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Avant Garde

"Art doesn't express. It exposes"

Moses 'Mo' Jackson Muller
3rd November 1997 | 21 | Caucasian Hispanic
Single || Asexual
Santa Celia Art College | Street Artist
Physical Profile

Miscellaneous Items
Appearance Details
With a bean-pole figure of 6 foot and 1 inch, one will almost always be immediately repulsed or disgusted by Mo when they first come into contact with him. Mo has the appearance of a skinny leech, reeking to high hell of overnight caffeine fugues of artistic fervor combined with pallid overgrown hairy skin. One evident thing that one will notice about Moses immediately is the fact that he is stained with artistic materials. Graphite dust etched into his skin from hours of sketching. Bits of dried paint underneath his fingernails. A blot of ink underneath his chin.

Mo's face is undecipherable, scrunched eyebrows that are lost in thought and a glazed visage that shifts between the realm of reality and dreams. His mouth and facial expression are constantly irractic and shifting, almost as if he's conversing with someone else in his mind. His dark lidded grey eyes are constantly in a bloodshot state of frustration with baggy under-lids that are threatening to drop off his face at any moment. His face bears a lightly shaven moustache complimented with rows of splotchy acne scars permanently branding his cheeks and nose. His wild bush of dark-brown hair is uncombed and knot with splatters of paint and chalk dust dug into the very roots.

Moses skeletal appearance belies a lithe physicality that is marked with legacies of a misspent youth, with puckered knees, weathered elbows and faded bruises aplenty. He has a slight hunch in his shoulders, bending him slightly forwards even when standing or sitting still. His thin arms dangle precariously off his shoulders, hands always gravitating towards his pockets to reach for a pencil and paper to draw on. Aside from this, Moses has one single ink tattoo on his right forearm.

For casual wear, Mo prefers street-wear such as rain-jackets, bomber jackets and jumpers that always come with a hood alongside a pair of worn out sneakers or sport shoes. When he’s painting the streets, Mo wears a strappable gas mask underneath a red bandanna and scarf to conceal himself along with a set of paint-stained foreman gloves.

Mo is a man who's seen it all and more who has become emotionally numbed in response to supernatural phenomena. Whenever something strange or out of the ordinary happens around him, he is often non-plussed and works with the situation as best as he can. Mo can always be expected to be a calm and nonchalant individual who is undoubtedly reserved, usually resorting to succinct or blunt responses during normal day to day conversations with strangers and doesn't engage in bouts of sentimentalism or overt emotional exuberance. On the contrary, he's more interested in doodling rather than conversing, often taking every opportunity during conversation to draw something or someone.

Mo's lack of sociability is often affected by the fact that there are a constant retinue of dead talking Artistonancer's in his head that are incapable of shutting up, often leading to sudden impulsive bouts of frustration and shouting at seemingly no one. He treats his fellow dead Artistonancers with almost no semblance of respect and views them as more of a liability and annoyance rather than a source of help ever since the incident. Needless, Mo has an difficult relationship with the ghosts of former Artistonancer's that haunt him on a daily basis that range from sarcastic barbs to hostile expletive-filled death matches.

In spite of his rather cold demeanor, Mo has the soul of an artist and expresses most of his emotions in his art, using it as an outlet for his repressed emotions and as a method for calming the voices in his head down. The very act of art for Mo is cathartic. He is completely enraptured with enthusiasm when dug deep into his work and will never refuse an offer to do a commission for a stranger, barring extreme circumstances. However, any criticism of his artistic ability is seen to him as a challenge that he has to respond to in kind. Heavens help you if you insult graffiti as an art form in any way possible.

Mo has always had a pathological distrust of authority figures, holding a contemptuous view of them as a massive conglomerate of high-horsed people with ulterior agendas. This usually leads to Moses being more likely to disobey orders from a source of authority or to actively act against them if there is enough evidence to support his suspicion. However, in rare cases, he is willing to interact and cooperate with them on good faith if they give him enough reasons to do so.

In terms of his ethical integrity, Mo is often apprehensive of moral situations and approaches them with trepidation, often going as far to trying to avoid the call to altruism. However, despite his best efforts, Mo will ultimately, in the end, help those in trouble, especially people of lower socio-economic background despite him believing internally that he's doing this for his own self-gain.

However, intrinsically, Mo is a person who desires an ordinary life as a street artist rather than being stuck with the mantle of an Artistonancer after his last experience with the supernatural. He is both afraid and daunted of the nature and legacy of his supernatural abilities, often leading to conflict between him and the retinue of long dead Artistonancers that take refuge in his mind. Being one of the last order leaves a heavy burden on Mo's soul as he knows that with every choice that he makes, Artistonancy either becomes preserved or extinct. Therefore, this leads to a conundrum where Mo is afraid of acknowledging the existence of his powers and actively takes steps to prevent himself from using his abilities as best as he can. Right and wrong, good and bad, all of that doesn't matter to Mo when he's trying to live as a normal guy who tags buildings left and right. Deep inside his mind, Mo knows that his life as an street artist can't last forever as the world becomes more stranger and yet, he continues to fight against his destiny.
Character Synopsis
Born to a middle-class suburban family in the center of San Francisco, Moses ‘Mo’ Muller lived a sheltered life under the constant eye of his mother and father who were grooming their children to take over the reigns of Muller and Associates, one of the top premier accounting firms within San Francisco. Whilst the rest of the Muller children were willing to fufill the wishes of their father and mother, Moses was the proverbial black sheep of a family, wanting to escape from under the nose of his family. Ever since he was young, Moses was attracted to the arts ever since he first drew a little stick figure of a butterfly he saw in the backyard. His parents first wrote it off as a minor ‘hobby’ and that he would soon see the error of his ways. He didn’t. Much to their horror and Mo’s confusion, Mo continued to become more ambitious and daring in his artistic ventures, signing up for extra-curricular art activities and generally raising a middle finger to his family’s wishes.

It soon became worse when Mo’s family visited an charity art exhibition out of necessity, causing Mo to come back to his home later, claiming that he was hearing voices in his head. Five to be specific. Voices of adult men and adult women, painters, from the Renaissance, from the Cold War, famous artists of yore.

That was the last straw.

One day, without any warning whatsoever, at the age of 13, Mo’s parents made him pack his bags and sent him to his uncle, Gerald Muller, who was an art professor in Arido Art College, informally disowning him and refusing to recognise him as their son. Gerald Muller recognised Mo’s almost innate talents in the visual arts and immediately made him his protege, teaching him the foundation of the arts. Eventually, Gerald took a wager and betted on it after several nights of indecision. He took out one of Mo’s paintings, a black and white striped apple, and asked him jokingly to try and reach into it. Mo managed to do it on his first try. After that incident, Gerald revealed that he was one of the last curators of an ancient art of magic of ‘Artistonancy’ and the history of their family. That Mo was what Aristonancers would call an 'Avant-Garde', a practitioner who would decide the fate of the study by himself and himself alone.

After celebrating with his first shot of whiskey (at an illegal age at that), Gerald had been unknowingly training him to become better in the art of Artistonancy in order for one single goal.

To resurrect his dead wife. Mo's aunt.

The process seemed successful. For a few brief seconds, the professor had his wife back. Before the screaming began and his blood began to splatter on the walls. Instead of making a successful replica of his own dead wife, Mo accidentally gave birth to an horrific abomination made of writhing flesh, splattered oil and twisted shape. A distortion. Mo was knocked out by a blow that left his mind in a tumble of broken memories. The next thing he knew, he was being interrogated by detectives in Saint Celia National Hospital, demanding to know what had happened. Why was half of the campus destroyed in pieces? Was it the work of an terrorist organisation? Was it a gas leak?

They wouldn’t even believe him if he told the real answer. Mo was soon admitted to the hospital and was lost and adrift, with only the voices in the head to guide him and - Fuck that. The voices were responsible for this. Artistonancy was a curse. It had birthed that….thing. That monstrosity. It was dangerous. No, he was dangerous. Soon after his uncle’s funeral, Mo approached the ruins of the campus, ducking underneath a border of security tape, to secure his uncle’s books on Artistonancy. The last remaining books of a once thriving order. Centuries worth of knowledge that he hadn’t even tapped into yet.

He burnt them one by one, not even stopping to take a peek at the pages, and threw them into the ocean, no matter how much the voices told him to stop.

After a few days of argument and dissent, the murals stopped communicating with him. For years in fact.

A few years later, Mo’s still trying to move past the incident by working as a job as a legal street artist in the inner city of Saint Celia. As he realised the increasing levels of crime and violence within the city he loved, he tried to do something good for the city as the muck and scum of crime rose, accepting jobs to paint memorials of dead victims, tags that criticised the local gangs that preyed on the innocent and tried to cast color into a city that was quickly losing it. His paintings made people weep. Cry. Laugh. It gave them hope. For once, he was proving the murals wrong. That he didn’t need to be an Artistonancer to make the world right. As storms darken on the horizon of Rook Bridge, Mo only hopes that he can hold onto his dreams for a little while longer.......

Abilities & Skills

Artistonancy | Artistonancy is a branch of magic that involves the use of artistic mediums as the main source of an practitioner's power by ‘drawing’ magical objects out of the artistic medium. Artistonancy was once effectively known as a 'poor man’s' magic in the inner circles of the magical community in the 15th century, effectively on the verge of extinction due to the hubris of its practitioners, believing they could overcome its rules. Every practitioner of Aristonancy has either accidentally killed themselves from their creations or gone insane from the accumulation of murals in their head. Ironically, Artistonancy has managed to out-live other magical arts that were once wide-spread throughout the world, although, its survival rests in the hands of one ordinary Californian.

Mo is one of the last remaining Artistonancers on Earth, specialising in using painted mediums as his source of magical power. The type of object drawn out can either have mundane qualities or supernatural qualities that can give boons to the user. The degree to which the object is supernatural depends on the materials used to create the object, the style of art, the aesthetic characteristics and much, much more. Mo has been out of practice since he found out his talents in Artistonancy 6 years ago but he still remembers the bare basics.

Artistonancy mainly involves two concepts: visualization and materialization of the object in question. Visualization requires clearing the mind of any distractions and focusing on the object that the practitioner wants to ‘draw’ out of a medium. Different types of paintings vary the difficulty and extent of visualization that a user must be involved in. A single image or a picture of an object restricts visualization but makes it extremely easier to focus. A more complex painting composed of multiple images gives a measure of freedom and leeway to the user to visualize whatever object that they want. Materialization involves the practitioner touching the visual medium and physically pulling the object out. The difficulty of materialization and the time it takes depends on the size of the object. Larger objects require Artistonancers to request the help of other people in order to fully materialize the object.

Mural Transferal | The soul of an Aristonancer continues to live in their art, even after they have passed away. When an Artistonancer dies, part of their spirit lays trapped and remains in their painting, sustained by the mere belief and awareness of their creations by the world, becoming what is known as a mural. If a Aristonancer's work becomes culturally insignificant over time, the remaining part of their soul will begin to degrade until they are no more. If it's not the case, then, a living Artistonancer can bring them back to life, allowing their conscious to inhabit their mind and voluntarily link them to their soul. Murals are independetly living spirits that are tied to the conscious mind of an Artistonancer. A mural is a source of invaluable information and experience for any Artistonancer and serve a secondary use of shielding their mind from mental or psychic attacks. The more murals that an Artistonancer accumulates, the increasing likelihood that they will begin to exhibit symptoms of sociopathy and psychopathy which will then develop into full-blown insanity. The recommended limit for accumulation of murals is a total of 8 voices.

Limitation(s) | Laws of Artistonancy

Artistonancy is a multi-faceted area of magic that has many nuances and limitations that even most Artistonancer's are not aware of. Due to burning Gerald's last collection of Artistonancy lore and by extension, his relationships with the murals in his head, Mo is currently aware of only 3 laws within Artistonancy that he has learnt thus far. With further communication with the murals in his head and more testing, he may soon grow to be aware of other laws.

