[hider=Baron Moreau][b]Name:[/b] Baron Moreau
[b]Nickname/Alias/Etc:[/b] Barry, Zombie, etc.
[b]Gender:[/b] Male
[b]Age:[/b] 31
[b]Height:[/b] 6'3”
[b]Weight:[/b] 154 lbs
[b]Faction:[/b] Neutral

[u]Appearance[/u]

[b]Hair Color:[/b] Black
[b]Eye Color:[/b] Green
[b]Ethnicity:[/b] Canadian; has English and French blood.
[b]Physical Appearance/Attire:[/b] Barry looks rather unorthodox among his mercenary crowd, appearing more of an aristocrat than anything else. He is tall and slender, specifically standing at 6'3", and weighs in at 154 lbs. This said, he isn't the strongest fighter and his body is fairly skinny and not as muscular as much of his other... “associates”, although he does abide by the standard requirement of fitness in his organization that is befitting of him, though this is usually in the form of physical therapy (he has a strong, mechanical brace reinforcing his left leg). His skin is fairly pale and unblemished by anything other than the scars littered over his body. On his back, torso, legs, and so on - the damage on his left leg in particular being rather severe and is bestrewn with scar tissue. His pale skin is in dramatic contrast with his black hair, which comes down at a widow's peak, and is neatly swept backwards with a comb and then kept in place a small dab of hair gel. If he were to go out on a tactical mission, he would appear almost as though he were going out on a date, but forgot his dress coat. He has piercing green eyes that are, at just the right angle, appearing somewhat hollow, if words were to do any justice. It is as if he stared into hell and hell stared back, but even then, they appear no less brilliant, cunning, deceptive, or even deadly. Thick lashes and sharp eyebrows simply sharpen his piercing gaze. His true expressions always seem somewhat hidden, as though his face were hidden by a million and one masks, each with their own different story. Even his walk, it seems, where his apparent full-of-himself strut appears to be well-disguised pacing. This brings along with him an air of mystery. Given his pampered features and esoteric air, along with a charming and clever disposition, he's quite the heart-breaker. His hands are covered in calluses and his fingers usually look a little cut up, but is generally well taken care of.

If he had a choice in his uniform, he'd be dressed nicely and perhaps come in a nice suit with a boutonnière. However, glamour and sophistication has no place in his line of work or among suburbs (unless the objective specifically calls for good appearances). He often visits areas in South America, so the humidity doesn't help much to bolster his preferred fashion. Lacking the strength, or even the necessity, he never requires heavy equipment - which is a plus, given how it would add unnecessary stress on his brace and left leg. So he usually does his dirty job in waist-high black dress pants that rides up to his naval and are tucked into thick black boots, causing some bagginess around the lower calves. His pants are accessorized with button suspenders crossing over each other on his back and then meeting parallel down his front. These suspenders are usually strapped over a greatly faded light grey t-shirt. The collar has three buttons going down the center, making it able to change from a round neck to a v-neck. He usually leaves them unbuttoned give the hot air or humidity of the environment he often enters, which in turn tends to reveal just a little bit of his chest and collarbone. The subtle fact that there are very faint hints of blood stains on his shirt that looks as though someone had tried to bleach the stains off the shirt - this in conjunction with the lack of any holes - might appear disturbing to anyone who just happens to notice it. Otherwise, his wardobe is dynamic, so describing his outfits during casual or formal ventures would do little to express his appearance, and would do no more justice than stating simply: he dresses very nicely as if he looks to impress. Underneath Barry's right arm is a tattoo in Arabic, a memento from a particular expedition that required him to infiltrate an organization of radicals. It reads "وعاء الله", which means "Allah's vessel", or "God's pot". 

