[Hider=Alex King]
[B]Name:[/b] Alexander King
[b]Nickname:[/b] Freak, the Machine

[img]http://67.media.tumblr.com/00314671f320523348f8cabc7d9e3a48/tumblr_ndoo72q2IA1swwx3co3_250.png[/img]

[B]Age: 24[/b]
[B]Gender: Male[/b]
[B]Ethnicity: Caucasian/Mixed[/b]
 
[B]Physical Description:[/b]
[INDENT]It's hard to put a finger on Alex. He's an average enough guy to look at him--in shape but not jacked, attractive but neither 'hot' nor handsome. His hair is dark, his eyes light. It isn't until you realize how impenetrable that makes him that you begin to notice the little things--like how his hair is always just short enough that there's nothing to grab. That he doesn't have any piercings or visible tattoos of any kind. That he always wears the same shade of matte-black, carefully unadorned (which is harder to find than most people think). The scar on his lip that his brother gave him is really the only distinguishing thing about him, and it's something he'd change if he could.

Though that isn't really true. Watching Alex is an exercise in watching [i]focus[/i]. It's not as if he's spending energy on it, but when his attention is there it's on something one-hundred-percent. If he's listening, he's hearing every word. If he's watching, he's tracking every detail. Disarmingly still, he moves like people think Shaolin monks or psychopaths move. They're not necessarily wrong.[/INDENT]

[B]Skillset:[/b]
[list][*][i]While E. King, Supergenius[/i] - Alex is smart. Really smart. The kind of smart that you don't really get to be unless you're at least a [i]little[/i] bit on the spectrum. He can do the kind of math in his head that most people have to read their calculator's manual to know the right buttons for and tell you how far it is from Techmian to Kumasi because he read it that one time. Nobody's saying the kid was meant for the street life, but dammit if they weren't all over him at college.
[*][i]Dammit Jim, I'm a Doctor[/i] - Well no, he's not really. But he was going to be before all of this, and it shows. With a particular focus on trauma-care, Alex is the guy you want to go to if you happen to find a hole in your arm (or stomach, thigh, liver...). He may not be a walking hospital, but give him some sutures and a sterile needle and you'd be surprised what he can put back together. Especially if you get a little neon in him...
[*][i]This is my Caring Face[/i] - Having grown up as the quasi-autistic brother to a local badass, Alex learned early on not to give a shit what people thought of him. Most people don't even think he's [i]capable[/i] of giving a shit, the kind of cool cucumber that can stand there and be called every foul name in the book without losing his temper. What's it matter to him if you think he's a faggot? Of course...
[*][i]The Quiet One[/i] - You know that guy in the back of the class? The one who did his homework, ate his lunch, went home and for all you knew sat watching the wall until he got up to do it again? The guy you were pretty sure would fucking gut you like a fish if you disturbed the angle of his pencil? He's got [i]nothing[/i] on Alex in a bad mood. Y'know. When he has 'moods'.[/list]

[B]History:[/b]
[INDENT]David King's mother died in child birth.

It happens. It happens more than it ought to in America, but that's another story. The awkward fact of the matter is that left David's father, an otherwise decent mechanic with heavy hands and a drinking problem but a heart of gold, out a bed warmer. By the time David was old enough to to realize his old man was paying for sex (approximately five--kids say the [i]darndest[/i] things!), Mr. King decided it was maybe a good moment to settle himself back down. While the dating pool for an older African American man of his position and stature wasn't exactly tremendous, he was a well known and loved guest on the Strip and it didn't take him long to find a snuggle bunny ready to cash in on a meal ticket.

Enter Cherice and her son Alex[i]ander[/i], who moved in about a week after Mr. King first laid eyes on her twenty-four-year old can. Nothing against the old man, who was pushing sixty at the time--she knew what she was getting into and so did he, and between the two of them things went alright. Yeah, she disappeared a few years later, but nobody expected otherwise and there were no hard feelings, even little Alex[i]ander[/i] who she left behind.

Mostly.

For much of David's young life, having a younger brother was a pain. He was pretty sure he was retarded, if he was being honest--seriously, the kid followed him around [i]everywhere[/i]. He didn't talk, he didn't play ball, he didn't pick locks or boost cars. He wasn't quick, he wasn't funny, he wasn't even the same [i]color[/i] as David. As far as he was concerned, white boy just came out hard boiled and that was all there was to it. So when all of a sudden a sick beating he was getting thrown stopped, the last thing he was expecting to see was the Freak standing there with a brick in one hand and his converse on Brian O'Conner's wrist where he'd drawn the knife that David hadn't seen.