Law of Dimensions:Artistonancer’s are unable to draw out objects that are larger than the dimensions of the visual medium itself without severely injuring themselves or causing a rupture. A ‘rupture’ is known as a backlash of magical energy that can rebound upon the caster, causing either severe mutations related to the visual medium or in extreme cases, death. Along with this, Artistonancer’s are restricted to only using their magic on one dimension only and not multiple dimensions. Therefore, Mo can only draw objects out of two-dimensional visual mediums and not three-dimensional visual mediums such as origami, sculptures, pottery or statues.

Law of Belonging:Artistonancer’s are only able to draw objects out of art that they have created by themselves only, finding themselves unable to draw out objects out of art created by other people. Attempting to draw objects out of artistic objects not created by the caster doesn’t have any severe repercussions, merely just a sense of disappointment, unlike the law below.

Law of Life:It is said that past or ancient aristonancers managed to master crafting life out of art itself. However, the practice of vivification, as it is called, has been lost in the annals of history. Attempting to create an sentient being out of an artwork will always almost result in the formation of a distortion. Plants and fungi are the exception to the rule but even attempting to take out any living being that can express intelligent behaviour is going to distort immedietely. Distortions are extremely dangerous sentient beings created by an Aristonancer that are a facsimile of life itself ranging from eldritch abominations to mere shadows of a person. Distortions are insane and can’t be reasoned with, operating on a single minded obsession that may vary from benign to dangerous.

Weaknesses | Whilst Mo’s artistonancy is particularly versatile and grants him several boons, there are several weaknesses that one can capitalise on with enough observation. One of Aristonancy’s main weaknesses is the concept of Iconoclasm, or rather the inherent weakness of a construct that may cause it to degrade over time, depending on the quality and nature of the materials used. As Mo’s constructs are mainly derived from chalk and paint, a combination of water or chemical solvents can dissolve or destroy Moses’s constructs on contact, even constructs that are meant to be defensive in nature. Whilst a mere drop of water won’t carve through Moses constructs, a downpour of rain or a gout of water from a firehose could potentially wash away everything.

Other than this, the main source of a Aristonancer’s power is also their crippling flaw. As long as one prevents Mo’s away from an available supply of paint and chalk, Mo could be easily mistaken for a simple ordinary individual with no outward superhuman characteristics whatsoever. Easy pickings for any one with a bare minimum of professional training.

As the majority of Mo’s Aristonancy relies on touch in order to begin drawing the object out of the visual medium, breaking Mo’s hand or simply crippling them beyond use is a valid tactic that any opponent could use to remove the use of his powers.

Painter | Mo is an accomplished career painter who is adaptable with a myriad of visual mediums and has a knack for combining both realistic detail and surrealist imagery in a fitting blend with one another. His creativity and imagination are boundless whenever he’s holding a brush, a pencil, a marker or a can in his hand. His preferred mediums for painting are chalk, spray paint and pencil, although, he does have experience with other mediums such as oil and water-color in acquiescence of the voices in his head.

Parkour | Mo is mostly adept at the art of parkour, a childhood of rebellion in the inner city being responsible for him picking up the skill in the first place. Whilst not possessing as much finesse or brute endurance compared to other free-runners, Mo’s technical skills have never diminished throughout his age. Mo is able to maneuver through the concrete jungles of Santa Celia with ease, confidently leaping off roof-tops and vaulting over fences without catching his breath. Mo mainly uses his parkour skills to access the perfect canvas for his art or to mainly escape from the menagerie of authorities and gangsters that are on a constant chase after him.

Supporting Cast

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Turquoise Delton - Retired Criminal

Crime doesn't pay but you do pay with your soul.


Birth Name

Aloysius Leonardo Cunnington


- Hans Ashton
- The Fool's Hand
- Temporary Agent
- Blank




Like the setting of the sun and the rise of the moon, Turq’s external appearances change throughout the day, shedding his skin constantly like a Kecleon to suit the local environment around him, shifting ever-constantly between a man of mundanity and a creature of criminality in plain sight. First impressions of Turq usually leave the curious satisfied and deter the insecure qualms of the suspicious with a single glance. Turq seemingly prospers within the aesthetic of contemporary life yet underneath that civilized facade of his lies the subtle hint of ethereal shackles that chain him to a past that clings onto his very body. However, despite his tendencies for his ever-changing looks, he carries an air of consummate professionalism about him, annoyingly immaculate in his overall adornment and toes the line between the stations of the upper and lower class.

Standing at a deceiving height of 5’9, Turq’s milquetoast features belies a imposing weathered muscular physique forged from years of strenuous exercise and exhilarating criminal escapades. His corded muscles are lined with a number of post-traumatic scars from head to toe, each of them a moral of his story, ranging from healed incisions from a Picharisu’s Hyper Fang, a sliced nail from a rogue Bisharp, a patch of will’o’wisp burns from a mischievous Litwick and a long scar delivered by an angered Cubchoo. The knuckles of his fists are coated in calloused white welts and thick blemishes that cover his palms. Whilst the erosion and decay of ennui has begun to set into his body noticeably over the past few years, he is still fit in build.

When one meets face to face with Turq for the first time, they almost immediately notice the heavy-set face that brags a family history of violence and intimidation. His ridged forehead, a flat angled nose and a rectangular face makes one assume that he’s of rural ethnicity, a brutish background so to speak. His cheeks have a tint of red to them with a row of sleepless dark bags underneath his black eyes. Surrounding his long chined demeanour is a shaved bush of autumn-red hair that’s browning at the fringes.

In terms of fashion, Turq’s collection of button-up shirts and long pants is pretty eclectic, ranging from the most epicurean in Kalosian fashion, or the most mundane in Kantonese apparel. During his normal day-to-day hours, Turq prefers to wear a mixture of formal suits in a palette of light colors. During his nightly sojourns, a trench-coat is his main form of apparel. Regardless, he is never seen without his signature wide-brimmed pork-pie hat that brings a shadow over his entire face.


Turq is an wizened individual, far more experienced than one should be at his age, who displays all of the most paradoxical traits of a career criminal: honourable but cunning, honest but deceiving, gentle yet brutal and irrational but pragmatic. He is a man of consummate professionalism and dislikes any behaviour that he deems to be unprofessional or unbefitting of the person’s position or stature. After spending the majority of his youth dwelling in the criminal underworld, Turq is wallowing. He takes no pleasure nor does he take in any sense of achievement in his criminal dealings, only seeing them as a means to an end.



//Black-Collar Criminal

//Underground Trainer


//School of Hard Knocks

//Master of Disguise

//The Iron Chef


//Web of Ears


//Money, Money, Money

//Street Rules


//Red Ledger

//Chronic Gambler

//Scars of the Past









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Crusin' at the speed of neon, Cruisin' at the speed of fun

29.5 mph | MALE DRIVER | 6'0 seats| HIGH O- CTANE BLOOD

General Information/Specifications

NAME: Mackwell Fordwell Sloane


- The Stacked Over-Driver/Over-Driver

- MacTruck

SEX: Male

AGE: 29 Years, 6 Months, 4 Days, 13 hours, 12 seconds ticking.....


Mack’s weathered and towering figure bears the typical popular adornment of the average citizen of the Reclaim Zone, which is a fashionable veil of neon griminess and dilapidation, except instead of a dour frown, you get a brown-toothed smile besmirched with crumbs of cheap re-hydrated ice-cream sandwiches. Mack radiates happiness and it's rare to see a frown on his face only for it to become a smile once more. However, there's an un-mistakable twitch, a blink, a momentary passing sign of pain in his positivism that demands to be reaped upon. Every corner of his body is covered in the unmistakable down-trodden scent of South City’s underbelly. His dirty blonde hair, flecked with motor oil and the nauseous scent of engine coolant, is cut in a slick, short comb with shaven chops on each side of his skull, moving slightly as if being blown by some invisible wind. Underneath his mop of hairs lies his sunken green eyes that have a ever-constant look of electrical optimism and peppy happiness. Rows of sleepless bags hang like curtains underneath his eye-lids, fueled by hours of coffee consumption. Mac often hides his sugar-fueled insomnia with a pair of horn-rimmed smart-glasses that are chipped at the sides.

Unlike most individuals in South City, Mack does not display his cybernetic augmentations outwardly as a badge of modernity, resorting to means to hide it such as cheap two-dollar replaceable dermal kera-patches or pharmaceutical cyte-lotion. Other than that, Mack bears a light-tattoo in the shape of a stylized bar-code on the left side of his neck and several relay lines that jut out from the right side of his head in an intricate pattern.

Mack isn’t a fashionista nor extremely picky in his choice of apparel, preferring to blend in with the crowd rather than stand out. He isn’t one to keep up with the latest Reclaim Zone chics of the current month but he isn’t an individual who lives under a rock as well. He usually prefers to wear the latest tacky Reclaimer garb, a sucker for cheap holo-movie merchandise combined with high-collared street jackets and jeans along with fingerless gloves on both of his hands. When he’s officially driving as Campbell’s Driver, Mack dresses in his Prism Helmet and his Trench-Vest Gear, a reminder from his days as the Detroit Over_Rider.



January 13th, 2064

Mr Mack Fordwell Sloane - LA1907335992
48th Floor, Hab 10, Tower 9
Babel Holdings, South City
Free Economic Zone of Los Angeles

The Campbell Campaign Office is pleased to offer you the position of Personal Chaffeur. Thorough review of your prior distinguished experience and employment records by our Campaign Manager has indicated that you would be the most suitable candidate for this position. Employment with Campbell’s Campaign Office will officially end during the completion of South City’s mayoral election procedure. Note that your employment with Campbell’s Campaign Office is “at will”, meaning that the Campbell Campaign Office may terminate your employment at any time and for any reason, with or without cause.

As we previously discussed, the starting date for your position will be May 12th, 2064. The starting salary is $105,459 per year and will be paid in weekly installments. Please consult with our Campaign Treasurer for any financial assistance regarding depositing of salary.

Although your following reponsibilities as Head Chaffeur will change over time as Campell's Campaign Office personal and private policies are liable to change, please note that your following responsibilities as Head Chaffeur will include as of now:
- Transportation and transfer of Dexter Campbell and campaign staff members from and to locations within the South City Free Economic Zone.
- Evacuation and protection of Dexter Campbell and campaign staff members from hostile areas and individuals within the South City Free Economic Zone.
- Helping and escorting passengers off and onto personal vehicle
- Manual maintenance and optimal repair of your vehicle.
- Opening doors for passengers.
- Ensuring that vehicle is equipped with appropriate faculties in order to alleviate stress of Campaign Staff Members.

If you choose to accept this job offer, please complete the bio-voc verification sub-program attached to this e-message and send a copy of this e-message with your e-signature before April 24th, 2064.

When your confirmation has been received, the Campbell Campaign Office will provide you with further instructions.


The Campbell Campaign Office

Psychological Profile/General Performance

Tenacious | Dare-Devil | Grieving | Proud | Unflappable | Cheerful


“ People have been always trying to wrangle that turbo-blazer in my DNA for their own use. I'm certain
of that. One other thing's certain, though. I'm tired of being a plain ol' taxi driver all the time.”

Mack own personal agenda for still living within the wrecked remains of South City is to gain back enough money to repair Monica, his car, and to seek some remnants of his former glory and excitement that is missing in his current life by taking the most dangerous and high-risk jobs available to him as a taxi driver within the crime-ridden streets of the Reclaim Zone. All that matters to him is the next big paycheck or the next big job that is able to cough up some cash - enough cash for him to repair Monica and legitimize himself in the eyes of his former street-racing family in the Detroit Stacks. Or so he tries to convince himself.

Truthfully, Mack has seeked out employment in South City in hopes of being able to find a high-risk job so absurd and dangerous that it will finally result in his permanent death. Hopefully, Campbell might be able to fulfill that wish. However, his own personal agendas have recently included securing his bodily and personal freedom from the Reclaimer Gang who have forced him through non-consensual augmentation and blackmail to work for them as a means of influencing Campbell’s campaign in secret.

CAMPAIGN GOAL (Why did you link up with Campbell? What are you trying to do for his platform?)