[u]Personality[/u]

[b]Outward & Innate Personality:[/b] Barry appears as a cheerful fellow, but somehow balancing his grating optimism with stern realism. He wears a smile on his face most of the time, one that appears almost naive, but also inquisitive. His eyes always appear to be trailing somebody, or analyzing something, and very few details escape him. In fact, were it not for his charming demeanor, he might even be marked as the group's creep who watches everybody simultaneously. He assures this as nothing more than simple curiosity of studying human behavior and overseeing group cohesiveness. As such, he is quite adept when it comes to deductive reasoning and breaking down a person's behaviorisms that might tie in to other areas of that person's life as well. In fact, he is quite possibly more aware and knowledgeable of his comrades than they are aware of (but he is also rather fond at looking through personnel files). Otherwise, he may just be an incredibly elaborate liar. But there's little doubt in any one of his seasoned associates' mind that the man is brilliant. It is even said by his comrades: mad, but brilliant. But mad, per se, was of course the perspectives of another individual who was ignorant of Barry's reasoning and of his intents. 

He is a mixed bag in terms of morality. He is sympathetic to the wounded and the soldiers that do the fighting, and while he would much rather prefer a calm and relaxing time working with his "clients" to get what he needs, he doesn't flinch at the prospect of turning an interrogation session on its heels to either scare or torture the information out of a target. Jobs such as that, and jobs such as infiltration, allow him to disconnect himself from others to a degree that is almost inhuman. He also is not above manipulating or lying to either foes or allies, provided that the outcome is decisive in his favor. However, he remains an egalitarian at heart and is uncharacteristically loyal to his primary employer. He doesn't quite let on at to his purpose in being there - whether its money or excitement or so on, but he definitely does enjoy the perks out of being in his line of work. He doesn't think about religion and gods a whole lot, but he has forsaken God when he was treated in kind when imprisoned in South America. 

There's something not quite right with Baron, though. Right inside. There's something that he doesn't let show itself to anyone. It is as though there's a little devil in him that allows him to deviate from his usual habits and allows for a delightful potential for cruelty in Baron. On typical occasions, his moral compass would forbid him from doing anything outrageous. He can coldly - calculatingly - see opportunities in which an icy touch is necessary. With a flick of a switch, he turns off his usual moral restraints; this mood takes over, generally done during [i]very[/i] "personal" matters, and can be robotically condemning. Something about America del Sur pulled something in his head that made him learn how to selectively detach himself and see things under a... [i]dark[/i] light. He no longer believes in mercy... at least, not in severe circumstances such as, shall we say, war.

[b]Hobbies/Interests:[/b] Cigarettes, chess, prose, cold coffee, cheeses, wines, olives, corned beef, psychology and sociology, vintage, music (classical, jazz, swing, blues), musicals, linguistics, foreign culture, etc. Baron is a man of many interests and enjoys simple indulgences, and prefers the rich taste of life's fruits. He pursues not the things that makes life [i]work[/i] but the things that makes life worth living.

[b]Skills/Talents:[/b] Despite the oddities that he may be accused of, he isn't as emotionally distant as some people who "know" him may think. He can break up a fight between soldiers and other personnel, or at least ease the tension between the two or few. Even though whoever has heard of him among the ranks is well aware of his occupation, not many actually grasp how much Barry is truly a psychological genius. If he so wished it, he could play games with a person's head at a whim. He has knowledge of the correlation between body movements/functions, and between that and undercover experience, a degree of body control that allows him to expertly craft lies, or even see right through the lies of others. Through his years of training, he can work enough of the right charm to work the truth out of a person.
Or alternatively, he can work his otherwise charming charisma into more devious matters such as intimidation or interrogation. True, while his physical form isn't too intimidating, he is cunning and intelligent enough to pick just the right words to get under your skin and play off your worst fears. That is his job in his business – he works with a mercenary group – but he isn't just some simple hired gun. There are plenty of those. When it comes to gathering information on somebody, he can hand you all you need to know just by spending some time with them alone. Having experience inserting himself into different places, he's somewhat of an amateur linguist. He learns enough of a bunch of different languages, but usually forgets how to speak them afterward when they're no longer relevant. He also enjoys chess and poetry in the form of prose. He has some cooking ability. Nobody lets him play card games anymore. 

