Alexander Haliat is the current leader of the Adelon PMC. Seen by many as the prime symbol of defense against the superhuman menace, and considered a hero by many civilian accounts, Alexander was largely responsible for organizing the widespread efforts that brought an end to the crisis affecting the world. Coordinating strikes against high profile targets, moving troops to intercept runaways, and so on. Everything Alexander has done has been, as he claims, for the safety and betterment of mankind. When he started the operation involving Arkos, it was met met with concerns from both his men and allies, but he assures them the initiative will both keep the global public safe, and pave the way to a greater future for humans everywhere.

Alexander is a Greece-born man, standing at a fair height and stature, physically fit for a man his age (56), and still quite strong and able. He possesses considerable wrinkles, and a light burn scar above his right temple. His skin is a light olive color, his eyes are a steely blue, and his hair is graying but plentiful, neatly combed backward as to not obstruct his face. He has a bushy goatee with streaks of black running through it. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted shades at all times, and his azure combat uniform as well.

Elias Winzer is Adelon's senior technician, logistics head, and Haliat's trusted adjutant. As someone with a formidable intellect, a history of migrating, and having worked with a handful of PMCs in the past, Eli possesses a great deal of experience in managing assets, keeping records, and overseeing development progress. He's been with Adelon for four years, and shot straight to the near top of the ranks after not quite long at all. He was onboard with the Arkos operation from its inception, and now oversees both the long term and day-to-day maintenance of the island and its contents. He has a reputation with the prisoners as the man who makes the occasional snarky announcement, and a handful of them wouldn't mind seeing his head on a pike.

Eli is 28, comparitively younger than most other Adelon personnel, but he's long since proven his worth among them. He's Caucasian, of a tall and lean stature, and physically fit but in no major ways muscular. His hair is a common brown color, and he wears it in a simple faux hawk. His face is narrow, his eyes are green, and he possesses some level of stubble around his jaw, mostly focused at his chin. He wears a simple pair of sleek glasses, which some have joked are actually high-tech ocular enhancers, but they're honest to God just normal glasses.

Known in many circles as “Saint Frank”, Franklin Isaiah St. Jopling is the current leader of the Sunflower Group PMC. He and his men were one of the most active parties in the superhuman crisis, acting on a take-no-prisoners initiative, not even having been hired by anyone to do so. Whether it was out of metaphobia or some manner of revenge is unclear, and for the most part, unimportant. Frank has led the Sunflower Group through campaigns all across Africa, parts of Europe, and the Middle East, cutting a bloody swath through the global number of superhumans. His exploits have earned him a reputation even among other PMCs, for coming out on top against some of the most powerful and dangerous superhumans ever recorded. And now, he and the rest of the Sunflower Group have come to Arkos, with the intent of exterminating all who reside there, even if they have to go through Adelon’s forces to see it done.

Frank is a man of a relatively average build, with a fair bit of muscle. His skin is heavily tanned, a hue of light red and brown mixed together. He has no hair whatsoever, waxed clean, eyebrows plucked. His eyes are a dark brown, and often lie in a squint. He is free of scars, and always has a wry grin plastered on his face, which often turns into a full-fledged open, shouting smile in combat. He wears his PMC’s colors and gear along with kinetic shielding pads gained through most likely unorthodox means. His weapons of choice are a heavy gauss rifle which he has carried for years, and a custom knife built with a nullifier pack in the handle, thereby negating the powers of any superhuman who succumbs to its blade.

Age:
26

Description:


Wednesday's most commonly used active and passive abilities stem from her habit of literally turning into what we would define as cold plasma. Her body is several thousand degrees celsius to the touch- and she has a horrible habit of setting anything even remotely combustable on fire if she's too close.