“ Bad men foster in this city, not good. That’s why the city needs to change; not the people. And it starts with Campbell.”

Mack original purposes for linking up and signing up as Campbell’s driver was a manner of both monetary gain and the fact that Campbell’s controversial views on changing the geopolitical game of South City attract a lot of eyes and therefore, a hefty amount of high-profile danger. The thought of getting the chance to drive around a politician attracts some measure of danger and Mack believes that acting as Campbell’s driver will be the key to finding some semblance of purpose in his shattered life of his and a escape from constantly having to drive dangerous routes in the Reclaim Zone with little to no pay. Besides, if Campbell promises release and respite from the corporate gang-filled hell of the Reclaim Zone and promising further change at the governmental level, how can a man who’s had his entire life trodden on by corporations and gangsters not be tempted by those promises?

While Mack has no concerns for Campbell’s platform other than driving him safely through the roads of the Reclaim Zone and making sure that he doesn't ally with any corporate scum-bags, the Reclaimer Gang seeks to use Campbell as a means of influencing the mayoral process for their own needs, using Mack as a proxy for their own agenda…...

PERSONAL PHILOSOPHY (Who are you really? What morally defines you? What drives you?)

Whenever you're by yourself, walking on the side of the street out in this shit-hole of a world, you feel small. But when you're behind a wheel, you feel like you can take on the world.

Mack is an individual who believes that staying still is a route towards becoming extinct like the dodo on the road of life and suffers from a major inferiority complex when he’s not behind the wheel of a car. He takes full measure of every opportunity to enjoy himself as best as he can and is extremely sociable as a result, acting extremely exuberant in every situation, even when he’s a driver. He is a adrenaline-junkie at heart and ,no matter how much he tries to deny it, can’t resist the alluring temptation of high-speed chases or races because without any sense of thrill, he’s left lost in the wind and forced to acknowledge the sheer nauseating nature of the dark and decaying future around him or in this case, reality. Though he tries and deny it, he’s attracted to the danger of high-risk situations as he believes it’s the only way to prove himself and his worth to others.

Therefore, due to this life-style and his experiences as a racer, Mack’s moral code involves a apathetic sense of desensitization to the violence around him, possessing no strong moral sense of justice whatsoever and is only willing to look out for himself and his own car. Mack generally only helps other people if there’s the promise of a high-speed chase or if they’re a street-racer like he was once. Mack does however possess a sense of sympathy for those who have lived in poverty or have been screwed over by a corporation, mainly using them as a scapegoat for all his current problems and the state of the Reclaim Zone.

What drives Mack is his desire to repair Monica and his dream to officially enter the Metro Prix as a racer as he once nearly did back then, even though, he is at wills with his inner desire to return to the streets and duel as the Over_Driver again.

POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY: (What are your views on the world? While a partisan identity would be nice to include, feel free to define yourself outside of the five parties. This is important as Campbell will eventually have to choose a party to represent.)

Politics are like traffic jams in South City.

Whilst Mack’s foray into the world of politics is about as much as a fish venturing into dry land (Impossible, since most fish these days are nearly extinct), most of Mack’s own views on the current contemporary state of American politics can be stated to ascribe to a updated model of socio-liberalism.

Mack believes that individuals are possessive of civil rights and that there should exist a general state of equality for every single citizen of the United States of America, which is however undercut by his cynicism in his lack of faith in government institutions, particularly relating to regulation of law and the fact that governments have mainly de-evolved into a corporatocracy or otherwise,‘a ventriloquist's dummy’. Mack generally views the current state of American politics as under the threat of homogenization and industrialization by mega-corporations that are culpable in the destruction of America as a whole.

As a former street racer and a inhabitant of the urban sprawls of Detroit, Mack possesses great amounts of enmity towards megacorporations and the upper class of society, believing it to be unfair that they are the dominant class of society in terms of economic and social power parity relative to the working class.

SECRETS: (What are you hiding? What would it cost you if someone found out what’s behind the veil?)

Airing my dirty laundry scares me more than any car crash or stunt gone wrong will.

When a group of booster-gang vagabonds have implanted a torture device in your sternum and black-mail you, it’s not in your best interests to disclose that information. It’s nearly impossible for Mack to reveal the fact that he’s collaborating with the Reclaimers, without suddenly suffering a massive bout of debilitating paralysis when he least expects it. Safe to say, if Mack’s secret came out, the Reclaimers would find out and kill him in a secluded spot.

Whilst it’s not as sensitive compared to his secret of forceful collaboration with the Reclaimers, Mack’s former identity as the OverDriver has been kept relatively secret to the public eye as it’s mainly passed by word of mouth around by the racing community and glitchy video recordings of a few races in the Detroit Stacks. Needless to say, Mackwell doesn’t want at all to reap the reputation of the OverDriver in his identity as a taxi driver and prefers to keep his OverDriver identity secret lest he gets hunted by every street-racer and gang within South City. So far, only the Reclaimers know about his true identity as the OverDriver.

FEARS: (What keeps you up at night? What makes you freeze up in the moment? What do you avoid at all costs?)

Car's all I got. Car's all I am. Without a car, my whole world goes still.

Mack’s biggest fear is notably centered around the condition and future of his Victory Ultra, Monica, who he has fought tooth and nail for him to win it in his possession. It’s his most treasured vehicle, his source of employment and by far, the only real reason for why he still continues to live. Ultimately, Monica’s condition is the biggest factor that contends with his reckless desires of attaining that high-speed adrenaline rush as he doesn’t wish to damage her further. One can be assured that stealing or threatening to destroy Monica will put him in a state of distress.

Mack’s next biggest fear of all is ironically his biggest strength. It’s the fear of his past as the OverDriver, of living up to what he once was and becoming forgotten in name. It’s a fear that he tries to avoid and quashes down deep within him but Due to the presence of the Gleipnir implant in his body, Mack is also fearful of pissing off the Reclaimers and generally tries to acquiesce to their demands as much as possible. The Gleipnir augmentation (if it can be even called an augmentation) serves as an antithesis to Mack’s own personal modus operandi of being constantly in motion as the thought of being fully paralysed is something that gives him continual nightmares whenever he sleeps. Mack also generally tries to avoid violent confrontations that don’t involve him behind a steering wheel and a carbon-alloy wheeled chassis and his opponent in another car or more preferably, not in one.

REPUTATION: (How does the world view you? What are you known for? How do your people act around you?)

I never asked for the name, but somehow, it stuck with me. And pretty soon, the whole world decided that it would stick forever.

Mack’s reputation as the infamous OverRider of Detroit, renowned driver of the international community, has become little more than an online boogey-tale that drivers tell each other to scare. The reputation of Mackwell Sloane is equivalent to that of a random schlub across the streets but the reputation of the OverRider is equivalent to a god in the racing circle. As the OverRider, Mack is known for his infamous driving skills in Detroit and in South City and the signature combination of his Prism and Trench-Vest before the accident which irreversibly damaged Monica and put him out of commission as a street-racer. Due to his legacy and innovations within the art of combat racing as a whole, Mack has a lot of admirers and a lot of great imitators who attempt to follow behind on his footsteps or rather his wheelmarks with some measure of success or utter failure. Needless to say, the world knows more about the OverRider rather than the meagre taxi driver that is Mackwell Sloane.

In terms of being a taxi driver, Mackwell Sloane is known in South City as the only driver insane and willing enough to drive around the crime-ridden areas of the Reclaim Zone for any client willing enough to cough up enough credits. Most of his passengers notably treat him with a sizable amount of disinterest and lack of gratitude. Whatever genial interaction is few and far between as Mack never receives a call twice due to the high mortality rate within the Reclaim Zone.


- Pre-pack Candy
- Combat Racing
- Drifting
- Electronic Music
- Sushi

DISLIKES: (Same as above)

- Pre-pack Candy
- Alcohol
- Bad customers
- Poor etiquette
- Pop Music
- Corporate A-Holes
- Repairing his car


Most of Mack's eccentricities mainly relate to the intense neural mutation of his internal brain organs caused by his neural-ware. He's never found without something sweet in his mouth- whether that be chewing gum, cheap Singaporean hard candy, dehydrated fruit or a plastic-wrapped bar full of unsaturated fats or something of the like. Otherwise, he's got a preference for playing a large menagerie of music tracks whenever he drives in Monica, justifying it as sort of a lucky charm or 'his tune.'

Background Information/Inspection Record

" I don't run away from my problems. I drive towards my problems.”

Born in the urban sprawling land of the Detroit Slacks in 2035, Mackwell Fordwell Sloane, 3rd oldest child, was born to a pair of salvagers and scrappers like so many in the city of MotorLane. His family struggled to feast and survive off the great junkyards, searching for valuable e-waste, broken down cyberware, rain-washed appliances and old gear that would only amount to a day’s meal at most if sold on the prominent underground black-market. All in all, it was a pretty sordid existence in MotorLane, maintaining his family’s stall with a pair of rubber gloves and a bottle of solvent cleanser.

Until he discovered the glories of street-racing. All hope seem lost until Mackwell got caught up in the local street-racing scene in Detroit. He was virtually entranced by it and immedietely signed up to participate in one of the local competitions in a jury-rigged Fury HeavyTech Pursuer he found in the junkyard. Mackwell began his career of street racing in the pits of the Shadow-Rails, an old abandoned series of industrial rail-tracks that once belonged to a bankrupt corporation that had been swallowed up by the rapid urban growth of the Detroit Stacks . It was aptly named due to the shadows that the towering stacks would cast downwards upon the abandoned railway, leaving it permanently dark forever and secure from the notice of the authorities. He slowly rose through the echelons, racing race after race, beating competitor after competitor, pushing himself further and further through a series of bracketed local tournaments. It wasn't until the final round that Mackwell somehow entered the final race with a Victory Ultra in his possession. How it exactly arrived in his possession is a folk-tale in the Detroit Stacks. Some say that he found it in an abandoned Daedalus factory. Some say that it was a shipment that got lost in the flow. Some say that he built it out of the junkyards himself. Nevertheless, with the Victory Ultra by his side, Mackwell beat his fellow racers in the final round and was proclaimed the racing champion of the Detroit Stacks. The chantings of Overlord soon transformed into the OverDriver, a permanent fixture, a legend that was carved into his very identity and one that would stick with him until the day that he would die. It seemed like he was invincible.

Well, right until the Metro Prix. The OverDriver signed up for the largest combat motor-sports competition on the East Coast in secret, his ambition and need for speed driving him forward to greater lengths. As the OverDriver, Mackwell received a great many number of sponsorship deals that he accepted but unfortunately, during a sponsor meeting, he declined a request to drive in one of Fury HeavyTech's newest prototypical vehicles for the competition. He didn't realize the folly of his decision until on the day of the Grand Metro Prix, where he and a 101 other competitors from all across the states took off on a 10 kilometer track located in the waste-lands. During the final lap, Mackwell's Velocity was hi-jacked with a deadly computer virus that completely destablised his systems, proving all the more deadly as he was still directly tele-pathed with his Velocity. He skidded out of control and burnt out as they say, only 100 meters away from the finishing line.

Several years later, picking himself up from the accident and emotionally destroyed, Mackwell drove away from the Detroit Stacks with tears in his eyes to a dangerous new life in South City, signing up to be a driver for the South City Taxi Association. All of his other co-workers knew him as a loose cannon, a suicidal maniac who took on the most riskiest clients who wanted to be driven to the Reclaim Zone. Mackwell, meanwhile, focused on accumulating enough money to fix his car, his source of pride, and to seek death in the Reclaim Zone. Until he saw one of Campbell's advertisements. Seeking a recommendation from his boss, who was sympathic and grateful for him as being one of the only drivers willing enough to go into the Reclaim Zone, Mackwell managed to successfully become Campbell's Driver.

