Have my shitass CS that I spent way too much time on.

[hider=John Doyle][center][color=darkgray][b][h1]J O H N  D O Y L E[/h1][/b][/color][hr]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/eN8ucit.png[/img]
[hr]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=so2s-NZVXZA[/youtube]
[color=darkgray][h3][b]⫸ B A S I C   I N F O R M A T I O N ⫷[/b][/h3][/color]
[i]"You'd best make sure you don't miss your shot, bud, because I sure as hell won't miss mine."[/i][/center]

[indent]

[color=darkgray]▼ [b]| BIRTH   NAME : | [/b][/color]
[indent]Jonathan Elijah Doyle[/indent]

[color=darkgray]▼ [b]| ALSO   KNOWN   AS: |[/b][/color]
[indent]Officer Doyle
Sheriff
Cowboy[/indent]

[color=darkgray]▼ [b]| GENDER : | [/b][/color]
[indent]Male[/indent]

[color=darkgray]▼ [b]| AGE : |[/b] [/color]
[indent]41 - 05/11/1978[/indent]
[/indent]

[center][color=darkgray][h3][b]⫸ A P P E A R A N C E ⫷[/b][/h3][/color]
[i]"I've seen roadkill prettier than me."[/i][/center]

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[color=darkgray]▼ [b]| P H Y S I C AL   S T A T S : |[/b] [/color]
[indent][indent]
[color=darkgray][b]▸ HEIGHT : |[/b][/color] 5'8
[color=darkgray][b]▸ WEIGHT : |[/b][/color] 164 lbs
[color=darkgray][b]▸ ETHNICITY : |[/b][/color] Predominately Irish/English mix
[color=darkgray][b]▸ HAIR   COLOR : |[/b][/color] Dirty blond
[color=darkgray][b]▸ EYE   COLOR : |[/b][/color] Blue
[/indent][/indent]

[color=darkgray]▼ [b]| PHYSICAL   DESCRIPTION : |[/b] [/color]
[indent] Jonathan Doyle is an old man from a different world, and he bears that fact in the way he carries himself. His shoulders slump heavy and low and dark bags hang like dead men underneath his sharp, judgmental eyes. A crooked nose, broken after one too many fistfights, sits center on his wrinkled face. A thin and stubbly mesh of facial hair stays glued to his flat chin, never getting quite as long or bushy as John would like.

Before time sanded away his best features, he liked to think he was quite handsome. Though not very tall, he was muscular and strapping, once upon a time; but age has taken away a degree of his form's definition, and left him with a slight gut and arms that are a shadow of their former selves. His hair, however, suffered the worst of it. He's felt his hairline creep further and further up his head with each passing year, his shame for it matched only by what he feels for the growing bald spot that crowns the top of his dome.

Only a few scars can be found across his body, though each holds a great deal of significance to him. He earned his first, a rather small mark across his left eyebrow, in a bar fight with a man that was eyeing Doyle's future wife. His second came to him when a Taliban put a bullet through the upper portion of his right forearm. The rest all appeared in the same, short time frame when an IED blew up underneath his squad's Humvee and a spray of shrapnel cut into him from his left thigh up to his bellybutton. 

The only ink to cover his body's ugly mural is the emblem of the 10th Mountain Division, with its duel bayonets crossing over one another atop a powder keg-shaped background. Right beneath it are the numbers 1/78, indicating his battalion and regiment, respectively. The tattoo sits just off-center, resting above his heart.

[/indent]

[color=darkgray]▼ [b]| ATTIRE : |[/b][/color]
[indent]Doyle is typically seen wearing sheriff's uniform of Donovan County, Georgia. He holds no shortage of pride in bearing that seven-pointed star and that old campaign hat of his, even after eight years of consecutive service. The uniform's top is long sleeved and khaki colored, bearing on it his badge and a nameplate for identification purposes. The pants, meanwhile, are olive green and feature a khaki stripe down the exterior sides. His campaign hat, adorned with his county badge and golden cords, match the shade of his slacks.

When not on duty John tends to favor simplistic and rustic attire. Long sleeve button downs, blue jeans, and a brown, belt-leather jacket all serve him well most of the time. His choice of boots (oft either cowboy or some variant of combat, depending on the setting) and hat (nearly always some form of cowboy hat) are a source of mockery for how out of place they make him look in Palm Beach, but John isn't the sort to ever adapt to his environment, so he chooses to continue dressing like he's still in  Pickett's Ridge.