Plasmatic Abilities:

• Physiology - When Wednesday activates her powers, she transforms from her regular and very human self into a being composed purely of plasma and energy. She is a destructive force in this form, and she can cause deadly burns to anyone or thing grabbing her. She becomes almost entirely immune to explosions and energy based attacks in this stage because she has yet to come in contact with anything weaponized that gets as hot as she does. However, she is still vulnerable to the concussive forces generated by them. If a grenade is thrown at her, often times the force of the explosion will do far more damage than the actual explosion.
• Projection - Even when not in her plasmatic form, she is still capable of generating a good deal of heat if she wants to. She will however, rapidly change into her other form. Wednesday weaponizes her abilities by superheating the air around her to become to levitate, and can often time fire plasma so hot that it combusts the air around it. She also has a bad habit of setting everything on fire. This can obviously lead to some pretty serious environmental damage.
• Manifestation - Wednesday's physiological forms can be achieved very quickly, and she is able to switch forms on command if she so does desire. From a fairly base human form, to her plasmatic form, and finally to her draconic form. Wednesday's dragonic form expands her body into a relatively large draconic being composed of, you guessed it, plasma. This draconic entity stands at around six and a half feet tall, and is capable of flight and all forms of attacks stated above. The only difference is that, for the most part, she is able to control her surface temperature. She is however, still a plasmatic being. While her skin might be ultracold plasma and only be 80F, her insides are still superheated plasma that is probably close to the same temperature as the surface of the sun. This isn't to say she can't become an insanely meteorite that flies through the sky either. The best way to combat her is to knock her out before she realizes what is happening- she was captured by being tranquilized in human form. Any alternative will work, be it lethal or not.

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Wednesday is in general a fairly rough person. Sure, she can smile and laugh and in general have a good time, but it's usually at someone else's expense or misfortune. She can be a bit standoffish and a good way to define her would be 'generally mean unless you catch her in a good mood'. She's a go-it-alone type of gal. The type of girl that you would let walk six blocks home alone because you know for a fact that you have a greater chance of being mugged or killed or worse than her. It's not because she has any dislike of people, she has just found that she gets along better on her own. "Less bullshit." as she would say. She is capable of making friends, so long as they understand that her perceived detachment is not due to her lack of liking them as much as it is just the way she is.

She'd be the type of person you'd text, that reads your message and forgets to respond to it for a few days, that you only text because you either need something you know she will deliver or because you want someone beaten up.

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Before Wednesday was brought into the mess she's currently in, she lived on the streets in a low income area of Las Angeles where crime was fairly commonplace. Because she spent a good deal of her time on the streets from a young age, she became accustomed to violence at a young age and for a long time, she was able to keep her abilities off the radar. However, one slip up in self defense broke the flood gates. Her powers made her a valuable asset to some gangs in the area, while to others who hated the idea of a super- a target. Over time what little family she had wasn't safe in her presence. After a few break-ins, she was eventually pressured into joining a gang that called themselves the Salamandra for protection. Due to her abilities, she very quickly became the face of the gang. She was referred to as the 'Fire Salamander' in her area. This stage in her life was when she fell in love with being in a position of power. No one fucked with her or her family without suffering massive bodily damage or worse from either herself or the gang. For a time she saw herself as invincible. However, other gangs still wanted her, or wanted her dead. Gang wars were common place- and eventually her body count and property destruction warranted Adelon intervention. Once Adelon set their sites on her, her perceived invincibility was very quickly shattered. For several months she was able to evade them with her gang's protection, but it wasn't long after her family's apartment complex was razed that she was captured and detained.

She's been on the island for a while- and anyone from the Las Angeles area knows about her. She has not attempted to create a gang of any kind, her tattoos however give away that she was part of one. Due to her rebellious nature she has made herself a real big pain in the ass for Adelon's... everything. Be it the troopers, surveillance team, or anything else. She really goes out of her way to make their lives difficult. Going so far as to create a game for any fliers that basically goes "See how far you can fly out before you start getting shot at."

As I said- she usually gets her laughs from other people's misfortune. Other supers are no exception.

Jack personally feels that his 'god-given powers' is a curse rather than a gift as it caused him more trouble than benefits in the past. That's not to say that he won't use or shy away from his powers, in-fact he tries to use it to it's utmost potential at any given moment because it would be a complete waste to not do so seeing as his power were the root of his problems. This would mean that he trains and tries to find the most effective method to sufficiently use his powers without, well, killing himself. On the island he usually doesn't seek 'dominance', 'fame' or 'territory', preferring just to keep to himself. However he has no qualms with defending himself as he doesn't like being stepped on, and on extreme cases even kill if it means he'd save his own life, or the lives of people he deems close friends.