During one night, however, after driving Campbell home safely after an campaign speech, Mackwell was knocked out during a drive back to his apartment and found himself in a darkly dim-lit room with bandages around his torso and the boss of the Reclaimers in front of him, Lou "Lieutenant" Lazlo. Lou explained the nature of his situation, the fact that he knew Mackwell was the OverDriver and what he'd put inside Mackwell's body much to his growing horror. Mackwell was to act as Lazlo's chief informant in the Campbell campaign and to serve as a means to influence South City's geopolitics well enough so that it would be beneficial for the Reclaimer's operations.

Mack continues to work as Campbell's driver, albeit with a literal heavy heart and the threat of death following him with every moment he pushes the pedal....

Operative Information/Market Value


//Noo-Solutions Kasparovian Variable Neural OverClocker Model V

Finding the responsibilities of modern cybernetic life hard to handle? Don’t worry! With NooSolutions newly upgraded line of Neural Overclockers, thinking becomes a breeze! It’s all thanks to our proprietary nano silk arrays which increase neural transmission speeds to over 200 times faster than normal base-lines and with our innovative new inhibition matrix chipware, you don’t have to worry about over-loading your higher brain functions when using NooSolutions Neural Overclocker. Remember all your items on your yearly summer catalogue, finish your tax forms in no time flat and watch as bullets become slow as bubbles! Buy now for 2,500 ||C||.

With the advent of faster motorspeeds and racing courses that were essentially death traps, street-racers and turbo-blazers alike flocked towards the utility of neuralware and boosterware to help them coordinate and react to the intense speeds that their automobiles were zooming at. While NooSolutions may have been bought out by APEX Industries in the field of cybernetic augmentations like so many other smaller corporations that specialised in the industry, the Kasparovian Overclocker serves as a final eternal swan-song to NooSolutions ingenuity that still finds itself in relative ubiquitous usage across most of Central America.

The Variable Kasparovian Neural Overclocker Mark V consists of two pieces of cybernetic hardware: an external cybernetic optic and the internal chip-ware laced at the user’s cerebellum to the bottom of their spine which are linked to one another wirelessly. The cybernetic optic mainly records and monitors the user’s visual surroundings and provides a user interface in which the user is able to see at what level of speed their chip is running at. The internal chipware mainly bestows upon the user variable rates of neural processing speed that range from a level of 1-5. The first level is at the level of allowing users to amuse themselves by watching people talk in slow-motion whereas the final level allows users to theoretically catch bullets mid-air. The chipware activates and deactivates in response to perceived hostile stimuli from the cybernetic optic, thereby removing the need for the user to think consciously in prior models to activate the neuralware. Whilst this option can be altered with choice, it is almost always preferred as it affords the user a measure of reactive reflexive maneuvering without being caught by surprise.

Lest, there are some caveats. Overclocking extends massive amounts of mental strain on the user, meaning that extensive usage of the Kasparovian Neural Overclocker, especially at the highest level, will suffer risk of general nausea, aneurysms, seizures and, worst case scenario, total brain failure. The Kasparovian Neural Overclocker requires the cybernetic optic to be cleansed once a time daily to remove any foreign occlusions within the socket. NooSolutions never managed to fix the bug where the nano-silk arrays impinged onto the user’s hypothalamus, thereby causing extreme hormonal mood-swings during over-usage of the chip-ware. For Mack, overuse of the neural overclocker causes an extreme amount of hunger for sugary products.

//APEX Nodeless Tactile Smart-Link v5.5 - Civilian Edition

Tele-paths. Forging a deeper bond between man and machine. Buy now at APEX. Making you your best.

Tele-Paths or short for Telecommunicative Smart Path allows for the translation of wireless electrical signals from any wireless device to neural code; essentially allowing the user to control any device through direct mental control through the use of an extensive miniaturized transponder stored either within a limb or within their brain.

The Interactive Vehicular Co-Processor Tele-Path created by APEX Industries allows a user to interact with and take control of the functions of a single vehicle only. The 5.5 version has been updated to allow the user to have full mental remote control of their personal vehicle or another smart vehicles, whether land-based or aerial with a nearly instantaneous transmission speed of This allows the user to control all available systems linked through the computer. The Vehicular Tele-Path affords a greater degree of control and precision than most other drivers, being able to control the most minute sub-systems of their vehicle with their mind.

There are several prerequisites in order to properly use the Tele-Path. The vehicle in question must be considered a vehicle that has had their systems replaced with a computerised system in order to be mentally controlled. The user must be within close-range of the vehicle in order to control, which in case of the 5.5, must be at least within 20 meters of the vehicle. The user also is unable to access any smart vehicle that is biometrically or password locked and must provide proper identification before accessing it.

There are also several drawbacks to using the Tele-Path. Any damage received to the vehicle while linked will result in pain being transmitted to the user. Enough shock and damage to the systems of the vehicle may permanently put the user in a coma if they are still linked to the vehicle. Tele-Paths also are measured to have a slight 5.5% risk of causing severe schizophrenia, particularly in regards to giving anthromorphic characteristics to the linked machine.

//Gleipnir Skeletal Maiden

You disobey me again, you'll never step foot in a car again or step foot anywhere for that manner.

The brainchild of the most notorious of Ripper Docs by a man only known in the underworld as ‘Proxy’, the Cardiac Maiden is rumoured to have been the product of a failed illegal corporate experiment done on the the Miami Platforms. Whether or not it was a test or a success, the augmentation - or rather - diminution is a hideous piece of experimental bio-mechanical engineering that serves as a rather effective means of cruel and unusual torture.

This devious little torture device is a series of nano-chips directly implanted into the joints of the user. With activation, the nano-chips release a chemical cocktail that inhibits movements of all the joints of the victim, essentially locking them into place and being trapped within their own body, unable to move. The nano-chips can also be activated to release a chemical inhibitor that neutralizes the chemical and allow the joints to return back to their normal state. The activation of the implant can be controlled via a remote which is currently in the possession of his partner/generous host/hostage taker, Lieutenant Lazlo, leader of the Reclaimers.


//Secedo Armoury A.B.C Model 5AS

Remember, when you want to first shoot, you gotta learn your A.B.Cs! Well, that’s what Secedo is offering with its newest selection of premium A.B.C Model 5 line. Call 4-445-9143 now and get three free Model 4A’s to go along.

You gotta be a real pussy to use a A.B.C.

Seriously, who uses an A.B.C? It’s the wet dog of all modern weapons, the anorexic cat, the limp pre-packaged spam. Are you telling me you couldn’t have gotten something better, you che-

Ugh, fine.

The A.B.C line, colloquially known as the Alphabet Gun, Ass Bullet Crapper, Always Buy China, A.B.C.Dead, is the most ubiquitous line of mass-produced civilian defense weapons in the U.S.A shipped from the Republic of China. Socedo is known for their horrifically sub-par construction compared to other military tech corporations. A.B.C is an anagram that stands for Additive. Binding. Carbopolymerisation which refers to the 3-D printing process that is used to produce this line of weapons en-masse. The cheap carbon-polymer is derived from leftover materials from recycling plants that are mulched and synthesized into an easily moldable macromolecule that is shaped and heated into a gun using online blueprints. The A.B.C is designed first and foremost as a American’s first gun and is marketed as a safe, easily usable weapon for public consumer markets. The gun’s value comes at its nearly unlimited ubiquity, light-weight and cheap pricing, not its quality. The A.B.C line is a weapon for the cheapest of cheapskates.

The Model 5AS is a compact submachine gun that fires 5mm flechettes at a rate of 1250 rounds per minute with a drum magazine of 100 rounds. Due to the nature of its production, the Model 5AS is able to be easily dis-assembled in a moment like a puzzle piece and assembled back with no loss to its function. The Model 5AS is intended mostly for soft targets and you better hold your breathe if you think it can even penetrate the most basic of body armor in one shot. Mack mainly uses the Model 5AS as a hold-out weapon of the last resort and doesn't hold much faith in it as a reliable gun. Mack mainly uses the Model 5AS out of sentimental value and due to the fact that its light-weight nature and ambidextrous grip allows him to fire it from his vehicle if he's caught in a free-way spat.

Which he should.

Because all A.B.C's suck ass.

//Armalance Mk 5.0 Street-Shredder CAS Model S

Armalance. Providing top-of-the-line American Protection since 2020.

Armalance is considered to be the old conservative of every good gun corporation. Sure, they may not do much in the way of revolutionary advancements such as the tactical smart-gun innovations of Fury Vehemetech or the demented suit-breacher rounds of Takakura Security but what they lack in simplicity, they make up in sheer reliable fire-power. The type that makes a booster-thug think twice before they approach someone with one of their products.

One of the maxims of Armalance is ensuring that you only need to shoot once to ensure that's someone dead and that's what they've focused in their Mk5 Street-Shredder. The Street-Sweeper is a break-action single-breeched hi-tech shotgun that's capable of both anti-personnel and anti-vehicular applications. The main reason for its destructive power is the integrated electromagnetic coils in the barrel, that when combined with the custom-forged depleted uranium 10 Gauge 'SoulKraft' shells, is just downright hazardous to the health of anyone pointed down its barrel. The Model S Street Shredder is a scaled-down pistol-sized version of the Model L Street-Sweeper that some gun users may find lacking in close-quarters stability but in no way sacrifices the firepower. It's only got one round but that one round is all you need, sometimes.

//Monica - Modified 2050 Dadaelus-Motorworks Victory Ultra GSX4000

Offering you Victory. One drive at a time.

Daedalus Motorworks may be officially dead in the world of auto-mobile, supplanted by FuryTech, HiSpeed and Pegason Inc but the mythical 2050 Victory Ultra is spoken in hushed words around the circles of the racing industry. Some say it never made it out of the prototypical RnD phase. Some believe it to be a hoax, a mere corporate conspiracy while street-racers and all fellow turbo-blazers believe that it is indeed real. One person is rumoured to have access to one of the very few existing models, the Over_Driver.

Sleek, swift and sexy. It’s venerable. It’s a dream item in any retro car collector’s museum. The 2050 Victory Ultra GSX4000 is the epitome of high-speed urban transportation equipped with the most state of the art revolutionary technology. top theoretical speed of 600 mph, an buttery acceleration of 0-80 mph in 1.1 seconds with titanium alloyed mag-level wheels that completely reduce friction to a non-existent variable all in an astonishing aerodynamic shell comprised of a light-weight machined carbon-aluminium ceramic alloy. It’s powered by a hybrid fusion engine powered by both carbon lattice electro-supercapacitors and high-octane ethanol that measures to about 1750 hp. Every part of it was made with attention to detail and perfection to create the most dynamic and revolutionary urban vehicle in existence. One wonders whether or not it was proposed and designed by some secret speed-freak in Dadaelus Motorworks.

Well, it would have lived up to the hype. Once. The Victory Ultra's systems have been core completely destroyed , mangled and repaired to the point where they are less effective than they once were. No matter how much credits that Mack fishes out, Monica will never be the same car that she once was again. It's top speed has declined to a piddling speed of 250 mph with an acceleration of 0-60 mph in 1.9 seconds. Most of the aerodynamic shell has been replaced with low quality ceramic-titanium shielding. The engine is prone to rare malfunctions, the head-lights sometimes don't turn on and the entire shell is covered in a thin layer of rust. One of the prototypical mag-lev wheels has been replaced with a gyroscopic all-terrain high performance tire. Well, at least, the computerized systems would have

The most innovative quality of the vehicle is its computerized systems which are specifically designed to promote the use of Tele-Path cyberware, allowing for the user to synchronise with the Victory Ultra’s quantum processing chip, combining both machine-like speed and the adaptability of the human brain into one single directive. The consciousness of the user is melded with the onboard camera systems, allowing users to have a 360 degree view of their entire enviroment. Every part of the Victory Ultra GSX5000 can be controlled with stunning precision through the user’s mental control, to inhuman degrees, allowing users to make hairpin turns through the most tightest of roads, stand just millimeters away from bumping with another car and move through the most complex of courses without making a scratch.

