[@Blazion] Don't look now, but yer boi's almost ready... [hider=Some homeless kid] [center] [h1][b]Watchdog[/b][/H1] ========= Superhero Name: Watchdog Civilian Name: Malcolm Talhaiarn Origin city/Planet: Bludhaven, New York Hometown: Bludhaven, New York Sex: Male Race: Metahuman Height: 5'2" Weight: 110 lbs. Age: 11 Birth Date: Found in a dumpster as a newborn on February 1, 2009, so that's what he goes by. -------- Costumed Appearance: Lacking much in the way of resources or indeed, any notion that he's actually anything close to a bonafide [i]Superhero[/i], Malcolm makes do with what little he has; garbing himself in an old, worn-out denim jacket that seems much too big for his tiny frame, an old white wifebeater, a ratty pair of jeans and some sneakers that've seen better days. Covering his face he has... a simple black rag and a pair of old welding goggles to cover his glowing orange eyes (though they don't do much to obscure their light when he opens them) and a ratty old Bludhaven Brawlers ballcap over a what would be a mop of unruly brown hair if he didn't shave it down to a buzz as often as he can, both to keep lice at bay and to not have something that could be easily grabbed onto attached to his [i]head.[/i] Finishing off his raggedy outfit is pair of equally raggedy black batting gloves, worn from use and full of holes, especially over the the index and middle knuckles of each hand revealing flesh that's almost always cut or scabbed-over from being a the punches he throws on a nightly basis. All in all, not exactly the [i]flashiest[/i] of costumes, but there is a subtle, unintentional genius to it in that when his eyes are closed, he is virtually indistinguishable from any other of the myriad homeless youth in Bludhaven, and is very likely to be ignored by any passers-by. Civilian Appearance: To be perfectly honest... Malcolm doesn't really get out much, and the 'costume' listed above makes up pretty well [i]all of the clothing he owns.[/i] So when he [i]does[/i] go out to do normal homeless boy things, it's usually in the exact same outfit with his eyes closed beneath his goggles to hide their glow and the rag dangling around his neck. Those few that actually know him well enough to see him without all the headgear and his jacket, however, would see him for what he truly is; a pale, scrawny caucasian kid who looks more than a little hungry usually sporting some kind of cut or bruise and a crescent-shaped scar around his left eye which he owes to a broken beer bottle he took to the face and many more across his body, some of which are still healing. His most defining feature, however, is clearly his eyes; in that, where there once was a steelish grey, there is now a fiery, glowing orange, visible even through the goggles he wears... which really puts a dampener on that whole 'Living a normal life in civilized society' thing, even for a homeless kid. Icon: [img]https://s1.postimg.org/1thk3ufwjj/hound.png[/img] Costumed Personality: Watchdog (as urban superstition has named Malcolm) is, by reputation, relentless, unyielding, fighting with the ferocity of a wild animal yet still having the uncanny precision to hit you [i]exactly[/i] where it will hurt most. Preferring ambush and pragmatism to theatrics and any notion of a fair fight, Watchdog has a singular talent for adaptation and improvisation, leveraging anything and everything he can to his advantage while denying the same to his enemies and making up for his modest size with quick thinking and sheer determination. All that said, Malcolm has no interest in fame or fortune, and high-tails it whenever he sees the press on their way. This has led to [i]extraordinarily embellished[/i] tales of the lad in the local rumour mill, cobbled together by the people he's fought, those he's saved and anyone else who may have happened to spot him in the past year; Depending on who you ask, the 'Watchdog of Bludhaven' is either a bloodthirsty alien monster, some escaped government experiment living in the sewers or a vengeful spirit sent up from the depths of [i]Hell itself[/i] to punish the wicked. All of these guesses are, of course, [i]completely [b]insane[/b][/i]. ...But, to be frank, "Starving homeless kid who sneaks up on crooks and beats them bloody with a lead pipe" is a pretty crazy statement in itself anyway, so who is anyone to judge? Civilian Personality: Malcolm is, for lack of a better way of putting it, a [i]walking, talking stereotype[/i] of the Bludhaven lower-class; brutally frank, indomitably stubborn, clever in the [i]worst[/i] possible way and possessing a potent mixture of pluck and grit with a healthy dash of crazy. That said, the lad has a big heart... ironically, you'd have to in order to survive a Bludhaven slum, where everyone who isn't a gun-toting psychopath is all in it together, and has no small reserve of compassion and kindness, and would give you the shirt off his back if the ratty rag would get you through on more night... even if his words wouldn't exactly match his actions. ...Or at least, that's how he [i]used[/i] to be. Nowadays Malcolm is just... tired... and angry. Hardly sleeping as even when he closes his eyes, he can see all the violence and murder happening in the streets of Bludhaven through his eyelids and even when he [i]does[/i], his sleep is plagued by nightmares. Between