Other than that, he is usually carefree and lazy, bordering almost on apathy. He would prefer to spend the day lazing about, keeping to himself and enjoying the presence of silence. If it weren't for his 'gift' then he would be one of the most mundane, and normal-ish citizen that one would find. When interacting with others, he usually has a snarky attitude, hiding behind sarcasm and quick wit when conversing with others. Many people probably wouldn't be able to stand his brutal and sincere honesty.



His life before being sent to no-man's land was... pretty normal. He had two normal, caring parents. He led a life of normalcy, and there was almost nothing of note during his childhood. Except one event, of course. He was about 18 when it happened, he was walking home with one of his friends when he was held up at knife-point. The man was clearly on drugs as his beady red eyes swam between Jack and his friend. Jack even wondered why the man would hold up highschool students who most likely had no valuables on them.

Nonetheless, the man spoke fast and frightened. He demanded both of them drop all their belongings, to which they complied. While Jack's friend was carefully and slowly taking off his wallet and watch, Jack did it 'hastily' out of fear. The masked man didn't react well, and shouted at the scared boy whilst swiping his blade at him. The man cut his cheek, and blood started to seep out slowly. Jack's eyes widened in disbelief, and suddenly, the blood came under his control, he used it to swat the man's knife away. The masked assailant promptly ran away, calling Jack a monster under his breath.

Fortunately though, his friend didn't see from his point of view, only seeing the man running away in terror. He called Jack a 'bad-ass' for managing to instill the fear of 'man' in him, to which he replied with a short and lifeless laugh.

---

Fast forward to a few years later, where Jack had come to terms with his 'gift' and was training for proper use, as one day he predicted and accepted that he would actually get caught and either killed or sent away. As predicted, another incident occurred, one where a man had tipped that he was a superhuman. One wouldn't have to guess where this 'anonymous tip' had come from. A manhunt had swiftly taken place, and a whole sweep of the neighborhood took place. His parents tried to hide him, being kind as they were, but Jack refused, preferring no one to be caught in the crossfire. So he gave himself up willingly. The Upper echelons decided he wasn't a threat, and shipped him off to the 'island'. Now with his hands cuffed he waits to arrive on the island.

---

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Description:


The power to be able to manipulate and shape one's own blood. It can be shaped into any construct, anything that Jack can imagine, limited by his body's natural blood volume. He can only manipulate his own blood, and any foreign blood inserted within him needs to circulate around his body once so that he can manipulate and control it. His own blood has corrosive properties when injected into or sprayed against another opponent. Fortunately his blood type is AB+ so he can use everyone's blood type.

Abilities:

• Shaping - He can shape blood from any wound that is either self-inflected or not. The blood can take shape into almost anything- ranging from a sharp short sword, a make do shield, or even mid-ranged attacks in the form of sharp, arrow-like structures and many more. To inflict wounds on himself, he carries around a small razor, usually cutting on either palms.
• Clotting - Since he can directly control his blood, he can forcefully clot his own wounds, either when he deems necessary (such as when the fight is over) or closing dangerous wounds. However, if the wound is big enough, it is possible that he would not have enough energy to close.
• Hardening - He can harden his blood on any part of his body, mostly used to limit the damage down by blunt objects to himself. The part of the body that's hardened usually has a reddish-hue about it.

Limitation
The biggest limitation is his body's natural blood volume. While certainly his body does try to produce blood much faster than the average person, hence his body's natural blood volume is higher than normal. However, overexertion of his powers can cause him to be fatigued, which is the case whenever he uses his blood as projectiles. Further usage can result in lethargy and eventually lose of consciousness. Utmost concentration is also necessary, as changes in his mental state can affect his control, either for better or for worse. This means that his precision, distance and mass depends on Jack entirely, if he miscalculates and use a little too much blood he can get fatigued in a fight and more than likely, lose it.

---

An ordinary, middle-class family and a stable business that had them selling potted plants and the like for a living. What more could the boy ask for? Up until his teenage years, he's had the time of his life growing his own greens in the comfort of the woods that had their house secluded from the rest of society for a few miles or so. But one should ask, why was gardening such a great deal of fun for this guy? Well you see, cultivating them was not the focus here - it was rolling 'em up and smoking the damn joints with his buds. To him, it was the fucking bomb diggity.

