Not my greatest work, but here he is.

Might have to make some edits here and there, was kinda half-asleep by the end.


[hider=A Diamond in the Rough]

[center][url=https://fontmeme.com/fonts/dirtee-box-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/200506/5b39a6e1180483ba7e3c0f78791a6399.png[/img][/url][/center]
[hr][hr]
[center][h1][color=orangered]Malcolm MacAodhan[/color][/h1]
[img]https://i.postimg.cc/4yfSZFLK/1comp.png[/img][/center]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Full Name} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Malcolm Alasdair MacAodhan[/indent]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Age} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]19[/indent]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Species} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]He's... not entirely [i]sure[/i] anymore.[/indent]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Gender} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Male[/indent]
[hr]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Appearance} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Standing at a (just slightly) below average height of about 5'8"... Mal has never really been one to stand out in a crowd, at least at first glance. Not to say he's hard to look at, mind you— Hell, the kid actually strikes a surprisingly good-looking figure, what with those clever grey eyes he got from his dad framed by the handsome face they both got from [i]his[/i] dad topped off with that knack for warm (if a bit cheeky) little grins he most [i]definitely[/i] got from his mum.

...And these days, a body covered in compact, lean and almost [i]inhumanly dense[/i] musculature. Perhaps the most visible result of his life's sudden, drastic turn for the weird. 

But, never one to really [i]flaunt what he's [b](emphatically)[/b] got,[/i] Malcolm's always erred on the more modest side of fashion; preferring bog-standard jeans and t-shirts to anything truly extravagant and usually finding some ball-cap or another to tuck over his short brown hair. Though he [i]does[/i] have a particular fondness for a pair of old combat boots he inherited from his late father and has a habit of throwing on an old B-3 bomber's jacket his grandpa gave him when the weather starts to get cold, giving him a bit of a 'vintage' look at times. But honestly, the kid wears it pretty well.

Though that probably runs in the family, too.    

[/indent]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Equipment and Personal Belongings} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent][list]
[*]A cellphone
[*]Wallet
[*]Usually a pack of gum or two. Often cherry flavoured.
[*]Wristwatch
[*]An electric guitar he never actually learned to play in the corner of his room.
[*]His dad's old zippo, usually kept in a pocket over his heart.
[*]Tri-City Transit Metropass (driver's licenses tend to expire when you're [i]legally dead,[/i] after all).
[*]A few empty shellcasings in the corner of his desk from the first time a family friend, Marianna, took him to the range when he was nine.
[*]The trophy he earned from a marksmanship contest two years later, right beside them.
[*]Official [b]'THE JUDGE'[/b] action-figure with [b]'REAL [I]GUILLOTINE[/I] ACTION'[/b] and the words [color=cyan][b]"NUT UP OR SHUT UP!"[/b][/color] scribbled across it's chest in permanent marker in the opposite corner.
[*]His mom's old badge and his dad's medals, kept in the desk cupboard above his computer. Out of sight, but not out of mind.
[*]Said computer, an absolute [i]unit[/i] of a gaming PC Vee helped him build a few years back.  
[/list]

[/indent]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Physical Abilities} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent][b]Of the Blud—[/b] Not to ride that old stereotype of [i]everyone[/i] that's ever come out of Bludhaven being of the 'Scrappy, rough hooligan' sort [i]too[/i] hard, buuuuuut... Our boy Malcolm spent a good most of his youth getting into fistfights and all other kinds of trouble with his friends (much to the outward-chagrin, inward-almost-pride of his dad and the dismay of his mum, who usually had to pick his ass up at the station afterward) ranging from the odd tussle at school to the occasional [i][b]back-alley brawl[/b][/i] with the kids from the next school over. 

It [i]did[/i] pay off, though; to this day, Mal's pretty handy in a scrap. Though his skill comes more from experience and tenacity than any actual formal [i]training[/i]— barring the little bits and tricks Mari imparted unto him when he was a youngster and his folks weren't looking. 


