[b]Player Name:[/b] The Bogus Byrd Man

[b]Character You Wish To Play:[/b] The one man that's the realest of the real, the one smooth brother that makes all the women squeal. I'm talking about the baddest mofo that ever fought with righteous rage: The Harlem crusader Luke Cage

[b]Moral Alignment:[/b] Hero, ya dig? 

[b]Affiliation:[/b] Cage ain't the type of brother to be attached to anyone's hip bone. When it comes to teams, he works alone.

[b]Character Origin & Backstory:[/b]

The story of Luke Cage can be told in verse. The early days are when his life went from bad to worse. Carl Lucas, a would be gangster working around Harlem town, working as a strongarm lackey to that Willis Styrker clown. Styrker had Harlem tight in his grasp, strangling the community with his criminal clasp. Young Luke fell for Lenore, Stryker's sweetheart. Styrker went mad with jealousy, his sanity fell apart. One day Carl was headed home when he got stopped, ya dig? It was two NYPD uniforms and a detective pig. They ran Carl in because an eyeball witness, the man said Carl was around a murder scene the night before and acting suspicious. Carl's fingerprints matched the ones on a piece, so he was arrested for murder by the police. A swift trial commenced, so fast you couldn't blink. The end result was predictable, Carl sentenced to life in the clink. Carl's heart was tortured, his spirit maimed. He knew that he was framed.

Ten years in the slammer seemed to rapidly pass, all the while outside Stryker's kingdom gained mass. Losing hope on getting out and his prospects dim, Carl decided to volunteer for a project most grim. An experiment to create the durability of a famous super-soilder ended in disaster thanks to an evil poacher. Carl lay in a science chamber, his body resting, when a vindictive guard broke in to where they were testing. The guard smashed the console and dial. The chamber began sparking, its insides filling with bile. A massive explosion rocked the prison then, a force that was like a keg of dynamite times ten. The guard, the doctor, and the whole experiment were lost in the detonation, nothing could survive that great conflagration.

Out of the fiery rubble and debris a lone figure came crawling. It was a naked Carl Lucas who ran, his own ass he was hauling. He ran into the woods to avoid any guards. Through some odd happenstance he was now out behind bars. What's more his whole body seemed unreal. The explosion hadn't hurt him, his body tougher than steel. With new powers at his command and ten years spent spurned, he set his sights for Harlem and home he did return.

Once home he started a crusade for payback, Willis Stryker and his criminal rackets were prime for attack. A new life and fresh start he had acquired. Carl Lucas was dead, believed perished in that fire. Soon after coming home he sought out his former love Lenore. He was shattered when he discovered she was no more. She had died six years back, overdosing from mainlining pure smack. He made a promise that day, for letting her die Stryker would pay. Adopting the alias Luke Cage, he tore up Harlem fueled by his powers and rage. It didn't take long for Stryker to get mad. He put out a million dollar hit for Luke Cage, man he wanted that brother reaaal bad. Cage tore trough Styrker's men like butter, setting the residents of Harlem's hearts aflutter. For a long time now they had needed a defender to help them thrive, but Cage didn't want none of that jive! He wasn't a hero to speak for the masses, he just wanted to kick Styrker and his men's asses. 

Cage dispatched Styrker's men at their nightclub without breaking a sweat. They were the bad mothers, but to him they proved to be no threat. Cage finally set his sights on Styrker, that villain. The two fought each other, both intent on killin'. Stryker tried his best to fight off his former friend, but the steel skinned man was too much to defend. Desperate to kill and half crazed, Stryker decided to kill both he and Cage in a massive blaze. Up went his nightclub in a red hot spire. Nobody was getting out of that fire. If you think that's the end of this story and Cage is dead, then what the hell's wrong with your head? Out of the fire came Cage choking, unharmed and unhurt but his body smoking. While he came out of the fire okay, Stryker had been consumed in the infero's fray. 

Gathered around the blazing hulk were the people of Harlem so grateful, they were glad to be rid of the crime boss that was so hateful. In the embers of the building Cage watched it burn, while a feeling inside him did churn. His vengeance was complete now that Stryker had died, but he still felt hollow and empty inside. That day Cage made a solemn vow, he would change his life and his ways somehow. From that day forward he decided to work for the people as best he could, writing wrongs and injustices in the 'hood. If you need help and your situation is dire, then you can always call Luke Cage: Hero for Hire.

[b]Powers and Abilities[/b] (What can you're character do? What can't they do?): Cage has street hero level super strength and steel-hardened skin

[b]Sample Post:[/b]

[i]Harlem, Manhattan
9:22 PM[/i]

Greasy moo goo gai pan was my dinner that night. Red Dragon's on West 131st Street near the playground. Mr. Hsu always made a new batch of it whenever I walked in, thanks for helping him out a few months ago when I stopped a would-be blackmailer from trying to extort Hsu. Turns out the old man was in America illegally after he jumped ship on a barge in San Diego thirty years ago. A little flexing of my muscle and the blackmailer stepped off and handed over what he had on Hsu. The old man to his credit turned himself over to immigration who decided he'd been in the country to long to deport. Also didn't hurt that he was the rare illegal that paid taxes. For helping him out I get half off moo goo gai pan and get to make eyes at Hsu's hot daughter while she works the register.

There was a pretty steady rain outside that night. That's usually good news for everyone. Rain means the gangbangers are too scared to go out, lest they get their sneakers dirty, and the cops aren't up to getting out of their cruisers unless they really need to so they avoid banging people up on the small fry stuff that really pisses off communities. My previous observation was contradicted almost at once. Two NYPD patrol cars with rooftop lights flashing sped by the restaurant. Like I said, the rain is usually good news but not always.

Joannie Hsu rung my meal up without giving me her number once again. That's alright, I'd ask again when I'm back in a week. I walked out into the rain and pulled my yellow hoodie up over my head. There weren't many people on the street, but the few that were all headed in the same direction: down the street and around the corner. The corner blocked the sight, but I could see the blue and red flash of police lights reflecting off the buildings.

A few minutes later and I stood in front of police tape. My hood kept my head dry against the slow pitter patter of rain. The crime scene was at the playground just around the corner from the Red Dragon. Two uniformed cops kept the small crowd gathering back from the scene, but everyone could see through them to the white tarp covering a dead body sprawled out in a sandbox. There were murmurs and talk rippling through the crowd. I didn't take part, but I listened and got the gist. The body under the tarp was Bobbito Garcia, seventeen years old and a nearby resident. Someone said he had his girlfriend with him when he got shot, someone said they heard the shots and turned around to see Bobbito falling to the ground and an unknown shooter running from the scene.

A detective in a cheap suit walked trough the crowd, flashing a badge. I started to fade back into the crowd to avoid being seen. The less police attention I attracted, the better. From my vantage point I could see the crime scene and the few places the officers had protected from the rain. Bobbito's body was covered, as was a small space I assumed covered up the murder weapon. A plastic baggie lay on the ground with a small card inside. I couldn't make out the words scribbled on the card, but I saw the logo in the middle of the card as clear as day. A bright red crown, dripping blood.

Who murders a seventeen year old kid execution style and leaves a calling card?

I didn't know, but I was going to find out.