So yeah. Maybe he was a freak. But from that day on he was David's brother, and the two were thick as thieves.

Not, you know, literally. He was still a weirdo, but at least he wasn't totally brain dead. He could talk, at least, and even did so on occasion when the two of them were alone. Not a lot, but enough to let his big brother know he had a head on his shoulders. That he missed his mom, sometimes, but not all that much because he knew she didn't really miss him. That he wondered if he would always feel this lonely, and if he would ever grow up to be like David.

David, who knew for damn sure he wasn't about to let his little buddy grow up to be [i]anything[/i] like him.

David boosted his first car at fourteen. By the time he was twenty he had enough cash saved up to send Alex to community college, where he went grudgingly. A little more talkative in his teenage years, it was clear enough from the time they occasionally spent together that Alexander King was a smart motherfucker. Smart enough to have a shot at something real, something better than playing hood-rat with the rest of the thugs in the neighborhood. He tried, sure, but David wasn't about to have it--he sent him off to school every day, no matter what, and if he wanted to hang around with the hoods that was too damn bad. Somewhere along the line David got it in his head that Alex was going to be somebody, and by God was he going to make that happen. His old man sure wasn't, God rest his soul--he hadn't made it past the kid's eight birthday.

Alex wasn't stupid. He knew what David was doing, and knew better than to fight it. It meant something to him, so he made it worth his time. Around Hoxton he was a freak, but at school he was 'gifted'. Associates degree by the time he could smoke, pre-med by the time he could drink. He got to be more of a person over the years, little by little--turned out he wasn't retarded, just damaged. A little liquor here, a little familiarity there, and he was almost sociable. College was good for him, dorms even better. He started smiling, came back on weekends or for school breaks instead of every day. For a while it looked like he might really make it.

And then someone put their fist through his brother's chest.

Nobody was glad to see him when he came down, even if they knew it was coming. Dante wasn't about to let all of David's hard work go to shit, but when he opened his mouth to talk and Alex put a gun in his mouth you could have heard a pin drop.

"Someone killed my brother." He said, calm as could be, looking Dante square in the eyes. "So I'm going to kill him. You try and stop me."

He pulled the gun out of the man's mouth, popped out the round in the chamber. Ejected the mag, set it on the table, swapped it for a beer. Alex King walked past Dante, who couldn't quite help but wonder who the fuck he was all of a sudden, and that was three days ago.

Today? Time for payback.[/INDENT]

[B]Psychological Profile:[/b]
[INDENT]Alex isn't a sociopath, but he's definitely not quite right in the head. Call it childhood trauma, call it brain drain, call it whatever you want--the only person to know the real deal is dead, and even neon's not about to change that. The world for Alex is a simple place, black and white. He's either on your side or not, and if he's on your side he'll support you pretty much regardless of what you want. If you're not, you're slightly better than a table lamp (but you're also probably not as useful). Focus is a defining trait of his, and in keeping with his one-way-or-the-other mentality he can be both incredibly perceptive and incredibly narrow-minded when it comes to certain things. Once upon a time that included people, but he's a bit more nuanced these days. You might actually get a decent conversation out of him, if he likes you.

When it comes right down to it, Alex is neither autistic nor deranged. He's a very damaged young man who realized a long time ago that triage was the only reasonable solution to his problem, which is that he has absolutely no idea how to process his emotions. When he's mad, he's furious--when he's sad, he's inconsolable. It's so much easier to [i]not[/i], to just not [i]deal[/i] with that part of him that he doesn't understand how everyone else can bear it. The emotional distance between him and most is a tough barrier to push past, but for those who take the time to get past it he's as caring as every barren wasteland is at heart.

So, you know. Very. Probably.[/INDENT]

[B]Powers:[/b] 
[indent][i]Hemomancy[/i] - Under the influence of Neon, Alex gains the ability to manipulate the blood of living creatures (including himself). A creepy enough talent in and of itself, it can be especially disconcerting to see in practice as he bursts soft tissues or causes even minor wounds to vent, halts a circulatory system or hardens his blood beneath his skin. Though the talent is versatile, Alex is completely new when it comes to the use of neon and has relatively poor control, able to maintain or use only one affect at any given time. It also does not, for instance, heal the effects it may cause in his body, and he must be careful not to find himself in worse shape than if he'd just gone into a fight without it.

He...really likes using his power. Then again, he would.[/indent][/hider]