[b]Prized Possession:[/b] He isn't very sentimental with a lot of things. Naturally, he's attached to the tools of his trade. He has a brand of handgun (that he is allowed to carry due to a gun permit) called a Caracal CP. He also possesses an early 1900s French-made Apache revolver, and is his favorite of the two. He has a modern black vehicle that's been outfitted so that the body resembles a 1940s Bentley. He also has a dog. He's a Great Dane named Pavlov.

[b]Quote(s):[/b] “I'm always looking for a theory good and complex enough to stamp my name onto it. The Moreau Theory – that has a nice ring to it, am I right? I've no intention on wasting that!”

[b]History/Bio:[/b] Baron was born into a middle class family in Canada and went to a wonderfully reviewed school. His last name came from his father's line - he was, in fact, only about 10% French. But that was the family line that gave him a French last name. Since his youth, psychology and the inner workings of the brain fascinated him, so he took the electives and courses as they were available to him. It was a bit challenging trying to choose between neuroscience and psychology, but the idea of understanding people appealed to him more. So he pursued the psychological path. He started at the age of 18, straight out of high-school and enjoyed his classes and found great interest in them. In fact, while he initially wanted to get his Psy.D. in psychology, he continued school for another year or two just so he could say he has a Ph.D. He got out of school in six years, getting an Associates degree in neuroscience and a Doctorates degree in psychology, and at 24, was in the workforce. At first, he worked in counseling, whether it be with children, adults, or even marriages. That sort of thing. It was nice of course - helping people - it was heartwarming, but also a little depressing. He also found it less of understanding people and more of letting his clients talk everything out, and while he asked questions about what he thought that meant, he let them come to their own conclusions. It was primarily about asking them simple questions and, occasionally, a lot of lying. So he left that job and tried his hand in criminal psychology, which he turned out to be very good at and later opened up other pathways in which he would try his hand in. He worked as a part-time detective, however, still in the psychological field where he helped figure out where the person may go given their circumstances and he was also interrogating during that time via verbal means. He attempted actual detective-work, which was mostly paperwork, and then private investigating when he learned he liked working by his own rules instead. He had many different jobs throughout the psychological and investigative fields, and some of his favorite jobs was in criminal psychology, undercover work, and investigative psychology where he was pitted against the suspect in an interrogation room.

Later, a business called the Dreadnaughts, a mercenary group, found him at the age of 27 and he found the thrill he was looking for. As it turns out, Baron was the only psychologist they found good enough or honest enough to work with them. Good enough where he even survived long enough to last three years, taking part in their hilarious antics (such as the time where he infiltrated a terrorist group holed up in Saudi Arabia, and was payed by the Arabian government itself). He went missing for nearly a year after a mission with them, where was kidnapped by some guerrilla group in South America. 

He was interrogated and tortured, where he tried his hardest to hold himself out through the agony. He was a pretty valuable prisoner to them, as he was held in their custody for ten months. Baron told them next to nothing about the Dreadnaughts during that time, but he did feel his willpower giving out and his constitution would not allow him much more punishment. Fortunately, during a feeding hour, they forgot to secure his manacles. He worked himself out of the cage, and before slipping away, he silently killed almost half of their men with a sharp piece of scrap metal, all the while with a cartilage-worn and broken left leg. He was spared the wrath of the jungle and eventually found a civilization of a small town and secured a trip with the locals to the nearest hospital. At the hospital, he rested for a couple of days and got back in contact with the Dreadnaughts. He was back in the game with some physical rehabilitation, and that experience in South America taught him plenty. While he knew the tricks of keeping yourself from being manipulated, never was that knowledge tested as much as it was during that time. The other thing he learned? No mercy on the battlefield. It was starting then he stopped allowing other members to visit him while he's interrogating. Things may get messy if his "client" is stubborn enough. It's safe to say that his methods has gotten slightly more unorthodox since his escape a year ago.