In the day, he worked hard alongside his parents in maintaining their delicate flora. At night, he paraded through the shadiest cul-de-sac, handing out the 'goods' to anyone who boasted a heavy wallet and a couple hunned fiddies. Money had never come to anyone in their family easier, so it was a pleasant surprise to find that his green thumb was remarkably more effective than the rest of his family's. The rapid growth and excellent endurance the vegetation experienced with him in the vicinity earned the recognition of his parents, along with their rapidly increasing customer base. With him, the flowers flourished, and so did their business. Of course, the boy never had his powers extend to anything further than the regular gardening and plant-keeping. Watering hydrangeas and caring for his marijuana garden had become his life support.

However, good things had to come to an end. It all began with some motherfucker telling on his ass, after Rico refused to sell the young boy some goddamn weed. He figured it was the least he could do to salvage what was left of his morality. Housing and selling marijuana was not something he was proud of, so he could have at least done this in favor of said young boy's parents. That same plan came back and bit him in the ass, hard. It was true - the road to hell can also be paved with good deeds. Cuffs were slapped onto him faster than he could bribe his way out of prison, to his dismay. The boy's parents were heartbroken, but both parties knew that the dangers of being found out was practically damnation compared to being thrown into a cell for a couple of years.

The inevitable came to pass when the officers who were in charge of driving the vehicle, noticed the weeds surrounding the sides of the road begin to grow fast. And by fast, I mean hella fucking fast. Within seconds, Rico's panicked mind had caused the tall grass to envelope the car, but that's it. The boy slightly shook his head and regained his composure in the back seat in order to have the vegetation stop itself from crushing the vehicle and killing everyone inside. Needless to say, governmental back-up was hastily requested in the midst of the panic, and by the time Rico's parents had gotten word of what happened via text and rushed to meet their son at the scene, the area was wiped clean of every strand. Rico was gone.

Fast forward to now. The island is stripped of most of its value. To avoid starving to death, the boy turned to vegetarianism. And to sustain his water levels, he took advantage of transpiration - collecting water vapor that evaporates on leaves in a small plastic bag. Rico had spent about 6 weeks leisurely strolling about the island with nothing better to do - you could damn well bet your ass that he's got a few tricks up his sleeves.

Rico is susceptible to plant manipulation. Having been put through various facilities involved in botany and biotechnology, it was found that he was born with a defect in his blood. Or rather, additional features. Various forms of stimuli not normally found in the human body was deeply embedded into Rico's bloodstream. Such stimuli takes on the form of both liquid, solid, and gas, allowing them to diffuse and infuse into his body on command. This enables him to cause deliberate, and rapid growth in all manners of flora due to the existence of auxins in their stems, which naturally results in elongation in response to the stimuli Rico distributes. In addition to that, the closer he is to a targeted plant, the more of an effect he has on it, due to the lack of distance between stimuli and receptor cells. The further away he is, the less efficient. If Rico chooses to do so, he may cause a plant to wither by releasing stimuli that blocks its internal water flow by accumulating within both water and mineral-supplying tissues, the xylem and phloem. This can happen at any rate he chooses.

Further studies have shown that his radius of effect increases as he grows older, currently reaching at about 15 meters at his limit. Currently, weaknesses include barren areas of wilderness, and absolutely cannot go a day without at least 3 hours in the sun. In the case of such, his body will begin to wither away. First it will start by the leakage of the majority of his fluids through his pores. Next, the deterioration of his bones. If time progresses and he is not yet exposed to sun, he will merely be a pile of skin and brittle bones.

it is believed by scientists that the power of one certain Franco Wilkins was to copy the aspects of the first object be touched. The power manifested on June 21st, 2029 at 12:30 PM. At 12:39 PM, Franco tripped and fell into his mother’s cactus garden. Thus, the Sharpshooter was born.