[b]Secretly a Nerd—[/b] Even [i]before[/i] his existence took a turn in a direction that was decidedly tits-up, Mal was always a bright kid; always getting the top marks (or close to) in his classes, despite all his hooliganery, and even being able to talk shop and keep up with his cousin Zoey Kasimir— who he still regards as the brainiest person he's ever goddamn met. Though you wouldn't think it to actually [i]look[/i] at him, plainspoken as he is and very rarely ever going out of his way show off his intelligence— Partly because it hasn't mattered much since his schoolboy days came to an abrupt end, and partly because his inner troll gets a good laugh out of the look on most people's faces when he [i]does.[/i] 


[b]Mechanically Gifted—[/b] Having always been the type to take things apart to see how they work as a kid and having spent a good part of his youth (when he wasn't being a little shit) working on high-tech gizmos with Zoey, house renovations and vintage doodads with his Grandpa and eventually [i]cars[/i] as a summer job during highschool for his then-boss, Arty, Mal grew pretty handy at using that big brain of his to solving practical problems; Whether by wrench, hammer, soldering iron or pen and paper. So much so that he was well on his way to earning a scholarship to MIT... though any aspirations of that have now been [i]thoroughly[/i] shelved.


[b]Uncanny Aim/Hand-Eye Coordination—[/b] Starting out as a kid playing ballgames at arcades with Zoey, Mal has always had a certain talent for lobbing things into very specific places from very far way. Something that became only more prominent over the years as, under the guidance and gentle nudging of a few people in his life, that talent for skee-ball evolved into winning every game of darts he ever played with his Uncle Paul. And then knives with Marianna just for shits and giggles in her backyard a few times followed by a slightly more serious instruction of the ins and outs of Lee-Enfield that actually earned him a shiny trophy at a competition a few years later.    


[b]Polyglot—[/b] Also not too surprising, knowing where Mal grew up and the people that raised him, but Malcolm has picked up a few languages over the years. Namely English (obviously), Canadian French, a bit of Russian and German... that last one, specifically because Grandma Maddie made it her mission in life to make for damned sure that the boy'd [i]always[/i] be able to insult a German.  
[/indent]

[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Superpowers} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]
[b]Enhanced Senses—[/b] In the two months since the lad's return to the normal world, Mal's noticed some... [i]changes.[/i] One of which being that the longer he spent doing nothing but soaking up some sun while laying in bed and recovering from his ordeal, he became more and more aware of just how sharp his hearing had become, able to hear pretty much the entire street beneath his window in the first week his entire city block the day after, and at least a mile out in any direction a few days after that... which, of course led him to discover how good his eyes had become— Namely when he woke up one morning with a start to a bunch of noise his sleepy brain couldn't quite identify, looked out his window and caught sight of some guy watching what looked like an [i]interesting[/i] little picture featuring Barney the Dinosaur in a gimp suit and a [i]donkey.[/i]

Which he saw with perfect clarity. Because the guy's window was open. In his penthouse.

Three miles away.

Across the river. In [i]Central.[/i]

...On the bright side, however, his sense of [i]taste[/i] has also been cranked up to eleven. And Grandma Maddie's cooking has never been better. Which may, in fact, be the only thing that's kept him sane upon realizing he can hear the goings-on, whether he wants to or not, of [i]everyone[/i] around him and that said goings-on are often [i]pretty fucking weird.[/i]

   
[b]Enhanced Physiology—[/b] Though the lad doesn't quite know the extent of it yet, Mal's body has gone through some changes of it's own; leaving him able to leap most of the way up a twenty-story apartment building, easily one-hand lift and throw a Bugatti Chiron and run about as fast as one, too, with the agility to keep up with it. On top of that, the kid is [i]obscenely[/i] tough as well— able to tank things that [i]should[/i] rightly turn him into red paste and most small arms fire save for things getting in the range of .50-cal and above or dedicated armour-piercing munitions. Though, the only real hint he's gotten about any of this was when he woke up one morning and realized that at some point throughout the night, he'd rolled over and [i]put his head through the wall [b]without even realizing it.[/b][/i]