Altogether, Baron has four years of service under his belt, although he considers himself to be a Dreadnaught for a total five years (counting even his time whilst imprisoned - a lot of time there were questions about them). To avoid another event like that, he has a number of code names which he alternates through depending on the sort of mission he's on and he's built up a reputation with each of them, fooling his enemies into thinking there are three different dangerous people without letting on he could be any of them. "Skinwalker" for infiltration missions, "Dracula" for interrogation and diplomacy missions, and "Zombie", which was a nickname he earned from the rest of the crew because of how he "came back from the dead" (plus his limp). This came to be another code name that he takes on in every other operation.

He is currently taking paid leave and is vacationing off back home in Canada. His primary destination was to be Ottawa, Quebec, but when he heard about Black Fall, and heard about how it was a hub for the usually rare super-humans, he foregone his plans and decided to visit there. Whether he decides to go there for the light shows or for the valuable data and research he could get off the residents there (Looking into the mind of a super-human? Not an easy opportunity to pass up!), he's sure he's going to be in for one hell of a vacation.

[b]Family:[/b]
Sylvester Moreau, Father [i](deceased)[/i]
Bernadette Moreau, Mother [i](alive)[/i]

[u]Relationships[/u]

[b]Relationships: [/b]
[i]N/A[/i]

[u]Abilities[/u]

[b]Power Class:[/b] [i]N/A[/i]
[b]Power:[/b] [i]N/A[/i]

[b]Weaknesses/Limitations/Drawbacks:[/b] [i]N/A[/i]
[b]Other:[/b] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0uCm08fahw
[youtube]D0uCm08fahw[/youtube]

[u][b]Sample Post:[/b][/u] Blood – it was everywhere. Splatted all over the walls, the floor, with bits of gore and what only looked to be gnawed-on fragments of bone in some corners where the first responders has failed to investigate properly. Baron walked around the scene, pacing, taking all of it in. He had already scouted the surrounding area. The pool of blood was clearly the scene in which the death had occurred, but there was a chase. A struggle. In the ally, outside of which the murder had occurred, a trail of blood led the scene. Some on a dumpster. There were abnormal cracks within the brick walls. The kind of damage you only see in the north, where water seeped between the small cracks in the wall and froze, splitting it. They were all over this ally but scarce everywhere else. This part of town wasn't that old - and the murder scene seemed like the guy was put in a shredder.

There was also claw marks in the pavement. Forensic investigations found residue in the claw marks and collected it. The blood was sampled with cue tips and cotton swabs and placed in baggies. However, this murder was so fresh, even the first responders were still doing the jobs. It couldn't have been any longer than twenty minutes ago. Closer to fifteen. Three sirens flashes around the taped off scene.

The event had occurred between two meta-humans. Meta-humans were part of the reason Baron had first come to this town instead of New Orleans. The psychological insight would be invaluable. But when he arrived, he learned that the meta-humans here had actually formed two distinct, but equally dangerous street gangs that'd make the LA Bloods look like children on a playground. If Baron's hunch was right, an inter-gang altercation was the most reasonable explanation. Turf wars and so on.

“P.I.?” Asked a detective assessing the scene. It was to see if they could discover any oversights in the initial survey. “I understand that we've hired you to help us, and that you do things your own way, but we still need you to cooperate with our department.”

“Of course.” Baron replied absentmindedly. He walked over to his protégé's side, his left leg limping behind him. He was adorned in a chic outfit. From the bottom up, polished black dress shoes with dress pants. Black suspenders attached themselves to the waistband and wrapped around his lime-green oxford shirt, layered upon which was a black vest. It was an ironed outfit, free of wrinkles, and his hair was slickly gelled back as per the usual. 

He took a final look at the scene before giving his assessment. “This was a chase. He must've been running for a while. He must've been followed. And I think it'd be most reasonable to suspect that this is gang activity. I found blood on the dumpster in the back of the alley. That should be a good place to check for prints.”