The only jewelry he'll ever wear is the golden, smudged ring that rests on the ring finger of his left hand.[/indent]
[/indent]

[center][color=darkgray][h3][b]⫸ P S Y C H O L O G Y ⫷[/b][/h3][/color]
[i]"I'm nobody special, trust me. I'm just another asshole tryin'ta do the right thing."[/i][/center]

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[color=darkgray][b]▼ | PERSONALITY TRAITS : | [/b][/color]
[center][indent]Stubborn | Driven | Idealistic | Fearless | Modest | Self-Righteous | Old Fashioned[/indent][/center]

[color=darkgray][b]▼ |  SKILLS : | [/b][/color]
[indent][b][color=darkgray]GUNSLINGING ||[/color][/b] John's father took him to the range for the first time when he was eleven years old, and he's never quite stopped shooting since. His time in Afghanistan refined his shooting skill with long weapons like rifles and carbines, while his years as a deputy and sheriff have allowed him to master the revolver and shotgun. His greatest claim to fame, thus far, was putting a bullet through the eye of a Delta at 40 yards.

[b][color=darkgray]DRIVING ||[/color][/b] Life on the farm often saw young Jonathan behind the wheel of a pickup or the tractor as early on as twelve years old. As he grew older and more experienced and learned that running over Miss Graham's mailbox was generally a bad thing, John became steadily more comfortable as a driver. His career peaked when he started taxiing infantrymen across the [i]Rigestan[/i] in a fat, sluggish HMMWV. He's been stuck with his'87 Chevrolet Caprice cruiser for the past eight years, though it has served him well: more than one drunken fool thought they could outrace the law and found themselves in a pair of cuffs not but half an hour later.

[b][color=darkgray]BOXING ||[/color][/b] John had plenty of downtime in Afghanistan between his duties, and he and his buddies decided the best way to spend that free time was to beat the shit out of each other. They found themselves a boxing coach at Bagram Airfield, put together a makeshift ring, and spent many a night drinking and punching one another. Doyle liked it well enough that he decided to continue practicing when he returned to the States, though his duties as a deputy and then a sheriff kept him from pursuing it too seriously. Still, he keeps his fundamentals polished enough, and it's served him well against many a belligerent idiot who tried to swing on him first.  

[b][color=darkgray]ADMINISTRATION & COMMUNITY RELATIONS ||[/color][/b] No amount of rootin', tootin' or shootin' can make up for a sheriff that doesn't know how to file a report or deal with an angry citizen. It's far, far from John's favorite part of the job, but he wouldn't have gotten it if he couldn't do it. He's an organized person that works best with physical filing and paper in his hands, typically passing off anything digital to his secretary or one of the deputies. Doyle is generally well-liked in Pickett's Ridge and the rest of Donovan County, and he has a good rapport with the majority of the community thanks to his decisiveness in dealing with trouble and open-door,  honesty-first policy.

[/indent]

[color=darkgray][b]▼ | BACK   STORY : | [/b][/color]
[indent]A child was born in the tiny Georgian town of Picket's Ridge on a Thursday, minutes after the crack of dawn. John Doyle was a rowdy boy in his youth who spent his days reading comic books about cowboys, watching re-runs of [i]Gunsmoke[/i] and running about town with his friends shooting invisible banditos with their cap guns. 	He had a penchant for picking fights with bullies and getting knocked on his rear-end fightin' for guys littler than himself; John didn't win too many of those fights, but that didn't stop him from jumping right back into it. His obsession may have lessened when he became a teenager, yet it never quite went away. He never quite stopped daydreaming about small-town heroes who did right by normal people and fought evil whenever they came across it.

His own chance to be a hero came in 2001 when evil men attacked his countrymen and changed the world forever. John would be hard pressed to find New York on a map, but he still felt righteous anger in his heart at the wrong that had been done to them. So he found the army recruiting office in Valdosta, said some sorta oath, and was promptly shipped off to the other side of the country to become a soldier. He was placed in the 10th Mountain Division, 1st battalion, 87th Regiment, and deployed to the God forsaken hellhole that was a Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. He arrived in the Middle East in December of 2001 and spent much of the next four months patrolling empty mountains and trying not to fall asleep during guard duty. He didn't make contact with the enemy until March in the Shahi-Kot Valley, during Operation Anaconda. He was lucky enough to have been part of the relief forces, so he faced the easiest of the fighting- though he still took a bullet through the arm and spent a week trying desperately to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

For as terrifying as combat was, John was surprised by how much closer he got to his squadmates during it all. Nothing makes closer bonds between two people than being stuck in a foxhole for eight hours, bodies pressed together and both of you smelling like shit. Doyle and his mates continued to enjoy their comradery for another three years, fighting and living side by side against a faraway foe. Things got sticky at times, sure, but they'd all been lucky enough to avoid anything life-threatening. The thing that came closest to killing them was boredom.