Power: Partial cactus physiology, quill generation:Humans are hairy creatures. Your body is covered in hairs, albeit small ones. Through his ability, Franco can turn the hairs on his body into sharp quills. The size of these quills depends on the length of his hairs, so the Quills on his head are super long and thick, but the quills on, say, his back or shoulders are very small and thin. The exception to this rule is Franco’s hands, which can generate mid length, thick spines which he can use kind of like biological brass knuckles. Franco can selectively change his hairs into quills, so that he doesn't do something like stab himself with his own armpit hair. By flexing his muscles in a specific way, he can fire his quills at opponents. Said quills are sharp enough to pierce thick cloth and soft leather. The quills on his knuckles are heavier than his other quills, and as such hit with much more force. From a short range, the knuckle claws can cut through body armor. He has become pretty accurate with his quills, and can hit a target accurately from a distance of about one hundred yards.

His hairs grow back at an accelerated rate, about thirty times times faster than a normal human’s hair does (he can regrow an inch of hair in a day), but it still takes him a long time to grow out his hairs. Some sections of his hair lays down flatish, giving him makeshift armor if he angles his arms right, but the quills are brittle and can't take anything more than a single hit from a blunt weapon before breaking.

The quills are not the only powers that Franco got on that fateful day that he was stuck by the cactus of destiny. His skin is thicker than a normal human’s, making him ever so slightly more durable. This extra thick skin makes him resist knives and shards of his own quills, but doesn't do much for heavy blades, bullets, or other high velocity projectiles. His skin is thickest on his knuckles, allowing him to punch full-force with his quills without them bursting through his skin and damaging him. His skin cells contain chloroplasts, which give him photosynthetic capabilities. This, combined with his body’s natural ability to retain water, makes him exceptionally good at surviving harsh climates. He can go weeks without food or water, utilizing stored water and limited photosynthesis to survive. He can withstand heats of up to 150 degrees for long periods of time and has a resistance to certain diseases due to his unique biology. He is an exceptional survivor because of this, giving him an edge over some of his more powerful Metahuman kin.

Finally, Franco’s blood is...weird. Half blood, half aloe-like green slime, the blood is thick and sticky while still being capable of flowing. His blood contains chemical compounds which weaken the pain response and can cool burns, making his wounds hurt just a *little* bit less. The part of his blood that is actually useful is that it flows very slowly when not being pumped. This means that Franco bleeds at a very slow rate, slow enough that most wounds will scab up before they could cause him to bleed out. This wouldn’t save him from, say, getting shot in the torso or head, but if shot in a non-vital place, he could go much longer than a normal human could before bleeding out.

Weaknesses: So firstly, Franco has an ammo limitation. If his hairs are fired or break, it can take him up to a day for his hair to grow back. In the case of his knuckles, he has exactly eight rounds every day. He's not nearly as accurate with the hairs on the other parts of his body, so he can only really fire out an inaccurate spray if those are depleted. His quills are brittle as well, so if they're hit hard enough they break and have to regrow. The other issue for Franco is that he isn't entirely immune to his own quills. If his quills are pushed into his body by a fall or a precise strike from an opponent, it can stick back into him and harm him. Franco’s power also offers him absolutely no protection from modern weapons. Bullets of any kind will cut right through his quills and non-physical powers will go through them as well (ie fire, electricity). The quills can only take a single shot and can only even do that from certain angles, so in general Franco is quite the glass cannon.

Personality-wise, Franco is a pervy shut-in who found a new environment and used it to reinvent himself as a smooth-talking cowboy. His demeanor is that of a western lead, a brooding, dead-calm sharpshooter who could kill you with his steely-eyed stare. He acts as exceptionally cool as he can, talking in a low, brooding voice like he’s narrating Bastion. He acts tough, like he’s the boss of the island, but one eventually realizes that he usually tries to avoid confrontation. He pretty much makes excuses for acting like a wimp by saying it’s the real badass thing to do. He’s a pretty sharp guy (cactus pun #1), so he’s good at bullshitting excuses for his behavior. He tends to treat everyone the same, always displaying the same prickly personality (Cactus pun #2).

His internal voice, however, is nothing like that. His cowboy persona is entirely an act. In his head, Franco is very much a wimpy, socially-inept basement-dweller. Under all those spines, he’s really quite vulnerable and squishy (cactus pun #3). When he grew up, he loved Western movies. His idol was John Wayne, the king of the cowboy movies. His external personality is essentially a John Wayne caricature, with extra brooding and grumpiness because he’s never been that good an actor. The idea, of course, is that Franco is a terrified wimp pretending to be a badass. Franco tries to stay in-character for as long as he possibly can, and only occasionally lapses back into his actual personality when he’s pushed to his absolute brink. Said personality is basically a sniveling, scared loser who will throw all of his integrity away to save himself. He cares pretty much only about his own well-being and puts other second. He will run away whenever he can and hates fighting. If he feels as if he has to fight, he isn’t above cheating. He will act always to keep himself safe.