He also seems to have developed some sort of accelerated healing, something he [i]is[/i] actually aware of, having been stuck in bed for so long with nothing to do but watch his wounds heal with increasing speed [i](especially[/i] when the Sun was out, for some reason). Potent enough that injuries that [i]should[/i] have by rights, kept him on the mend for the better part of a year and possibly crippled for life vanished over the span of two weeks, not even leaving any scars, new or old.


[b]Enhanced Brain Function—[/b] While he was always a bit of nerd in disguise, Mal's brain has recently been been kicked into [i]overdrive.[/i] Processing information at speeds [i]several[/i] times faster than a normal human being and granting him almost perfect recall... though the only clue he's gotten about [i]this[/i] particular number is that he's gotten pretty damned good at the sudoku puzzles in the newspaper and guessing the answers on daytime Jeopardy reruns.  


[b]Slumbering Giant—[/b] Perhaps most concerning of all, is the fact that whatever is causing all these changes in Malcolm's body seems to be growing more and more pronounced by the day, though he's only dimly aware of it. Where this is leading, none can really say. But it doesn't seem to be slowing down any time soon, and each day, little by little, he wakes up in the morning stronger than the last.
[/indent]

[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Limitations} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent][b]Not Invulnerable—[/b] As previously stated, there [i]is[/i] an upper limit to Mal's durability; and hitting him often enough or [i]hard[/i] enough [i]will[/i] hurt him. On top of that, the guy still needs to [i]breathe—[/i] making attacks via poison gas just as effective on him as it is anybody else, and meaning he can also be drowned or suffocated.


[b]Not Wolverine, Either—[/b] While Mal may heal faster than most, it isn't exactly instantaneous nor something that'd really help him him out in the middle of a fight— Sure, the odd bruise or little scrape will be gone in a minute or two, with minor cuts or gashes taking a little longer than that... but more severe injuries and broken bones can take [i]days[/i] depending on severity. 


[b]Frequent Headaches/Hallucinations—[/b] Seemingly a side-effect of whatever's going on with his body, Mal's recently had a few problems with his head... in the form of random, headaches that range in strength from mildly irritating to downright [i]agonizing[/i] in intensity and arrive without warning, turning his world into a distorted mish-mash of pastel colours at best and at worst, causing him to hallucinate things like seeing through walls, what he can only surmise to be thermal radiation and even [i]electrical currents.[/i] Needless to say, just a [i]wee[/i] bit distressing. Both in the pain it causes and the implication that he just [i]might[/i] be going a little crazy, so he's kept mum about the whole thing to his family.

Which of course means he's unaware of the faint [color=orangered]orange[/color] glow radiating from behind his eyes when it occurs.


[b]Inexperience—[/b] As good in a scrap as Mal is, when it comes to the whole 'hero' business, he... well... [i]He has no idea what the [b]fuck[/b] he's doing.[/i]

So a few months of trial, error and smacking facefirst into the side of a few buildings is probably going to follow while he figures it out.    

[/indent]

[hr]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Personality} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Malcolm is, for lack of a better way of putting it, a walking, talking [i]paradox[/i] of a young man— Indomitably stubborn, possessing no small reserve of that potent mixture of grit, wit and pluck his hometown's known for and an apparent talent for dropping [i]devastating[/i] one-liners with [i]ruthless[/i] efficiency if some poor fool ever gives him the chance... Yet, also honest by nature. Surprisingly patient— far moreso than you'd ever associate with the hardnosed Bludhaven stereotype—, warm, welcoming and caring not just to those he holds dear, but... damn near [i]everybody[/i] he meets (traits he's made less and less effort to hide in the five years of introspection he's had since moving west) and far more intuitive and intelligent than he ever really cares to let on. 