Until they ran over an IED.

Everyone in the transport was hurt in some way. John was peppered with shrapnel and wouldn't be able to walk properly for nearly a year. One of the boys didn't make it, in the end, and all of them would go on to be medically discharged for their injuries. Doyle returned back home to Pickett's Ridge in 2004 and received a hero's welcome. He spent the next three years in physical therapy for his wounded leg, sweet-talking one of the nurses at the clinic, an old spitfire from high school he never quite stopped thinking about named Abigail, until she finally caved and agreed to marry him. They had a son within the year, Marcus, and a daughter, Rose, followed just after him.

John was elated when his doctor finally cleared him to work again. He'd been sick of staying in bed, and he'd already seen every Western movie ever made at least twice by then. It didn't take long for him to find his way to the County Sheriff's office, where a deputy's badge was practically pinned on his chest the moment he walked in the front door. He spent the next four years patrolling Donovan and learning the ins and outs of the community. He found a passion for the work and dove head first into it, proving himself a capable peace officer and a trustworthy face in the community. By the time the sheriff election rolled over, nearly everyone was saying he should go for it. Doyle figured he might as well give it a shot; it might even be a little fun.

It turned out that the only difference between being a sheriff and being a deputy was the amount of paperwork quadrupled and his allotted time for sleep was cut in half. The first year of service was stressful, tiresome and all-around awful, but Abi refused to let him quit. He was forced to adapt to his circumstances and rely on others to lighten the burden for him. Things became far easier once he got used to delegating and organizing things, doing his best to mimic his sergeant's mindset from back in Afghanistan. By the time his third year had rolled around, Sheriff Doyle had grown fond of the position, no matter how frustrating some days might've gotten. He came to appreciate how much effort and passion it required of him. Some small part of him loved finally getting to play the gunslinging, hometown hero he'd imagined himself as when he was a kid.	

Fast forward to 2019. Pickett's Ridge is as quiet as ever one, lonesome afternoon, and Sheriff Doyle is investigating a noise complaint at the Rusty Iron Motel in the southern part of town. A couple of young tourists were having a very loud, very angry spat, according to the motel's owner, so John was meant to swing by and see what the issue was. One of the motel's occupants was an infamous Delta criminal that went by the street name 'Warmonger.' He and three of his crew were hiding out in Pickett's Ridge after robbing a bank down in Charity City. They were planning to keep their heads down for a few months before they'd take the cash and split up. Evidentally a few of them weren't keen on waiting out, and their argument swiftly turned to violence. By the time Doyle and his deputies had arrived, Warmonger had already murdered his entire crew with his bare hands, and he was holed up in the motel room with the cash and their battered corpses.

Doyle hadn't known he was dealing with a metahuman at the time. Rather than start a protracted siege, he stacked up on the door with his men and decided to breach it. Deal with the threat quickly, before any damage could be done. Warmonger responded violently. John still remembers quite clearly the look on his deputy's face when he put two shotgun shells right into Warmonger's chest only for the Delta to tear him limb from limb. John and his men tried to retreat, but Warmonger followed, and their battle spilled out over Pickett's Ridge's streets. Nine dead, twenty-eight wounded and an hour later, John managed to put a bullet through the metahuman's eye and Warmonger went down. The sheriff handed temporary authority over to his second and proceeded to join federal and state law enforcement in escorting the Delta back to Charity City. John has been asked to stay in the city for awhile while 'Warmonger' is processed and the investigation is rounded out. As tired of it all as he was, Doyle agreed- he'd do anything he could to make sure that monster went away for life.

Unbeknownst to John, his fight with the Delta exposed him to energy that would soon change his life forever.
[/indent]
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[center][color=darkgray][h3][b]⫸ P O W E R   I N F O R M A T I O N ⫷[/b][/h3][/color]
[i]"The walls whisper n' the streets grumble. They don't like you, boy, and neither do I."[/i][/center]

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[color=darkgray][b]▼ | POWER   CLASSIFICATION : | [/b][/color]
[indent]Type-White[/indent]

[color=darkgray][b]▼ | POWER   DESCRIPTION : | [/b][/color]
[indent][color=darkgray][b]Urban Manipulation/Influence ||[/b][/color] John Doyle possesses the ability to speak to, influence and manipulate urban environments. His power works in any environment shaped by human hands, though is typically strongest when in larger cities and towns. They tend to manifest to himself in the form of 'spirits' that embody whatever part of town he happens to be in, though John isn't sure these entities are real; in fact, he's convinced that these 'ghosts' are just how his mind processes the new information gleaned from his powers. And any backlash he receives from them is most likely spawned from him losing control of his abilities and misusing them in some form or another.