However, the Victory Ultra GSX5000 is still a prototype and even prototype are reknown for having glitches, something that Mack has tried to solve over the past decade of having owned Monica. The computer integrated systems of Monica, whilst revolutionary, can impart significant psychological and mental toll on the user they more they continue to tele-path with the vehicle. Mack has managed to stave off the worse of the symptoms but it’s developed to the point where he has clear dissociative personality disorder. As it is a vehicle mainly running on electronic systems, the Victory Ultra is also susceptible to being infected by viruses or having its systems shut down by an EMP blast. The Victory Ultra also is unable to be driven by anyone who doesn’t have the proper cyber-ware to take advantage of its dizzying speed.

//Fury HeavyTech Interface Prism Helmet Mark 4.5

Fury HeavyTech Prism’s. The official Interface Helmet of the 33rd Metro Prix. Buy tickets now!

Every racing driver needs a proper helmet. The Prism has been a popular stand-by of all legal racers who compete in the annual American Metro Prix held in MetroChicago and has been slowly growing in ubiquity into the informal international racing community. The Prism’s main function is protection and it comes in the form of a boron-nitride laminate outer shell combined with the thermo-plast inner shell dampens the effects of kinetic impact and provides a bullet-proof cranial shield. The Prism dampens the effects of inertia through its variable isostatic air pressure and its in-built rebreather allows it to control the user’s level of oxygen gas. The visor is able to be depolarized and repolarized at will.

As an interface helmet, the Prism HUD operates as a miniature data-slate, allowing the user to see information about their vehicle’s instrumentation in real-time (current fuel levels, speed, rpm, current wind levels) as well as being able to access the Net at will.

//Nemeus Fashion Incorporated Twilight Interface Trench-Vest

Nemeus. Fashion and Protection in Every Product You Wear.

Shipped out straight out of Europe, Nemeus Fashion blends high-value protection and presentability in The Twilight Trench-Vest using their innovations in tetra-weave technology and reactive materials. The Twilight-Trench Vest consists of a high-brimmed collared jacket and a form-fitting body suit that electrostatically moulds itself around the user’s body. The tetra-weave in the Twilight Trench Vest consists of an outer epoxide laminate nano-weave for general ablative protection, a liquid-crystalline layer of reactive gel for shock absorption, a series of ceramic-titanium composite alloy plating for ballistic protection and an circuit-laced elasto-fabric for interfacing with any cybernetic augmentations the user might have on hand. Seeing as Mack has none, this provides no advantage whatsoever. The right arm of the suit displays a holo bio-monitor that fully monitors the user’s heart-beat, their rate of breathing and their other vital activities that can be turned off and on. The brim of the collar can be altered to electrostatically latch onto the user’s neck. The overall apperance of the Twilight Trench-Vest mimics the track suits used by racers in the 2010s.

SKILLS (Feel free to list a few and elaborate a bit.)

//A Grand-Master of Locomotion

“ I’m the Overlord of the Wheel. That’s why they call me the OverDriver.”

In the world of drivers, to achieve the name of OverDriver means that you are one hell of a driver amongst cybernetically enhanced turbo-blazers, drug-injecting bokozotsu and street-racers pimped out with barely legal automobiles. Mack is one of the best drivers in the entire world - a world that whispers his name in fear but doesn’t know who he truly is. He can perform feats at over 100 miles per hour such as inertia drifting, power-sliding, hairpin turning, driving in the rain and dark with his headlights turned off, driving whilst blindfolded, powering through a traffic jam at 100 mph without scuffing, timing like clockwork anyone, it’s easier to say what he can’t do and anything that he does seems to defy the laws of physics. If you’re in a race with him, it’s already confirmed that you’re going to lose, no matter what vehicle is in, whether it’s a electro-cycle, an ATV, a muscle car or a friggin’ bicycle. Combined with his encyclopedic knowledge of everything automobile to the intricacies of racing makes him a dangerous opponent for anyone who wishes to take him on with a wheel. Combined with his Kasparovian Booster-Ware and his Tele-Path increases his already supernatural driving skills to those of a god.

Don't under-estimate the Over_Driver in his territory because once you do, you're already roadkill.

//Automobile Surgeon

“ A car is not a tool. It’s your friend. It’s your baby. You best know how to take care of your friend.”

Mack is generally educated on how to properly maintain and repair his vehicle and any other automobiles similar to his own, although not to the same extent nor expertise as Ripper-Docs would have in their craft. In fact, it’s a frustration of his that his skills are unable to restore Monica back to her former glory. Most of his skills are derived from his early childhood working in the pits of the Detroit Stacks and generally picking up tips and tricks from other better-skilled auto-mechanics over the years. He’s generally able to identify the simplest solutions for the most annoying of malfunctions and knows his way around a wrench or a welding tool. Just don’t expect him to give your car a massive makeover or fashion a new one from scratch.



" THAT'S IT! One on one, no booster-ware, no headlights, Tartarus Pass, right now!"

Though, the soul of the Turbo-Blazer has dimmed within him over the past few years spent in the ennui of a Taxi Driver, it can sometimes flare up if he receives a challenge or whether his pride on the road is challenged. Whenever Mack is behind the wheel, it's to be expected that he'll take the most adrenaline-pumping and dangerous courses to go through rather than through the safe ones, justifying to himself that it was a necessary action. Mack often risks himself and his passengers rather unnecessarily in his choices, even if they make it out alive. It's clear that he can't keep walking on the edge of death forever and one wonders when his bravery will soon be the end of him.


Mack is extremely lacking in close-quarter combat skills and long-range combat skills, essentially being rendered ineffective without something to drive. His aim with any weapon is so horrendously bad and shaky that the target has to be at point-blank range in order to land, perhaps, a decent hit that will kill him. He barely knows his way around a punch, a kick and any confrontation with any adequately trained individual is likely to become a lop-sided battle that will end up becoming a slaughter.

//A-addiction? W-what addiction?

After years of tele-pathing with Monica, Mack's Kasparovian Over-Clocker has irrevocably altered his hypothalamus, thereby causing him to have an extreme craving for anything sugary and high-content in saccharine substances. This has become a full-blown addiction where Mack can't survive without chewing or gnawing on a candy bar or something sweet for 15 minutes. Without his supply of candy, Mack is liable to become extremely angsty and jittery to the point where it cripples his train of rational thought.

//Filthy Corpo Scum

Mack has had a long history with corporations and needless to say, he's ultimately wary of them. He possesses a pre-disposed bias towards any corporate representative, especially one of the dominant Mega-Corporations, and will act towards them in a manner that one might consider rude. Though he doesn't possess a hatred of them so much so that it could be considered vengeful, it's a hatred that's been fostered through years of corporate repression and living in abject relative poverty in the Stacks.

//The Car Talks

Due to prolonged tele-pathing with the computerised systems of the Velocity , Mack now suffers from a relatively benign form of SPECS that manifests as auditory hallucinations where he believes his car is talking to him. These hallucinations come in short painful bouts, particularly when he tele-paths with Monica for long periods of time, and can hamper his train of thought. This may soon develop into full-blown dementia or severe bi-polar personality disorder if Mack doesn’t recognise the nature of his mental condition.

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A Tale of Taxes, Undeath and Anomalies

Genre: Post-Apocalyptic Science Fiction

Source Material: Red Markets, Stand Still Stay Silent, S.T.A.L.K.E.R, METRO



1 : an act of depressing or a state of being depressed: such as
a)(i) : a state of feeling sad :
anger, anxiety, and depression
a)(ii) : a mood disorder marked especially by sadness, inactivity, difficulty in thinking and concentration , a significant increase or decrease in appetite and time spent sleeping, feelings of dejection and hopelessness , and sometimes suicidal tendencies
bouts of depression
suffering from clinical depression

(2) biology : a lowering of physical or mental vitality or of functional activity

(3) economics : a period of low general economic activity marked especially by rising levels of unemployment
heading towards a depression


Prowling Through The Lifelines....

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.”
Phillip K. Dick, I Hope I Shall Arrive Soon

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♦Topic: [AMA] Half-Life here. Veteran Taker. Co-Founder of the Hatchlings.
In: Boards ► Boards ► The Birdhouse ► QnAs

Half-Life239 (Original Poster) (Veteran Taker) (Member of the Hatchling Nest)
Posted on January 1, 2035:

Morning, Lifelines. Name's Half-Life. Leader of the Hatchlings. One of the Hatchling's bet me to do an AMA on Lifelines during a poker game if I lost. Guess what happened.

Never done this before, so, don't know what to expect. I doubt that this will get more than one page, though.

EDIT: Guess I'll have to eat my words again.

(Showing Page 40 of 47)
► Over_Driver110 (Veteran Taker)(High-Rollers)
Replied on January 1, 2035:
So, Half-Life, I'm driving down to Realm in FL for a job. Got any tips for me regarding any dangers or VPs that I might encounter?

► Half_Life239 (Veteran Taker)(Hatchling's Nest)
Replied on January 1, 2035:
Don't let your guard down. No matter how goofy you think they may look, it's all old school there. You'll be laughing your ass off at the guy wearing the Mickey Mouse hat while they monitor your ass through the security camera system and have a dozen snipers trained on your ass from Space Mountain.

► Matri-Scythe (Verified Taker)
Replied on January 1, 2035:
Hey Half-Life! Taker parent here!

I've got a 10 year old son who is dead-set on emulating me and becoming a Taker when he grows up. Last week, the teacher complained about a drawing he drew of me decapitating a Casualty! Do you have any advice to offer from your experience as a Eagle in the Hatchlings?

► Half_Life239 (Veteran Taker)(Hatchling's Nest)
Replied on January 1, 2035:
Firstly, my respects out to you for being both a mother and a Taker. Trust me. It's no easy feat and most would sooner give up and try like you. Secondly. It's a phase. However, it's your duty to provide the right information and educate him on what being a Taker means. You have the experience. You know what it's like. Hell, I just had a quick skim through your resume and you're an accomplished woman.

Trust me when I say it's a phase. And when if he does go that route, then, it's your duty to make sure that he doesn't make the same mistakes as you do.

► Bingo_Bongo (Loss Inhabitant)
Replied on January 2, 2035:
Given that you raise kids in your Taker crew, what's your favourite pre-crash cartoon?

► Half_Life239 (Veteran Taker) (Hatchling's Nest)
Replied on January 2, 2035:
Yo Gabba Gabba, ironically. Only because it shuts up the young ones for long enough to get me a decent nap.

► Allonsy (Newbie)
Replied on January 2, 2035:
Hey, Half-Life, Greenhorn here. Just managed to see your AMA thread and I think I can say for all on the Lifelines that we're glad for the wealth of experience and insights you've offered, especially during your contracts in Phoenix-Ashes. Need to remember to buy chalk next time I accept a contract! ^-^

As an experienced Taker, I just wanna ask. What's your secret to persevering this long in the Loss?

► Half_Life239 (Veteran Taker)(Hatchling's Nest)
Replied on January 2, 2035:
Routine. More than one to keep yourself busy. Whether it’s checking your books, taking a Triple CCC contract everyday online, splurging on your freshly earned Bounty by buying ice-cream for your Hatchlings, running a DnD game for the kids or spending time with family, that routine saves your ass. Trust me. Having a hobby or eating a freshly-made burger does more for your mind than the typical pre-Crash portrayal of huddling in a shack with a bolt-action rifle and enough cans of baked beans to last you through winter. I know that I sound like one of those Recession armchair psycho-analysts right now but it’s a condition of everyone in the Loss. Taker or not.

Keeping a routine is the best way to stave off those thoughts we’ve all faced, Allonsy. Thoughts of managing to fufill our monthly debts everyday. Thoughts of hoping to cash in on retirement early. Thoughts of an oncoming war between the Recession and the Loss. Thoughts of finding a universal cure for the Scourge. Thoughts of trying to rationalize exactly what the Depression is. Thoughts of reclaiming our citizenship once more. Those thoughts, those inner desires of ours can either lead us to completion or ruination, the latter being more often than not the case.

The routine is the most scariest and beautiful thing that I’ve found out about the human condition. Here’s the thing about us homo sapiens, Allonsy. We’re able to adapt to the most strangest or extradonairy of conditions in a seemingly short span of time, whilst slowly moulding it into our vision of normality through simple routine. We compartmentalize, consolidate and console ourselves in an attempt to mould reality to our own perceptions through pure repetition and discipline. How? How can we keeping forging ahead, to forget and let live and move on as if the past was nothing more than an illusion?

