it was all Jackson's fault. He could have let her drive, he could have not hit up the bars that day, he could have not followed in his fathers footsteps.
She could have lived.
Jackson soon fell into a great depression, closing himself off once more. He dropped out of college, he began to buy things left and right with what little money he had, he started smoking and drinking every day. Anything to distract himself from his sadness.
But it wasn't enough.
There was only him now, and the edge of the rooftop he stood upon. Nothing more, nothing less. Only the void awaited and he embraced it with open arms.
The next second, he was standing there on the sidewalk, rain running down the glass of his mask. Jackson was staring at his own body, mangled and dead. A crowd had begun to form. He didn't know if he was alive or dead, only that he was still standing there.
He ran.
Optional InformationEquipment: Jackson carries on him at all times a
rusty, old, taped together axe. He found this
pile of garbage on a stick fireaxe in the building he used to have his apartment in. After he realized that they were likely going to clear the place out soon on account of him being dead he felt it a good idea to return one last time and take some of his stuff with him. On his way out he also felt it a good idea to take the axe he always felt would looking cool on his wall.
Jackson also carries several other items of intrigue (Not including his Mask) on him at most times. These items include:
1X Set of keys that are perfectly shaped to put between the fingers and to punch people with.
2X Lighters, as Jackson often smokes (A habit he picked up after the car crash).
1X Pack of Cigarettes at all times.
2X Bottles of something to drink, not usually alcoholic.
7X Packs of something to eat, his whole life is in his satchel.
1X Cellphone with a cracked screen (still working).
1X Four year old Laptop.
1X Modernized Colt M1911 knockoff
2X Full Ammo clips for the M1911
1X Pair of headphones.
Faction: One cannot run from their fears for all of time. And Jackson's fears were infinite.
As he ran and ran from everything, sleeping on the street and doing whatever it took for him to survive, it became increasingly obvious to the powers that be a dead man was walking. A man who had jumped off a building and gone splat was currently wandering around the city living on the street. A man whose belongings had disintegrated as soon as he was touched by the coroner.
Something was up.
And so a Sector agent staked out the bench that Jackson most commonly slept on, approached him, and promptly brought him in for questioning. Being the broken man he was Jack answered every question truthfully, not really caring what would happen next. After all, why would he?
They offered him a deal; prove he wasn't a threat to the public and aid in the efforts of Sector or be imprisoned for the rest of eternity. They needed his power, even if it was dangerous.
His answer was a sigh and a solemn yes.
Marital Status: Poor old Jack is a widower, his wife having died in a car crash some years before.
Magic: Jackson is immortal, plain and simple. You kill him? He falls to the ground dead for a few seconds before coming in from the door behind you to give you a very stern talking to.
He gained this power after his encounter with a shard of Dúv during a trip to an antique shop. It was there upon a table in the centre like some sort of bait in a trap. Jack touched it, and it disintegrated. He wrote it off as being his imagination, as he had not been in the best mental state at the time. But it had most definitely been real.
The power works by having him wake up in the next room to wherever he died. It is comparable to a respawn in multiplayer video games. When Jackson awakens he does so with any and all equipment that was upon him before his kicking of the bucket. A copy of his body will remain at the site where he died, however any attempt to take items off of his deceased cadaver will result in the items in question disintegrating into a fine ashen substance.
Jackson views this ability as quite the inconvenience. It bothers the poor sap to no end.
Skills: This, my dear friends, is what Jackson lacks.
The man is average in every way down in this section. Blame it on him not caring that much for his body blame it on the writer having to balance fucking immortality, it's the truth.
Jackson can lift an average amount of weight but nothing more. Jackson can run an average speed and nothing more. Jackson can't take anymore bullets than an average man, nor can he dodge a shotgun blast.
The only thing in here he might be a bit above average in is his intelligence, but your intelligence isn't going to save you when you're surrounded by five men armed with Kalashnikov's in a realistic world.
However, due to his great inability with most things combined with his power Jackson has been forced to come up with a very... unique way of fighting. He will throw himself into a fight with reckless abandon over, and over, and over, and over, and over again until every last enemy of his is down on the floor bleeding.
Jackson is not a fighter, but a force of nature.