The kind of guy that does his grandma's groceries and mows her lawn without complaint. Who'd step in the way of a mugging just as readily as he'd change a stranger's tire. Who'd do the drywall in Mari's house for no more than a few slices of pizza and maybe an affectionate little tousling of the hair.

Because beneath all that pluck, grit and wit his hometown's known for, there's been a good man hiding in plain sight the entire time. One it's entirely likely Mal himself knows little about.

[/indent]

[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Place of Origin} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]Born in Bludhaven, New Jersey to a green beret for a dad and a local cop for a mom. Malcolm's youth was... [i]actually pretty normal,[/i] all things considered. Sure, he had an [i]amazing[/i] talent for getting into trouble (pranks and the occasional schoolyard scrap, mostly) but that never really stopped his folks, his cousin Zoey (whom he was damn-near attached to by the hip throughout his childhood), her parents and all his family out west from loving him all the the same. And so, when he wasn't giving his mum all kinds of headaches with his usual antics, he spent his days taking the train to Gotham to goof off with Zo, going on the odd fishing trip with his granddad and, on some rare occasions, visiting the Valinovas on whatever new posting they found themselves in.

There were, it should be noted, some little oddities here and there. One of the most glaring examples being how odd it was that the grandpa he loved so very much never really looked as old as he should. And never seemed to age, for that matter.

Even more suspicious was the fact that when he was old enough to be aware of and ask about it, the only answer he ever got was just a quick "I'll tell you when you're older." 

Though truth be told, [b]he'd soon have other things to worry about.[/b]       

[/indent]
[color=orangered][b]|[u] {Background} [/u]|[/b][/color]
[indent]
[hider=Life Finds a Way (To Kick you in the Balls)]
Malcolm's happy life would start to take a downward turn sometime shortly after his eleventh birthday. When, beaming and brimming with pride while clutching a shiny new trophy he'd earned in a Range Competition while visiting with his Grandpa and the Valinovas for a weekend, he came home to find his mother hunched over at the kitchen table, face in her hands, and breathing laboured by the effort of trying not to [i]break there on the spot[/i] as one of his father's friends from work sat across from her, fully dressed in his formal greens.

A tri-folded flag on the table between them. 

A few days later, Captain Andrew MacAodhan of the United States Army was brought home in a wooden box and laid to his final rest in Section 60 of Arlington National Cemetery. Watched over by all those who loved him as he was lowered into the ground as the somber tunes of amazing grace rang out from the pipes; the Kasimirs, the Valinovas, Grandma Maddie, his father, wife and young son... who to his credit, managed to keep it mostly together— aided mostly by a warm hand holding his, though he doesn't remember whose— and only flinched [i]once[/i] during the three-volley salute.  

But life was never the same again. 

In the years that followed, Mal would see the Valinovas, his grandpa and even the Kasimirs less and less as his mother became more withdrawn from her dead husband's family (though Zo usually found a way to get a hold of him, despite his mother's efforts), only ever really allowing Maddie to visit as often and as unannounced as she always had, finding it a little hard to say no to her own grandmother. Between the mother and son themselves, things became much more strained; though life could never break the love they had for one another, there was not much laughter or smiles to go around in their house— And the more Abigail tried to rein in her son and keep him out of trouble and from his family, the harder he pushed back— those rare schoolyard scraps of his becoming more and more frequent and serious as the boy began to lash out at the world around him, increasingly isolated from those he cared for. Including his mother, who buried her feelings into her job and, increasingly, into the drink. 

This state of affairs would worsen over the course of three years, with the son descending further and further into a pattern of hooliganism, the mother falling further into the drink, the two coming to verbal blows with increasing severity more often than not and their house becoming less of a home and more of a space they just so happened to cohabitate.