Because we can’t afford to break our routine. God forbid that we even try to question how life goes on when we've got bills to be paying, debts to be own, meals to be cooked, campaigns to run, trinkets to sell, business deals to be made and gardens to water. Even in the broken wasteland of sunny post-apocalyptia, the concept of routines still persist within our minds as we try to hold onto our semblance of normality everyday. Everyone’s still stuck within this mire of depression, a swamp of perpetual entente that we desperately try to forge a meagre existence out of.

So, yeah, all in all, a usual day in the Loss. Try not let the true nature of it distract you too much that you get gnawed on by a Casualty from behind, wander into an active Fracture or get into the freaky claws of a symptom.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3 ... 38, 39, 40, 41, 42 ... 45 , 46, 47

The Life of a Taker

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.
Fredreich Nietzche

Taker Essentials


Blackhawk. Footloose. Gumdrop. These are some of the various pseudonyms or 'forgeries' that Takers have either created themselves or have bequeathed on by others. Out there in the Loss, you rarely go by your real name anymore. Heck, most Takers have forgotten their real names and use their manufactured handles as a form of identity. In truth, a false name has practicality to it in the post-Crash paradigm. A second identity allows a Taker to use their old identity as a tool within the Bounty system to cash in on retirement and procure enough forged documents to traffic themselves into the Depression. Coupled with the fact that H.E.R.C can't legally declare a false identity as homo sacer, a false name is both a shield of mystique and a wrench in the bureacratic dictatorship of the Recession.

However, the true purpose of a Forgery is to allow a Taker to psychologically dissociate themselves.

The Life-Lines

The Depression

The Scourge


The American Nightmare

The Cataclyst

The Crash

Staving Off Doomsday





Rules and Regulations

Hidden 1 yr ago 1 yr ago Post by Commander Bork
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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

" Some people say that lightning goes through the path of least resistance. Always feels like I'm going through the path of most resistance. "

Virgil Jefferson Davis was born the son of Jefferson and Mary Davis in the south-eastern region of Dakota City, the former of which was secretly known as the upstart electric-slinging vigilante, Black Lightning.

Unfortunately, the pressures of parenthood combined with the stress of being a crime fighting superhero didn't bode well for Jefferson's marriage as he struggled to balance the two sides of his life. With Dakota City being a veritable bee-hive of gangsters and syndicates fighting over them like scraps, Jefferson began to feel more and more like a sailor trying to bale out water from a sinking ship. With every arrest he made on each street, there would always be a shady deal made around the corner, a gang war a block away and a criminal network that was just too large for one vigilante to tackle. It reached a breaking point that culminated in papers being signed, tears that stained the ink signature on the contract and Virgil at the tender age of two wondering why his Dad, the brave Black Lightning, was walking out the front door. That was the day when Virgil learnt what the word 'divorce' meant.

Mary Davis later remarried to Robert Hawkins, a local community worker, resulting in yours truly legally changing his name to Virgil Ovid Hawkins. During his time throughout public schooling, Virgil became the target of a merciless bullying campaign committed by a delinquent criminal gang known as the Breed led by their leader, Ivan Evans. When the teachers turned a blind eye and other students ignored his pleas out of fear of retaliation from the Breed, desperation and anger eventually led Virgil to revenge. Spending all of his savings over the years on a Beretta M92, Virgil began planning. Eavesdropping. Taking note of the fact that there was going to be a gang war between the Breed and numerous other gangs on the Paris Island Docks. The chaos would be a perfect opportunity to kill his life-long bully.

On that night, while the gang war went down, Virgil confronted Ivan in a nearby shipping container, beaten and bruised from a tussle with a member of a rival gang. The once proud leader of the Breed became a teary-eyed teen, begging Virgil for mercy as Virgil pressed the barrel against the temple of his high school torturer. The years of suffering, of getting shoved in lockers, of having his homework stolen, of black eyes and bruises. Virgil relived those moments as Ivan knelt down before him, power at the pull of a finger. Eye for an eye. Karma. That's how it all worked out in the end. Right? So, when the time came to pull the trigger.....

- Virgil couldn't. He tossed the gun out into the sea, gang war still boiling over behind him. That's when it began. The Dakota PD had assembled to put on a show of force, armed and fully loaded to the teeth during the absence of Black Lightning. Clouds of tear gas poured out onto the docks, covering the entire gang in a fog of mist and doom. Virgil was caught on the edge of the fog, waiting for the familiar burn but discovering that it wasn't tear gas. People began melting apart into goo right in front of him, some of them began to evaporate into a thin mist, others began expanding into muscled freaks. The police stormed into the scene in full NBC gear, flashlights zooming through the foggy green mist. All of a sudden, Virgil felt a strange sensation crawling up from his finger-tips, his veins and arteries glowing underneath his skin with an eerie blue, the world around him shifting into a kaleidoscopic -

Then, the Bang.

Virgil woke up later a few hours later in Dakota National Hospital. The large explosion at the Dock had caused whatever mutagens were in that tear gas to disperse and spread across an large area, across the entirety of Paris Island. The rest is history. Officials were investigated and locked up. The Dakota PD received cuts from the local government. A re-election occurred. A large 10 km^2 section of Dakota City centered around Paris Island was cordoned off and labelled the Dakota Exclusion Zone, heavily fortified and armed by security guards. Local Dakota City authorities and the national government dubbed the incident as 'The Big Bang'. Approximately two hundred people died during the Bang Disaster with hundreds more injured and ill from the after-effects of the Bang and Virgil's mother? Turns out that taking the job of a para-medic in one of the most crime-infested cities comes with a high fatality rate. Virgil's mother died during the night of the Big Bang, doing what she was most passionate about. Saving people.

A few days later, something shocking began to happen. Light bulbs began to flicker around him, paper clips began to stick to his skin as if it was glue and the school suffered another power outage during yet another bullying incident. Virgil discovered that he had been changed by the Big Bang, developing the miraculous ability to generate and shape electromagnetic energy akin to a living battery. Virgil became the premier defender of Dakota City known as Static whilst in the midst of the Dakota Exclusion Zone, newly rising meta-humans hiding within its ruins begin to grow in numbers......

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

I've been desperately trying to, for a better lack of a pun, brain-storm a version of Static ever since I saw Master Bruce's Ultimate Universe RP. This incarnation of Static is mostly related to the cartoon version whereby his motivations are trying to solve meta-human conflicts peacefully except for a few differences. For one, a big re-wiring of my version of Static is that in this universe, Black Lightning is indeed Virgil's estranged biological father. This is a story of Virgil rising up from under the shadow of Black Lightning's legacy since the local newspapers call him the prodigal son of Black Lightning which in reality, he is actually is. Virgil radically differs from his canon counterpart in this manner, and therefore, suffers from severe issues of parental abandonment which will be explored later in this story.

Virgil's story and narrative will mainly relate to his first few months of his vigilante escapades. He's currently got a month of experience under his belt but is still relatively inexperienced with the development of his powers in a state of flux. The recent under-funding and budget cuts of Dakota City's police force has left him more over-burdened and over-worked than usual as the amount of crime continues to rise throughout the weeks. It's a game of balance as Virgil tries to juggle being Static, the Bang Baby hero, and Virgil Hawkins, ordinary college student.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:


♦ Jefferson Davis: Virgil's birth father who operates in the East Coast as the super-hero, Black Lightning.

♦ Robert Hawkins: Virgil's step-father and idol who acts as the head manager of a local community worker organisation within Dakota City.

♦ Sharon Hawkins: Virgil's step-sister.

♦ Richard Foley: Virgil's current college dorm room-mate and best friend.

♦ Harry Schumer: Virgil's favorite physics teacher who reminiscences openly about his days as a lock-picker.

- Be expecting a lot of puns and references.

S A M P L E P O S T:

The midnight of Friday's tangled with the promises of weekend morning delights as a gibbous moon rested its lazy eye on the quiet neighborhood of Dakota City. Date? April 13th, 2019. Time? 10:30 PM. For millions of Dakotan citizens, it was near the beginning of a new tomorrow. For the thousands of public school students? The clock ticked closer to living hell with every second. Right now, the number one stereotypical question growing throughout the school community right now was: How did you spent your mid-term break? The usual answer would be either be one of the following or a combination of: written assignments, university applications, back-breaking revision for exams, extra tuition lessons or the endangered vacation. So, what was his standard response to the all-time favorite conversation starter?

Community service. Unfortunately, no credit this time.

The air was knocked out of Virgil's lungs as his back slammed against the hood of an abandoned car, crumpling it. His hands batted away the stars in his eyes, only to widen as a trio of razor-sharp feathers sailed towards him at break-neck speeds. Webs of electromagnetic energy radiated out from his hand, flowing and melding into the oxidized metal parts of the sedan he was currently on. A twitch of his fingers and the roof of the car peeled forward towards him, shielding him from the deadly projectiles. He flung it away, the car hood bounding away like a tumble-weed, staring upwards at his opponent.

He'd heard about a disturbance over on the national police radio whilst he'd been chillaxing in a Starbucks with a mocha latte. Reports about a rather large eagle terrorizing a local 7-11. Just from the brief description, he'd already knew who it was. He'd faced her several times over the course of the month. Talon, or rather as she was known in her hospital record, Teresa Bradley. This girl was straight up whack and looked like an 80s sci-fi movie plot gone wrong. Brown feathers drooping from every centimeter of skin on her body. Her arms had been extended to a hideous length with full lifelike wings hanging out from them. She was a living reminder of how some Bang Babies got lucky when the Big Bang happened and some didn't.

" Stop -" Talon gritted out as her wings flapped a volley of feathers once more. " - DODGING and stay still, hero!"

Ah crud.

He rolled off the car to avoid yet another hail of feathers. One of the tires began to squeal, deflating slowly as the vehicle slumped to the right. It didn't take much for him to visualize what would have happened if one of those feathers hit him. He raised his hand out towards a nearby man-hole. It popped off its hatch, puppet strings of current and voltage guiding its slow bobbing movement towards him. Virgil jumped on top of it, electrical bolts falling from the bottom of the makeshift surfboard like raindrops. Twins bolt of electricity aimed towards his enemy flew out of his hands, crackling apart the atmosphere. The winged metahuman expertly maneuvered, just flying a hair breadth's away from being grounded. Virgil continued peppering his opponent with bolts of electricity, aiming on suppressing and keeping his distance away from her, whilst he struck up a conversation.

" Haven't you heard that Electric Type moves are super-effective against flying type moves, Teresa? "

A shifting lance of lightning from his finger disintegrated feathers into dust. Teresa bristled at the sound of her legal name, screaming out towards him with impatience.

" My name's not Teresa! It's TALON!. Why have you been calling me by my human name for the last two weeks or so!?"

"Well, you sort of still look human. Two bipedal legs, a nose, two eyes, square teeth. You speak HUMAN! - "

Static's conversational tone suddenly leaped several pitches up a notch as a street-light pole that he swerved past by shattered apart with the most godawful noise that ever heard. His ears were still ringing as he blearily looked up at Teresa, mouth crooked in a sadistic grin. " Like what you hear? I've been picking up a few tricks. Not subtle but it works in a pinch." His eyes widened as she took a deep breath and screamed. Vibrating pulses emerged out of her larynx in a discordant tune as he channeled extra electrons to the bottom of his feet to push himself out of the way. A chase began to ensue with Virgil as the mouse and Teresa as a bird of prey. He couldn't turn back to blast her (Even then, her hollow bones meant that one shock could permanently cripple her.) and abandoned skyscrapers surrounded him on every side, hemming him in like a fish in a barrel.

" Look, Teresa. I've got an really, really important O-Chem test coming next week! So -"

Static's eyes shifted around, looking for a way out of the dire situation he'd gotten himself into. He couldn't fry her from here. He couldn't hit her from here. He needed to get to higher ground. He swerved towards a skyscraper to begin surfing up vertically only to see another car explode into shrapnel in front of him. That wasn't going to work. The beginnings of a plan begin to work itself in his brain as he summoned a metal garbage can lid towards him.