Franco has been on the island for a year and a half. He generally keeps to himself, appearing frequently enough for a few veterans to know his face but infrequently enough to not have had anyone figure out how much of a wimp he actually is. He generally keeps to himself, wandering in the jungle and keeping out of mischief. Occasionally, he helps out people who are under attack by taking out an assailant from a distance. Generally such a thing comes at the last possible moment, as Franco has to talk himself up to it. Franco lives in a small cave down by a river that winds through the southern part of the island. Over the past year or so, he’s gathered a few things in it: an aloe plant, a small solar-powered electric generator, a rechargable flashlight, and a few different tools.

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"Prepare to have your fucking dicks blown off."

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Physical description: 5’7”, 145 lbs. She’s tough and muscular, a girl who looks like she hit the gym instead of the salon. She’s half-mexican, with tanned skin and black hair. Her hair is jet black and is cut in a really ragged way. She generally lets it stick up and such. It ends just below the base of her skull. She has thin eyebrows that always seem just a little bit angry There is a scar running vertically through the end of her right eyebrow. Her face is heart-shaped, with a chin that sticks out a little bit from the rest of her face. She generally has a frown on her face.
Sierra’s left arm is prosthetic from the shoulder down. It is made of a blackish grey metal with light grey joints. It makes a very quiet whirring whenever she moves it at all, though it’s not the loud mechanical clunk that you usually hear from robotic arms. As this is the future, the arm is fully functional and is just as strong as her right arm. Sierra’s right arm is covered in tattoos all the way down to her wrist. Said tattoos include a mexican flag, an eagle with a pink ribbon in its mouth, and a rattlesnake. Sierra wears a light grey tank top and a pair of jean shorts. She wears beat-up sneakers on her feet.

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"I’m no ball of fucking sunshine, but don’t say I never worked for anything."