And it would only end when young Malcolm eventually picked a fight he [i]really[/i] shouldn't have, a brief little scuffle with some gang-leader's little cousin that would see him ripped off the sidewalk and into an alley on the way home from school, beaten within an inch of his life, then tossed in the trunk of a car, presumably to be taken down to the pier and thrown into the river. Sitting in that metal box, with nothing but the the cold, the grinding of his broken ribs, and the dark to keep him company, Mal was... [i]understandably scared shitless.[/i] But then, after a time, almost calm. Growing more an more aware that this was, pretty inevitably, going to be his end. 

But the moment his thoughts fully began to turn in that direction, things outside his little box of pain suddenly got very loud with gunfire and screaming, before it suddenly got quiet again. Right before his mother ripped open the trunk, and hauled her boy out of there and into a hug, despite her wounds.

And three days after that, Abigail MacAodhan passed away from her wounds. Going quietly in her sleep, and, by some mixture of cruel irony and great kindness, spending more time with her son in those precious 78 hours than she had in the past three years. 

And despite all the words and anger and strife that had been between them since the better part of a half-decade since that day in Arlington, she did not go unloved.                   

[/hider] 
[hider=Starting Anew]
It was not long after his mother's funeral that Mal found himself in the care of his grandfather out in Keystone. 

Though starting a new life in a new town was a bit of a daunting prospect, at the very least the boy was reunited with his family and even Mari and her daughter, Verra, again. The latter of which took him under her wing in a way as he was enrolled into the prestigous Isaiah Morgan Academy with her— both to make sure he was alright, and to keep him from falling into his old ways. And to her credit, she was pretty damned successful in that regard; Mal's grades actually began to improve again, he began to smile and laugh again, both at school, at home and when he was over at the Valinova's helping out around the house or working part-time out of a little garage out in Kansas City. 

...Well, there [i]was[/i] an altercation or two with a boy named Reginald de Souza, who had a thing or two to say about both Mal's accent and less-than-regal mannerisms as well as the size of Vee's chest; Needless to say, the girl made a point of looking the other way whenever Mal chose to deal with that particular problem the traditional [i]Bludhaven[/i] fashion. Occasionally even giving him a quiet little grin, one-armed hug or squeeze on the shoulder in approval on the way to their study group later— Which is also around the same time that the boy encountered one [i]Kara Davis.[/i] And a bunch of teenage hormones abruptly hit him like a fucking truck. 

She was smart, [i]crazy smart,[/i] sassy, witty and to top it all off, [i]drop-dead [b]gorgeous.[/b][/i]

And three years his senior.

[i]And way the hell out of his league.[/i]

To his unrelenting horror, Malcolm suddenly realized that he'd just met his [i]first crush.[/i] Something his life, for all of its ups and downs, had left him woefully unprepared for... so, being a kid with a head full of puberty-stuff and panic, he eventually (after about three years of fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat at study group and getting distracted when Vee had her over while he was working on Mari's car or doing the drywall) did the obvious thing that a kid with a head full of puberty-stuff and panic would do— [i]Something stupid.[/i]  

He flunked three tests in a row. Something that confused the hell out of his teachers, who'd been thus far impressed with his grades, and made Vee give him a loud [color=ed145b]"What the [i]heck,[/i] Mal?"[/color]— you'd have to know the girl to understand just how [i]damning[/i] that statement was— before she pushed him towards finding a tutor.  

Namely, [i]Kara.[/i] [b]Just as planned.[/b]

...Much to Mal's horror, who quickly realized he had no idea what the [i]hell[/i] he was doing, or where to go from here. 

Still, the two were spending time together now. Talking more than they did during Vee's study group and actually [i]getting along[/i] on top of that, occasionally taking breaks between studying to play a round of Smash Bros. or ordering take-out for study-fuel. Sure, the boy kinda felt kinda like a bag of shit all while keeping up the act, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't [i]absolutely over the moon[/i] they were spending so much time together.