" - as one super-powered mutated freak of nature to one another -"

Set of power lines to the left. He dug his heels into his hover-manhole, grunting as he swerved to the left turn.

" -could we please wrap this up?"

There. A set of wooden power poles and pylons with intersecting black strings stretching across them. He leaped up from his man-hole, momentum from the velocity from his ascent and electrostatic attraction radiating from his boots causing him to land on the power lines like a slackline walker. He shifted forward and backwards before balancing himself, garbage can lid in hand as Virgil began to skid on top of the power-lines, moving from the pace of a car to that of a train.

Building up more velocity with the juice that was flowing through the power lines.

Towards Teresa.

He leaped upwards at a speed of triple-digits, yellow googles shielding him from the blistering night wind. His stomach lurched and heaved, his gills growing green with nausea. As soon as he was level in altitude with Teresa, he threw the garbage pan lid towards her like a frisbee, sailing directly towards her head.

She ducked.

" Hah, you miss- "


Only to receive a garbage pan from behind. Electrical sparkles radiated from Static's hand as he summoned it back towards him like a boomerang. The impact knocked her out cold, the wind thrown out of her wings as she began to fall towards the ground unconscious. Static managed to cling onto the black rubberized string like a life-line, static electricity flowing between the insulated metal and his finger tips. Teresa landed on top of the land-lines, tangling herself up on top of it while still dazed from Static's attack.

" What about that. Guess it takes one stone to kill one bird! Or rather, a garbage lid. "

Static then vomited out his dinner.

He was never going to do that one again.

P O S T C A T L O G U E:

A list linking to your IC posts as they're created. This can be used for a reference guide to your character or to summarize completed arcs and stories.

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Hidden 1 yr ago 1 yr ago Post by Commander Bork
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War of the Roses

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Hidden 12 mos ago 12 mos ago Post by Commander Bork
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♦ Topic:[BREAKING NEWS][LIVE UPDATES] National Crisis - Terrorist Attack By Metahuman Supremacy Front

In: Boards ► General Affairs ► General News

Posted on July 15th, 2019

Quoted from NYPD Live Scanner

Confirmed report of terrorist attack in Central Park. All television networks have been shut down in light of hijacking by terrorist organisation identified as the Metahuman Supremacy Front. All citizens are advised to stay indoors and keep away from Central Park. NYPD officers are on route.

UPDATE 1: Reports of unprovoked assaults have been confirmed to be linked to the attack at Central Park. NYC police are forming a 30 block perimeter around the source of this mysterious disease. All citizens are recommended to stay indoors and away from affected individuals.

UPDATE 2: Star City officials confirm that the unknown disease has spread towards its own population. It is unknown whether President Ellis will be issuing an official state of emergency.

dude, what the fuck, what the fuck, did all of you see that shit on TV? some of my folks are living in Central park. wake me up from this dream.

Replied on July 15th 2019, 13:25:45

Man, that's the most gayest costume a super-villain could wear.

Ram Mette
Replied on July 15th 2019, 13:30:45

Motherfucking muties. I told you all this would happen but nooooooo, Ram was just being one of those 'stupid' right-wingers. Can't wait to watch all you mutie-humpers die.

WARNING: Flaming and provocative statements will not help the situation. 100 infraction points for you.

Emerald Ghoul
Replied on July 15th 2019, 13:35:45

Shame. I've always wanted to go to New York this time of the year. Wonder if Spider Man's gonna intervene?

Replied on July 15th 2019, 13:36:45

Are you kidding? That black suited creep? Didn't you read that Daily Bugle article about him last week? You've got more chance hoping Wonder Woman gonna help if she ain't stuck up in Washington right now.

The Sewer Butler
Replied on July 15th 2019, 13:37:20

Dammit, Central Park's only a few blocks away from here. I'm scramming with the wife and kids right now to Dakota to my cousin's place until it's safe. Don't want to be caught in this mess here.

Replied on July 15th 2019, 13:40:21

real tragedy was that art installation. thought it looked good when I walked past central park a few days ago.



Richie had issues with his weekend vacation in New York City.

It wasn’t the news that the New York Mega-Con had been cancelled by the organisers just this morning. It also wasn’t the fact that he was somewhat feeling guilty about whether or not he’d doomed Dakota City by forcing Virgil to take a break. Nor was it that he hadn’t managed to eat lunch yet.

No, these were the type of issues equipped with glazed eyes and mouths frothing with rage. Issues that were currently chasing after him down the eclectic concrete jungle that was New York City. Richie panted and huffed, his adolescent junk-food conditioned body struggling to escape from the violence occurring around him. There were currently a good twenty or so men and women, snapping at his heels. He heard the crashing of glass shattering against the ground from an apartment to his right, flailing bodies falling through the air and meeting the ground in a bone-crushing crack. That wasn't what frightened him. What frightened him was the fact that some of them had starting getting back up, pulling themselves forth on their elbows, their heads, whatever limbs or appendages they still had towards him.

The last minutes or so were a matter of survival. New York had descended into a total bloodbath along with Star City. Unfortunately, luck had it that he was seeing the masked spiked maniac talk from a cafe TV screen in New York rather than in Dakota. It seemed like the end of the world for Richie right now. He took out the phone from his pocket and dialed Virgil's number for yet the 5th time in a row. He narrowly dodged a stumbling police officer who was waving his baton in a frenzy, making sure not to drop the phone on the ground as he continued to run through the rioting streets of Lower Manhattan.

“ Virgil! I could really use some help not trying to get eaten alive right now!”

“ Sorry - just - “ There was a loud grunt on the other side of the phone followed by the screeching sound of bending metal. “ - I’m a little held up here right now.” There was a pause before Richie heard Virgil’s voice again. “ Just stay put wherever you are!"

“ Stay put?! I'm running as we speak right now!" Richie shouted.

" Just wait. I'll get a bead on you as long as you keep me on call - "

In the middle of his conversation, someone slammed into Richie like a runaway freight train. His phone was knocked out of his hand, Virgil's panicked voice silenced by the heel of a boot. A young girl with an empty, oozing left eye-socket began to claw at him wildly without restraint. Richie rammed his knee weakly into her gut several times but she just shrugged it off, saliva from her open, gnashing, screaming mouth dropping on his forehead. Eventually, one of her hands found his way on his throat and clamped down, Richie weakly trying to wrestle free from her.

A loud bellow of thunder deafened his ears. A loop of chain-link fencing wrapped around the girl's neck and pulled her off top of him. The pressure on Richie's lung relaxed, causing him to cough unsteadily as he looked up.

The entire city seemed to have become alive. Streetlights guarding the sidewalk began to reach down like tendrils, grasping and curling around the torsoes of the writhing infected. A volley of trash-cans, suspended upwards like ragdolls, smash into the side of the group, bowling them over onto the ground. The chain link fencing begins to unweave apart into single strands, binding and turning the snarling and rabid infected into beached fish. Within moments, the population of the entire street had been restrained.

“ So much for New York hospitality.” Virgil landed with a clang on the asphalt, the steel meter-diameter manhole glowing slightly at the rim. He took off his white hood, dreadlocks swaying with each shake of his head. His left cheek was slightly bruised, swelling already. Richie’s question of Virgil’s tardiness was answered as he lifted up a paper bag of pretzels. Virgil popped one of them in his mouth as he pointed towards Richie.

" You still got my bag, Rich?"

Richie signs, nodding slowly. He wants to say that he's forgotten it, dropped it by some chance to keep Virgil out of harm's way. If there's one thing that he's learnt ever since he found out about Virgil's secret identity, danger and Virgil are attracted to each other like magnetic poles. He tosses over Virgil’s rucksack towards his outstretched hand. He caught it deftly and opened the zip, pulling out his jacket. The yellow bolt of lightning running across the front vest lights up like a beacon.

" Just for ruining my trip to New York, I'm gonna turn that Stryfe guy's helmet into an lawn ornament."
Hidden 11 mos ago 11 mos ago Post by Commander Bork
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---------------(> <)---------------

It started when an alien device did what it did
It stuck itself upon his wrist with secrets that it hid
Now he's got superpowers he's no ordinary kid.....

---------------(> <)---------------

Name: Benjamin Kirby Tennyson

Hero Name: N/A

Known Aliases: Ben 10, Ben-Man, Watch Boy, Doofus, The Xeno

Age: Actually 10 and a Half but it wouldn't ring as well, would it?

Powers: This 10 year old can list every known B-Class fighter in the popular Sumo Slammers trading card game, lick his own elbow and survive having 20 soccer balls smashed into his face. Wait a second. You mean actual superhuman powers? Sorry if you were expecting something amazing.


The Omnitrix : Originally belonging to his grandpa, Maxwell Tennyson, this technological watch-like device allows Ben to transform into a myriad of 'aliens'. Ben can only remain in these forms for an indeterminate duration of time before reverting back into his plain old self, otherwise dubbed by him as 'timing out'. The watch has been heavily damaged after the incident where Ben received it and thus, is extremely prone to malfunctions, transforming Ben into the wrong alien at times.

Each of Ben's aliens possesses unique and different superhuman powers and abilities from one another, allowing him to almost tackle any situation depending on what he transforms into. For now, there are currently only 10 known and discovered transformations available for Ben to access, as seen down below.

Heatblast - Pyrokinesis.
Humongousaur - Saurian Physiology and Size Enhancement
Diamondhead - Crystal Physiology and Manipulation
Eye Guy - Energy Beam Emission and 360 degree field of vision
Ghosfreak - Intangibility and Possession
Brainstorm - Enhanced Cerebral Processing and Electrokinesis
Upgrade - Technological Assimilation and Enhancement
Stinkfly - Insectoid Physiology
RAAAAATTTTTTHHHHHH - Enhanced Combat Intuition and Indomitable Rage
Echo Echo - Self-Duplication and Sound Manipulation

Much to Ben's chagrin, there is still much that he still has to learn about the secrets of the Omnitrix.

Appearance: Ben possesses the energy and exuberance of youth with grass-stained bottoms, uncombed brown hair and mischievous light green eyes. He is never seen without his signature black-striped white football shirt. In recent months, he's taken to wearing a long sleeve lime jacket to help hide the Omnitrix strapped on his right wrist.

Known Affiliations

- 6th Grade Student at Madison Elementary School
- Captain for Madison High Junior Soccer Team

---------------(> <)---------------

So if you see him you might be in for a big surprise
He'll turn into an alien before your very eyes
He's slimy creepy fast and shiny he's every shape and size

---------------(> <)---------------


Charmcaster/Heather Hopewell - Ben's classmate and long-time friend who he has recently found out to be a practitioner of the mystic arts. Ben finds her a kindred spirit, given that she's the only other 'weird' 10 year old in town like him.
Gwendolyn 'Gwen' Tennyson - Ben's 16 year old cousin who is currently taking a break from her studies in Harvard by spending time with her parents at Ben's hometown of Bell-wood. Despite their tensions with one another, Ben genuinely views Gwen as a surrogate sister figure as well as a role model to aspire towards.
Carl and Sandra Tennyson - Ben's loving and doting parents who try to shield Ben from their family's history with alien kind.
Jimmy Jones - Ben's junior in the 3rd grade who actively stalks and blogs Ben's vigilante exploits online.
J.T and Cash - Ben's best friends since childhood and fellow football team members at Madison Elementary. The three of them, including Ben, are virtually inseparable from one another and infamously known for being serial pranksters in Bellwood.
Julie Yamamoto - Over-pressured by her parents to excel in all fields of academic study and sport, this former junior state tennis player has become the newest member of Ben's soccer team along with becoming his new neighbor next door.
Jennifer Nocturne - Ben's classmate and an up and rising actress who has been inaugurated into Bellwood's Hall of Fame. Although as much as Ben tries to deny it, he has a hardcore crush on her.
Aloysius James Animo - Ridiculed as a crackpot theorist in the scientific community, Doctor Animo acts as Ben's science teacher in Madison Elementary. He often fills the bulk of his lessons with mad ramblings and long lectures, much to the amusement of his students.
Ignacius Baumann - The foul-tempered owner of Ben's favorite drink store and hangout area " Mr Smoothie", who is secretly the gatekeeper for the entrance to a subterranean alien society in Bellwood known as 'Undertown'.