all that and the fact that he's basically constantly on the verge of starving to death, the only things keeping the lad on his feet these days are rage and sheer force of will. Super abilities: [hider=Skills] [b]Lockpicking:[/b] To the surprise of... pretty much no one if you think about it, picking a lock becomes a [i]lot[/i] easier when you can actually see inside the damned thing. [b]Parkour:[/b] Growing up in an urban slum, Malcolm has always had a knack for maneuvering around the city in some unconventional ways, more often for fun than anything. But now, with his new vision, reflexes and body-coordination, he damn near [i]flies[/i] across rooftops and down alleyways, maneuvering through the urban jungle with astonishing ease... provided he manages to get a good meal in first, of course. Doing so burns a [i]lot[/i] of calories, and he hasn't exactly got much to spare in the first place. [b]Combatives Training:[/b] Malcolm's adoptive father, being a former Marine raising a kid in a slum in one of the most dangerous cities in the whole United States, had the forethought to pass on his old tricks to his son. It sure ain't pretty but it is undoubtedly [i]effective[/i], especially when combined with Malcolm's unique abilities, and provides a solid base for the lad to adapt, tweak and add onto by his own experiences. [b]Budding Mechanical Acumen:[/b] Being able to see inside or through anything that isn't made of lead has it's benefits, one of them being being able to directly observe the guts of a machine to see how it works. At the present, the only thing Malcolm really gets out of these observations are insights into sabotage and the occasional bit of MacGuyvering... but the lad learns quick, and with the right tools and someone to guide him, he could make for one [i]hell[/i] of a mechanic or engineer. [b]Polyglot:[/b] The slums of Bludhaven are a surprisingly diverse place, and Malcolm has grown up around a lot of people from a lot of places who speak a lot of languages. As a result, although the boy is only literate in English, he [i]is[/i] conversational in Ukrainian, Italian, Spanish and Cantonese. [/hider] [hider=Powers] [b]Omnivision:[/b] By far Malcolm's most drastically superhuman ability, the boy is able to perceive almost the [i]entire Electromagnetic Spectrum[/i], being able to see infrared, ultraviolet, electrical currents and even straight through solid objects. And that's not even mentioning how he also possesses telescopic vision up to five miles, see in absolute darkness and can even comprehend [i]soundwaves[/i]. There [i]are[/i] some caveats to this, however; Firstly, he can't see through lead. Secondly, [i]there is no off-switch[/i], and his brain is processing [i]all[/i] this information at the same time, the end result painting a picture of a nightmarish world wreathed in flame that Malcolm can never escape, even when he closes his eyes. Which, considering the events of the past year prove two things. One, that there [i]is[/i] a God. And two, [i]he's kind of a dick.[/i] [b]Enhanced Brain/Nervous Function:[/b] Malcolm's brain, as a side-effect from being able to [i]function[/i] under the strain of everything listed above, has effectively been kicked into high gear, processing information at nearly ten times the rate of a normal human being. Though this does not inherently make him [i]smarter[/i] than the average Joe, it [i]does[/i] mean he can learn and retain information at several times the rate of a normal human being, with the added bonus of an eidetic memory; meaning that with time, and the proper instruction, he could prove to be one of the greatest minds of his generation. Another, slightly more immediately advantageous side-effect of Malcolm's now overclocked brain is that, like his mental faculties, his reaction time and reflexes have been accelerated to ten times that of a normal human being. This, combined with his vision, makes the small, starving boy a legitimate force to be reckoned with as he can read an opponent's nerve impulses, body language and muscle contractions to get an idea of what they're doing and react to it before they're actually finished doing it. Additionally, this new, more efficient nervous system has granted the boy unparalleled bodily-coordination, allowing him to perform feats of dexterity and precision with ease that would be beyond even Olympic athletes and skilled craftsmen... which is quite handy when your life pretty much revolves around jumping off buildings and hitting bad guys with a lead pipe. [/hider] [b]Gadgets:[/b] -A few bobby-pins for lockpicking. -His dad's old Zippo. [b]Weapons:[/b] -A foot-and-a-half long piece of lead pipe. Civilian Occupation: None Biography--------- Character History/Origin: Bludhaven, a city with many names; The Devil's Tongue, The Big Dirty, The Bloody Haven, The Blud, Gotham's Toilet, etc... it was here on a frigid February evening that John "Mad Jack" Talhaiarn, former United States Marine and current owner of the clothes on his back and not much else, happened upon a screaming newborn baby in a dumpster behind a biker bar and across the road from a Denny's. Thinking quickly, the man lifted the screaming infant out of the trash and pulled him into the warm confines of his parka as he began trudging his way through the heavy winter's snow towards the shanty town he called home. Talhaiarn had no idea what [i]hell[/i] he was doing, but after a lifetime of mistakes that had led him down dark paths, disgraced and astray from his beloved Corps, he vowed to himself and any God who may've been listening, he was at least gonna get this [i]one[/i] thing right- [i][b]Saving this fucking kid.