The detective sighed. “Got that. We'll send the forensics team over and get that sorted out. Thank you for your help.”

“It's my pleasure.” Baron added graciously.

The detective turned about and watched the scene: from forensic analysts gathering evidence and the police inspecting the area, and the remains of the body being zipped up in a body bag. “I can tell you we know that he was a Skull member. Moderately reputable, got into trouble kinda frequently. Judging from the structural damage, and the drop in temperature in the area, I have a hunch he was that John Frost thug.”

“Then it'd make sense that this was an action taken by the Vanguards.”

“Yes, it would. But the evidence we received isn't conclusive enough to give us a face, or even a name. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.”

Baron laughed jovially. “ I can imagine. And there's a lot of evidence here, yeah. Blood all over the damn place. Ever since their kind started comin' in Mendel, we've just had–”

“I dunno,” he interrupted, prompting an annoyed frown from Baron, “but Skeleton is gonna lose his shit when he hears about this one.”

“Was he a big deal?” Baron asked.

“Do I look like I hang around fuckin' gangsters? All I know is that the guy was apparently a Skull.”

“Fine, fine. Let's call it a day then. I'll ask around in the meantime. Maybe something has happened between the two parties to invite bad blood.”

“Heard that – I'll keep in touch with you.”

Baron nodded his acquaintance off and walked away on his own. There was a bar nearby. He wasn't much of a fan of bars. They did not often sell the kind of vintage that Baron was a fan of, and the atmospheres were often too rustic. However, they were the gathering places of the local savvies. There he can obtain information on his case. It wasn't Club 76 or the Jolly Roger – those two places were renowned for being the hubs of gang activity. The only reason why the department didn't storm in and fire the place up was probably the risk of losing too many officers.

No, this was a lesser known bar. More suited for those who wanted to get away from all that nonsense. To keep low. To avoid association. What better place to obtain information?

He took the bus. He payed the fare and rode it out, making sure to give people his especially suspicious face – like a smug grin, and piercing gaze. Give them the impression that Baron was watching them, or that they were his target, so that he may be alone in his seat. It was surprisingly easy. Just how tight was the grip of these gangs on this town? Perhaps solving a murder or two wasn't all that needed to be done. If he was feeling especially spry, then he ought to contemplating dismantling all criminal power here.

But that'd require effort he wasn't being payed to spend.

When he got to his stop, no time was wasted in going in and getting straight to business. He walked straight the door, and checked out what was inside. The bar was slightly dead. A couple people here and there. Almost all keeping to themselves. Lack of trust, or suspicion? Or, perhaps looking to solve out their own problems. The guy in the gray business suit? A rectangular lump in his pants, and a similar, almost identical shape in his coat pocket over his breast. The top of which stuck out, it being a phone. His brown hair, scruffy, his face unshaven. His suit, that which appeared to be regularly ironed, was unkempt. Tugged in areas. Sweat soaked in the pants and below his neck. Constantly checking his phone in his coat. What could be the reasons? Put himself in his shoes, and the answers narrow down. Huge promotion? Possibly getting fired? Feedback on a project? Or maybe he cheated on his wife or girlfriend? The smallest red speck that could be mistaken for blood on the edge of his mouth – which did gloss under the light. All one could really do is wish him the best of luck.

Or perhaps the other man, alone on a bar stool. Salt and pepper hair, red skin – not so red, or the kind of red that'd be the sign of a southern man, it was an identifier of damaged skin. Thin wrinkles crawled over his body... scruffy facial hair... city-man attire... eh? No, no... maybe? Couldn't be. Or could it? Baron was, at heart, a doctor and scientist. He couldn't make exceptions. Still, God be damned if it was his old co-worker. He limped over, quietly, casually. He eased over by this stranger's side and leaned against the counter.

“So,” Baron started saying, “anything been interesting lately? Like that murder down the way. What's up with that any-who?”[/hider]