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Backstory: Sierra was born in New Mexico. Her parents were farmers, honest, hard-working people from an immigrant family. Sierra was the second-oldest of six. She didn’t like the farm lifestyle so much, and wanted with all her heart to live in the city. From a young age, she showed a natural talent and enjoyment with working with machinery. She used to help her father fix farm equipment on a regular basis and loved getting to go into town with him to visit the mechanic. She worked as hard as she could in school, hoping to be able to get away from her family’s farming lifestyle. She was exceptionally intelligent, and got straight As from first grade through to her junior year in high school, where she got a single B that made her so angry she went out in the yard and smashed a rusted-out car with a sledgehammer. When she learned how to drive, she got a job at the mechanic shop in town and began to learn how to work with machinery. She got a scholarship to MIT’s engineering program. Her parents were so proud of her that they bought her a motorcycle, a nice tough black one. It was the first vehicle that Sierra ever owned. She bid her family goodbye that summer and drove across the country on that motorcycle with her girlfriend, who was attending nearby Harvard (her parents didn’t know they were together. They were the homophobic sort).
Sierra was smart, but the world was against her. She was a woman in a man’s world at MIT, and she felt the discrimination hard. Others treated her as if she didn’t belong. She started drinking, smoking, all that shit to cope with the pain. She joined feminist organizations on campus and wrote letters to the chairmen of the engineering department. She tried adding a gender and women’s studies minor to her mechanical engineering degree. The school threatened to pull her scholarship. After falling in love with circuitry, she switched to electrical engineering sophomore year. She worked with robots, built computer systems more advanced than those in government offices, but still no one gave her the respect she wanted. Sophomore year she found out about her powers while at a party. A guy tried to come onto her. He tried to get her drunk. He told her he would “fix” her little lesbian problem. He was sent to the hospital with four broken ribs and severe respiratory problems due to smoke inhalation. That night she lit up her first cigarette. It wouldn’t be the last.
Now Sierra was really as much of a freak as she could get. She was a mutant lesbian minority woman in an engineering department filled with straight white men. She became a recluse, started practicing her powers a lot in her room. She broke up with her old girl and started messing around with her roommate. One night they were having sex and she accidentally breathed smoke into her roommate’s mouth. They didn’t fool around no more after that. Sierra started dating another girl on campus, a chemical engineering major who felt her same pain. Like her, she was a metahuman too. It was improbable as all hell, but it was true. Maybe too good to be true.
Senior year Sierra and her new girlfriend went out on a drive. They ended up in the middle of the wood. They had sex leaned up against a fallen tree. They lit up a joint and got high. Sierra pulled out a handle of whiskey. Her girlfriend got sick. Sierra decided it was time to go home.
She woke up from the coma a month later. Her left arm was gone. She had broken half her ribs and both legs. She had brain damage and severe scarring. Apparently the two had collided head-on with an SUV that night. Sierra had been fucked up real bad-like. Her girlfriend wasn’t even that lucky. She was found twenty feet from the collision, her skull busted and her head bleeding onto the asphalt. She was dead before the shit the ground. Sierra spent a year healing and another learning how to walk again. She learned how to write with her right hand. She attended class in a wheelchair. A few good friends of hers, some of the guys in the program who understood and supported her, built her a prosthetic arm. She helped with the wiring and some of the bio department guys figured out how to get the arm to connect to her nervous system (that was commonplace in a hospital, not in a college). She had her arm back. She graduated and got a job as an electrician to pay for graduate school. She got back together with her original girlfriend, whose name was Claire. Everything looked great.
Then the shit hit the fan. Metas began getting hunted down left and right. People were taken off the streets. Sierra was safe until one day Adelon started doing genetic tests on MIT students. She was arrested and taken away in her second year of grad school. She’s been on the island for about a year now. She’s made a business for herself in fixing up electronics on the island. She has a regular gig fixing farming equipment for the guys at site Haeda and always has food on her table because of it. She’ll fix any electronic people can find, no matter how complex. The price is usually the same: a cigarette or a lighter. Sierra will do basically anything for a smoke these days. She spends most of her day either fixing machinery or hunting for cigs. There are very few left around, so it’s quite the challenge.

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“Smoking kills, kids.”

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Power: Smoke generation and manipulation: Sierra has the power to create and manipulate smoke telekinetically. She can either alter the movement of smoke made by other things or produce her own smoke, which is inky and contains a lot of mucus. Said smoke is highly toxic, sticking to the inside of the lungs and making it hard to breathe. Prolonged exposure to the smoke can cause asphyxiation and death, and can cause chronic breathing problems. Sierra can release her smoke from her mouth and nose and can then manipulate it by moving her hands. The smoke is so thick and dark that not even advanced optics technology can see through it, making it the ultimate cover for an escape. Sierra can also manipulate the smoke caused by other objects, such as a cigarette, car exhaust, or smoke bomb. She can use her powers to amplify the production of smoke from these objects. Cigarettes, in particular, are very useful to her, as they both increase the volume of her smoke and increase the heat of the smoke, making it even more unpleasant for those trapped in it. Sierra can cause her smoke to condense on a surface into a thick, filmy sludge which helps her with her second ability. Sierra is completely immune to the effects of smoke inhalation. She also cannot get cancer from any kind of inhalant, so she can suck on cigarettes all day with no ill health effects. Basically, smoke cannot harm her body at all.

Sludge manipulation: Sierra can manipulate oil and sludge as well. This can constitute as any kind of oil, from gasoline to motor oil to very high-proof alcohols. Like her smoke, Sierra can telekinetically control sludge, and can use it for both offensive and defensive purposes. She has learned how to alter the viscosity of the sludge. By increasing the viscosity, she can cause the sludge to become sticky and tough, sticking enemies to walls or cushioning blows. By decreasing the viscosity, she can manipulate her sludge as if it were water, creating constructs that she can defend herself with. She can limitedly control the temperature of her sludge, but only within a few degrees, so she cannot freeze or boil it. She can control oil or sludge of any temperature, so she tends to heat up sludge artificially before fighting with it so it will do more damage. If she wants to go all-out, Sierra can make a sludge clone of herself that mimics her movements. She can use this as a decoy as well as a way to attack opponents from a distance. Her decoy can release smoke as well, though it’s much thinner and basically only serves to make it mimi Sierra more.