[/b][/i] It took a bit of doing, and a little help from his neighbours to scrounge up and MacGuyver everything necessary to care for a newborn, but somehow he pulled it off. After a week or so, the kid stopped screaming so much and started giggling whenever he caught wind of the old Marine near his makeshift crib. A few days after that, he started calling him "Malcolm" after his old man. And some time after that, John Talhaiarn, a man who was both a living legend and a disgraced outcast of the United States Marine Corps... began to actually [i]enjoy[/i] life again. If there was anywhere to start this story, this would be it. Mad Jack's boy grew up in their little Shanty Town, comfortably nestled in a wide alleyway, stubborn, tough and clever. With a tongue and wit sharp as any bayonet his Dad'd ever held in his former life but a heart as big and as bright as the goddamned sun. Never having much, but never really [i]needing[/i] anything his little community couldn't provide anyway, Malcolm spent most of his days scouring the slums for anything he, his dad and his neighbours could use to make their lives easier, getting into all sorts of trouble with the other slum kids and sitting around with his dad, raptly listening to (heavily censored) war stories from his days in the corps. It wasn't an easy life, by any means- But he was happy, so he never really gave a shit. [b]Though, if you've ever read a comic book, you probably have a good idea where this is going...[/b] In the opening weeks of 2020, the five-year-long turf war between an alliance of the local Chinese Tongs, Russian Mafia and Irish gangs against the invading Aquila crime family of Gotham was reaching it's end, with the Aquilas emerging as the clear victors. In order to hunt down their rapidly scattering enemies and to send a [i]very[/i] clear message about who was in charge now, Don Michael Aquila hired a 'specialist' from his hometown to get the job done- [b]Firefly. [i]A psychopath with a flamethrower.[/i][/b] The night of January 31st was a relatively standard one for Malcolm; his "Aunt" Lin was cooking dinner over a drum fire, the Mikhailovich brothers were arguing in a heated, Slavic sort of way about... something stupid, from what Malcolm could gather as their confrontation shifted back and forth between Russian when they didn't want the kids to understand what they were saying and Ukrainian when they were too mad to give a shit, and Malcolm was sitting with a bunch of kids around his dad, who played Johnny Cash on a (mostly) intact guitar he and Malcolm had found the year before and the Shanty Town's local mutt, affectionately named 'Fleabag', was sprawled belly-up on Malcolm's lap being smelly and aggressively affectionate. All-in-all, pretty normal... until something caught Fleabag's attention and she started barking up a storm. That being a charred... thing that vaguely resembled a person and stank of burnt meat that shambled it's way into their alleyway, gargling and hissing only one thing on what was left of it's vocal chords as a massive figure stepped out from shadows behind it and leveled a malevolent-looking device in the direction of everyone present; [b]"Help... me..."[/b] All Malcolm can recall of what happened next was the sight, sounds and smell of everyone he'd ever loved or cared about being roasted alive to the chorus of screams and the demented laughter of the owner of a single eye encircled by scarred and burned flesh which shone with insidious ecstasy at the scene before it. And after that, nothing. The next thing Malcolm remembers is crawling out from underneath the charred remains of his father, his dog and all the other kids. It was his birthday. At first, he could do nothing but sit there, shaking and trembling in silence as his mind struggled to comprehend what he was looking at, before realization slowly set in. Then the crying started. Followed by the screaming. And as the screaming gradually changed in pitch from horror and denial to pure outrage, something in the boy [i]broke.[/i] The fire that consumed his family and friends slowly ebbed it's way back into his vision and consumed the whole world as he comprehended it, revealing to him nothing but violence and horror no matter where he looked, regardless of whether he wanted to see it or not. Seemingly trapped in an eternally burning hellscape of violence and horror that he could not escape, even when he closed his eyes and in a fragile mental state, he could've easily bent or broken down. Instead, he got mad. He got [i]real mad.[/i] Unable to sleep while seeing what he could, the lad eventually lashed out, more out of spite than any sense of justice, throwing himself into the fray against the criminal life within his slum with the frenzied anger of a mad dog... and then never stopped. And so it was, that the myth of the Watchdog of Bludhaven was born. Optional information ---------- Nemesis: Firefly Allies: Team: (These are probably blank, unless you're the Batman analogue) [/center] [/hider]