Still though, he knew for a fact that he couldn't keep this up forever— Vee was starting to give him a wry side-eye about it once in a while, as good a sign as any that the jig was pretty close to being up— and the boy began to fall into a mild bout of melancholy about the hole he'd dug himself into.

That is, until he happened to go to a convention one weekend, and found inspiration from perhaps the [i]weirdest place imaginable.[/i]      

[b]The Judge,[/b] signing autographs and posing for pictures with fans.

In a spur of the moment, Malcolm actually asked the wrestling phenom for advice. And was more than a little surprised when instead of shrugging him off said font of gains lowered his sunglasses, looked him dead in the eye and and told him—

[color=cyan]"Kid, sometimes ya just gotta know when to nut up or shut up."[/color] 

And then he wrote a reminder down on his action figure, signed it, and sent the boy on his way with a little clap on his shoulder.

And the next day, Malcolm did just that— He nutted up. And to his astonishment to this day, [i]she actually said yes.[/i]

If Mal was 'Over the moon' before, he was screaming right the hell out of the Solar System by now. Absolutely [i]bouncing[/i] in his seat as he rode the subway home that day, and only [i]barely[/i] able to keep from screaming with joy the whole ride back.

Right up until his train came off the track. On a bridge.

Over the river.

Because [i]every[/i] happy moment in Mal's life had to come at a price. 

[/hider]

[hider=*WARNING: FILE NOT FOUND*][/hider]

[hider=Third Time's a Charm]
Two years after the train crash, Malcolm woke up one morning in his bed. Groggy, sore and covered head to toe in bandages and stitching— probably on account of all the gashes, cuts and broken bones. But in spite of all of that, he was [i]relieved.[/i]

His ordeal was over. He was home.

[b]He was free.[/b]

It didn't take much longer, especially with the combination of crying and laughter that followed that escaped his throat at that realization, for his grandpa to jolt awake from where he slept, in a chair beside his bed and immediately pull him into a hug. 

For the first few days, the lad was unable to do anything but lay in bed, healing and staring out the window at the world he'd missed for the past two years. His only company being a rotating shift of grandpa Duncan, grandma Maddie and of course, Mari, who'd been there with Duncan to retrieve him from the side of a mountain outside of Central in the first place. They would've taken him to a hospital, but the manner in which they'd found him and the fact that he'd been [i]legally dead[/i] for two years now put a slight dampener on that.

Instead, they got front row seats to something they really weren't expecting— Mal began to [i]heal.[/i] Way faster than he should have, recovering in a week what should have taken him [i][b]years,[/b][/i] and only doing it faster as the days went on as his bones slowly mended themselves together and his wounds sealed shut, not even leaving a scar. He also began to bulk up, [i]exponentially so,[/i] as a lean, ludicrously dense musculature began to form and harden around his body. Something that confused the hell out of all of them as the only thing he had to do all day was just lay there and soak up some sun.

By day eight, he confused them them all even further by showing up in the kitchen and making himself a sandwich.

They were happy to have him back— Even if, being legally dead, his prospects for a normal life have gone directly down the shitter and where he'd been for the past two years made them all hesitate to let anyone else know that he was in fact still alive. Whatever was and was [i]still[/i] going on with his body was just a [i]wee[/i] bit concerning, but probably not all that weird, considering the events of the past few months after that whole shitshow with the particle accelerator in STAR Labs.

Still, they felt it best that the lad keep a low profile for the forseeable future. Something he readily agreed to, flying in the face of all that youthful rebellion he was so fond of in his youth and has generally kept at home in the two months since, though the leash has slowly started to loosen in the past few days and he's been allowed more and more freedom to head out of the house on his own. 

And so, slowly, steadily, Mal has begun to reclaim control of his own life.

But if history is anything to go by, fate has a few more curveballs to throw at him yet.           

[/hider]
[/indent]

[/hider]