Weaknesses: As far as smoke goes, Sierra can only produce so much smoke and doing so dehydrates her. Sierra’s inky smoke requires her to use a ton of her own body fluids, draining her body of water and making her dehydrate rapidly. In addition to this, Sierra’s smoke can be blown away by a strong wind. Sierra can only control smoke in a twenty foot radius of her, so if it’s blown out of that radius she can’t use it. Also, her smokescreens can be blown away with wind. Another problem with Sierra’s power is that her smoke can react with CO2 in the air and produce carbon monoxide. For those who don’t know, carbon monoxide is poisonous to the body and can kill a person if they are overexposed to it. While Sierra is immune to smoke inhalation and the cancer-causing effects of things like cigarettes, she is not immune to carbon monoxide. This means that if Sierra stays in her smokescreens for too long, she will get carbon monoxide poisoning. Sierra also cannot see through her own smoke, so she needs to know where she wants to go and how to get there before she tries to escape from a place.

As far as Sierra’s sludge goes, Sierra has a very hard time controlling a lot of sludge at the same time. Creating a decoy or construct with her sludge powers requires her undivided attention, so she can’t make more than one or use her smoke at the same time. She can’t make anything particularly complex with her sludge save her decoy, and said decoy can only mimic her exact movements, so it can’t, like, defend her or anything.

Appearance: 6’0”, 180 lbs. He’s got a surfer’s physique, tanned and sun-kissed with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He wears a shark-tooth necklace around his neck and has a tattoo of a weed leaf on his right shoulder (so you know he’s a douche). He has crooked teeth and smiles most of the time.

Attire: Yellow muscle shirt with a surfboard logo on the back, grey camo khaki shorts. He wears a pair of black and grey five-fingers (those shoes with toes in them). He has a grey assault vest trimmed in orange. The shoulder straps of the assault vest hold glowing blue nullifier packs. An orange bandana is wrapped around his right bicep. He carries an AK-47 on his right hip. It has a six inch bayonet on the end. On the back of his belt are two glocks. He has a 22” bowie-style machete that he carries on his left side. This is his favorite weapon. He calls it Martha and occasionally talks to it in a way that is weird even by SG standards. Martha is made of carbon steel, with a black rubber handle. Two leather cords hang from the loop on the end of the handle. Both have small feathers on the ends of them. He carries two nullifier grenades and two frag grenades. He carries a ukulele in a black travel bag on his left shoulder. The ukulele is named Caroline. Francisco also seems to be exceptionally affectionate to his uke. Someone once asked him if he liked Martha or Caroline more. He had a panic attack and wasn’t seen again for a week.

Backstory: Born in California. Francisco was a beach bum, a hopeless pothead surfer who didn’t have much of a life ahead of him. He tried the college thing, but it didn’t work out, so he worked in a surfboard shop and spent his days chasing the waves. Made some money off of surfing competitions and the like, but he just wasn’t satisfied. There was something missing from his life. He would sit there at night and contemplate what it was that he couldn’t find, what it was that made him unhappy.
Then he joined the military. He loved it more than anything, the visceral pleasure of pumping a man full of lead, the fun of slicing open guts and seeing what was inside. It was just. So. Fun. The military didn’t like him, though. He was too unpredictable, too dangerous. So, he decided to become a mercenary. He worked with Adelon for a bit, but they weren’t much more fun than the army. So, when he heard SG was recruiting new hired guns, he jumped right in. He served in Africa for a few years, where he found the visceral pleasure he desired gunning down and cutting up metas in Somalia and Sudan.
It was here that he became known as “Evil Jesus” due to his crazy hair and hyper-aggressive attitude. Though he wasn’t particularly bright, he was rather charismatic and became popular among the other troops there. By the time he left Somalia, there was not a single living metahuman in the country. He spent a few months in Afghanistan, killing people over there, until he was recruited to join the other SG troopers on Arkos. He is a junior officer currently serving under Baba (because he has the best weed). He’s fairly well-known in the organization, though not known or trusted enough to run his own gang. Grunts generally do what he says out of fear, especially after stories circulated of what happened when a soldier in Afghanistan disobeyed him. No one knows if the story is true, but they also really don’t want to find out.