The amount of power that John has in any area is tied directly to his relationship with these 'ghosts;' those that he's more familiar with will be more willing to share information with him, or manipulate the city in some way to help Doyle. If he travels to a new area and encounters a new ghost it isn't likely to do much at all for him, and can even hinder Doyle if he asks too much of them.

The best method for John to befriend a part of the city is to do things for it. Anything from stopping graffiti artists to picking up trash can make a ghost warm up to him. Certain parts of the city might like it if he does favors for its best residents, or they might ask that he goes and sabotages another portion of the city for their enjoyment. The ghosts are an odd bunch, and each neighborhood and district talks and feels like its own, free-thinking person- as impossible and insane as that should be.

Examples of what his powers can do would include unlocking doors for him, pointing him toward escape routes, or helping him track down someone that recently came through an area. When Doyle has fully befriended a part of the city he might be able to form potholes in roads to stop escaping vehicles or cause street lamps to fall atop an attacker, or a trash can might launch itself at someone for him. His abilities never get too incredible- he'll never be bending streets like they're the tide or moving buildings around. They aren't particularly helpful in combat unless John can figure out a way to use them more creatively.
[/indent]

[color=darkgray][b]▼ | LIMITS : | [/b][/color]
[indent] John's power is limited directly by the place he's in. In a town like Pickett's Ridge where he's served faithfully for much of his life, Doyle can assume that the ghosts will be more than willing to help him out when he asks them to. But in Charity City, he's a stranger. An outsider that hasn't proven himself quite yet. He'll need to familiarize himself with Charity first- to roam its streets and do good by its people- before the ghosts are willing to do anything for him.

Generally, Doyle is only able to interact with the city if its within 50 or so meters of himself. Anything beyond that is outside of his range. A neighborhood will usually remember the people that came through it for roughly two hours afterward with the trail tending to go cold not long after that, and Doyle can only follow someone's tracks if he knows who he's looking for. If John asks a neighborhood's ghost to do something to the detriment of a long-time resident, he'll usually be outright denied if not treated with disdain by the entity, provided he can't convince the ghost that the resident is bad for the neighborhood.  

John's powers no longer function once he leaves civilization. Generally, this line is drawn at the city or town's limits, though he loses influence the further he gets from the center.[/indent]

[color=darkgray][b]▼ | WEAKNESSES : | [/b][/color]
[indent]John can feel the pain of a neighborhood's ghost, especially if it's one he has a close bond with. Anything from a building being demolished, to graffiti being put on a wall, or a fire burning somewhere within it can all cause varying levels of pain for him. It's even possible for Doyle to feel this pain when he's far away from those ghosts- while this can help warn him that trouble's afoot, it also has the potential to debilitate or distract him.

Asking the spirit of a neighborhood to do too much at once, or something too severe can cause it to lash out against him. This could result in anything as mild as John stepping in dog shit to something as severe as him being hit by a car.

Doyle himself isn't the young man he used to be. Almost anyone under thirty-five can reliably outrun him, and his stamina keeps him from winning any sort of fist fight that isn't over in the first round of punches. On top of that, his bad leg has a habit of 'acting up' after too much use, so he's even more useless in a protracted chase of any kind.[/indent]
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[center][color=darkgray][h3][b]⫸ O T H E R ⫷[/b][/h3][/color]
[i]"I miss my wife's cookin.' Why can't anyone in Charity make a decent plate'a chicken?"[/i][/center]
[indent]John's service revolver is a Colt Trooper MK III, chambered for .357 magnum cartridges, and he carries a Smith & Wesson '36 as a backup.  He generally has two speed loaders on his belt and another six speed strips for extended shootouts, and for stickier situations, he relies on a Remington 870 that he keeps in his cruiser's trunk.

He doesn't particularly like technology and has yet to upgrade from the last flip phone he bought eons ago.

John's son, Marcus, is fifteen years old, and his daughter, Rose, is fourteen. His wife, Abigail, is thirty-nine.[/indent][/hider]