Janitor Dox - The kindly yet mysterious caretaker of Madison's halls and refectories, whom is always looking out for Ben, even when he least expects it.



Clancy - A homeless metahuman who roams the sewers of Bellwood. Able to telepathically command insects, which wouldn't be a problem if he didn't decide to unleash them on the population on Bellwood every once in a while.
Micheal Morningstar - A vampire warlock from a rival school, Chesterspeake, in Bellwood who is a former acquaintance of Charmcaster and vows to claim the Charms of Bezel from the sorceress.
The Circus Freak Trio - Formerly circus performers, the circus freaks are career criminal meta-humans in the mid-west, inspired loosely by the infamous Joker. With the ringleader of their group, Zombozo, locked in Blackgate Prison after an unsuccessful bank robbery, the trio have moved to Bellwood in search of new enterprises. The current group consists of Acidbreath, Frightwig and Thumbskull.
Rojo - The leader of an all-female hi-tech biker gang in Bellwood known as the Huns. Armed with top of the line alien technology, Rojo and her gang work as hired thugs for anyone who is willing to shell out enough money, whether alien or human.
The Vreedle Brothers - The equivalent of outer space red-necks, Octagon and Rhomboid Vreedle are an infamous dim-witted pair of bounty hunters armed with enough illegal alien weapons of mass destruction to make the U.S Army blush. They have recently arrived in Earth and are looking for paid work in the town of Bellwood, masquerading as human shop owners of a 7-11.
Vulkanus - A wanted Detrovitian in ten sectors and currently the defacto ruler of crime in Under-Town. Uses his position of power to provide 'protection' for the inhabitants of Undertown whilst trafficking alien technology to human criminal empires for use.
The Forever Knights - A global paramilitary religious organisation dating back to the 1200s who seek to eliminate all alien lifeforms in order to protect humanity, using a mixture of magical and alien artifacts to achieve their goals. A contingent of them has recently spread into Belltown, investigating rumours of a hidden alien enclave as well as to eliminate the vigilante known by locals as 'The Xeno'.
Overlord Vilgax of Vilgaxia - 'Former' intergalactic conqueror and war-hawk politician in the Galactic Council representing Vilgaxia's interests. Hamstrung by the Kree and numerous other alien empires in the galaxy, Vilgax seeks to find the Omnitrix and use it as a weapon in which to declare himself ruler of the entire galaxy. Krabb, Six-Six and Sunder the Searcher, members of the Bounty Hunter Guild, act as his primary enforcers and have been tasked to hunt down the Omnitrix on the planet Earth.

Will Harangue - This local radio jockey dominates the air waves with his xenophobic and conspiratorial theories about a potential alien infiltration occuring on Earth. Recent sightings of 'xenos' in Bellwood have lent credence in his claims, which Harangue seeks to capitalize on....
Noobmaster69 - A recurring enemy of Ben online who frequently trolls and harasses Ben in online gaming matches of Sumo Slammers Royale. Their score tally is currently 104-1 to him.

Who Is This Character?: To many, he's a loud-mouthed brash 10 year old. To his friends, a well-meaning 10 year old boy who wishes to be Superman. To his enemies, a nuisance. To the entire galaxy, Benjamin Kirby Tennyson is the wielder of the most powerful device in the universe.

List of Reimagined Traits: My rendition of Ben is based mostly on the narrative of the Original Series by Man of Action as well as taking major influences from Derrick J. Wyatt's run of Ben 10: Omniverse, albeit with a few twists. Ultimate Alien Force, for me, was a big step in the wrong direction for the universe, albeit with some interesting concepts that I'll be keeping for this universe such as the worldbuilding of the Plumbers and several other minor characters as well. Other shows such as Stranger Things and Gravity Falls are major influences to create this supernatural small-town vibe. This Ben still has to juggle the responsibilities of handling the Omnitrix as well as his selfish desires but without the support of figures or mentors such as Grandpa Max or Gwen.

Story Overview

---------------(> <)---------------

Armed with the powers he's on the case
Fighting the evil from earth and space
He'll never stop till he makes them pay
Cause he's the baddest kid to ever save the day

---------------(> <)---------------

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Hidden 11 mos ago 11 mos ago Post by Commander Bork
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Virgil shielded himself behind a over-flowing green garbage bin. He gagged at the sour smell of chinese take-out and mouldy shoes. He would have preferred a car or a large fridge but it was the only thing that prevented him from turning into mincemeat. Blasts of buckshot and bullets thundered through the fetid alleyway air, perforating the garbage bin, his shouts being lost in the cacophony.

“ Look, why don’t you pick on someone with their own gun?!”

Funny he was complaining, even though he could shoot electricity out of his hands. The officers replied by just continuing to fire at him. His muscles were beginning to ache from how long he’d been levitating the garbage bin for. Alright, enough of playing target practice. He steeled himself, breathing out, waiting for the inevitable sound of an empty -


He lashed out with his right hand and the garbage bin flew down the alley in a lurching arc, its metallic frame bouncing off the walls and ground. An officer slid out of cover to avoid being crushed, just in time for a whip of electricity to catch him in the chest. A kevlar vest could stop bullets but 50,000 volts of electricity was a different matter entirely. The two others ignored their convulsing comrade laying on the ground and leveled their rifles out towards him. Only to find that their rifles had been pulled out of their hands by an unseen force. Virgil smirked. Guns were made out of metal. Magnets attract metals. And when you were a living magnet, the answer was obvious. Twisting his hands to adjust the polarity, the rifle stocks slammed into their foreheads, knocking them out cold for good.

Virgil let his hands down and the pair of guns clattered to the ground. He began to stroll out of the alley, readying himself to surf away if it wasn’t for the glint on the back of the unconscious men’s necks. He crouched down to examine further. Virgil closed his eyes, concentrating on the ambient electricity in the air, within his body. If high-school biology taught him anything about neurons.....

It was a spark at first. Tiny but concrete. It was there. He just needed to bring it out. He coaxed it slowly, concentrating on the cracks, the places that weren't insulated from him. It was maddeningly slow. Made sense, though. Human bodies were terrible conductors of electricity. However, a grainy after-image was forming slowly over time.


It was like looking at some weird, screwed up X-Ray. A skeleton of wires, a blueprint of the human nervous system. The largest tangle of wires was in the shape of a hairball - the brain - and like a parasite, the drone attached itself to a long strand that trailed outwards from it. The spine. He could see that the drone was still pulsing, sending electromagnetic frequencies to the brain, commanding its host what to do. His finger brushed against the metallic surface of the drone. All it would take was merely overloading that robot with enough juice that could turn the man sane again. Or turn him into a living vegetable. He didn’t like those odds.

Perhaps, that thing in Central Park’s the key to stopping all of this…..

It sounded like the beginnings of a plan. He zoomed out of the alleyway out into the bloodied and rioting streets of New York, plagued by the infection that had taken hold of its inhabitants in the last 3 hours. Virgil zoomed over top the skyline of the Big Apple, cars rumbling excitedly and lights flickering in his wake. His target was Central Park or Ground Zero of whatever Stryfe had unleashed all over the USA. For a moment, thoughts of Dakota City, the people, his family came up in his mind and made him wonder whether or not Stryfe's drones had managed to sink their claws into his hometown. The thought only made him push forward faster, ionized air trailing behind him.

As he came nearer to Central Park, two things came to mind.

One. That ugly as hell art statue in the middle of Central Park was even uglier now. Being demolished sure didn't improve the aesthetic.

Two. The drones were currently swarming someone. Someone who was floating in the air like he was at the moment.

Another metahuman?

No time for curiosity. He leveled his hands out, laced with electricity, and began showering lightning down on the figure. Upon contact with the bolts, some of them exploded into puffs of grey smoke while others short-circuited and fell onto the grass, wingless flies.

Several words flashed through his mind as the last drone dropped off the person. He'd seen her face crop up on Dakota NTV7 and Youtube channels alike, millions of viewers fawning over her. Dolls, facisimiles of hers, were a birthday present pastime to young girls all over the world. There were numerous facial products, clothing lines and 2 cereals with her logo on it. Richie wore her namesake on his underpants (That had been awkward to explain at the laundromat).

Wonder Woman. The living legend of WWI and international hero.

So, how did a small-time vigilante introduce themselves to a big-time celebrity hero? Virgil levitated himself down towards Wonder Woman, struggling to hold down his excitement as the manhole he was standing on drizzled electric rain below the both of them.

“ So, uh, never thought I’d meet you like this. I’d imagine an autograph session, not an apocalypse.” He sheepishly scratched the back of his head. “ My name’s Static. You got a plan to take down that Stryfe chump, Wonder Woman?”

Hidden 11 mos ago 11 mos ago Post by Commander Bork
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He’s a kid and he wants to have fun

But when you need a superhero, he gets the job done.

With a device that he wears on his arm

He can change his shape and save the world from harm.

When lives are on the line

It’s hero time!


Episode 0: 10 ‘O Clock

---------------(> <)---------------

“ But - but, Mom! You can’t just - ”

Mom’s narrowed glare made my throat clamp up in the middle of my whining. I wanted to turn into Stinkfly, crash through the right window and fly away. I wanted to be anywhere but here right now. However, my feet were glued to the ground by fear, fear that only a parent could invoke within a child. The rain and lightning outside didn’t help calm me down. It made me feel like I was facing the final boss in a video-game. I could have handled a squadron of Forever Knights harassing Undertown or the Huns stealing from an ATM but my Mom? What would you expect me to do? Beat her up like any old bad guy? I just stayed silent while Mom continued to roast me alive with her words.

“ No buts, mister!” Mom waggled her index finger, her face lined with dissapointment“ This is for your own good, Ben! Don’t act like its first time where you’ve arrived home late. It’s been three times already. Three. Times! And you know what three means…..”

“ Three strikes and you’re out.” I finish her sentence in a grumble. She pushes open the bedroom door and I’m greeted with the sight of my bedroom. My unwashed, dirty mess of a bedroom. Before I can react, she slips into my pocket and takes out my phone in a blink of the eye. I paw for it in the air, the phone just above my head. Crud. “ Mom! I need th-”

“ Grounded means no phone privileges, Ben!” The door closed with a slam and that was the end of it. “ Stupid mom. Stupid dad. Stupid Omnitrix…..” I paced around my room in a feverish tantrum that made me sick with anger. Patrolling both Under-Town and Bellwood at the same time just wasn't viable, especially with the fact that Vulkanus was getting too big for his britches. In the last few weeks, the Detrotivian was just being a general space invader, or in other words, aggressively expanding his territory. I swore that even Charmcaster, usually cool as a cucumber, grew a few grey hairs the last couple of weeks. Eventually, my anger mellowed down into sleepiness. He looked out through the glass into the rainy streets. Drizzle coated the window, softening and blurring everything into a world without edges like one of those pre-school finger paintings.

Just as I’m about to doze off, the sharp rap of knuckles against glass catches my attention. I roll off the bed in a tangled frenzy, blanket around my shoulder, my entire world neon-green as I pull out the Omnitrix….

“ Knock knock, doofus.”

A snide voice leaked through the window, freezing my poised right arm which was ready to slam down onto the Omnitrix. Only one person could call me doofus and get away with it, aside from Gwen. I opened the window and a soaking wet Charmcaster leaped out to tackle me in a giggling bear hug.

“ Charm, what are you doing here?” I pushed her off me. Her brown satchel, shaped like a voodoo head, hung around the shoulder of a purplish coat. She brushed away her wet sliver bangs that were covering the front of her magenta-tinted eyes, still smirking.

“ First of all..." The zipper of her bag vomited out a thick book into her waiting hand, flipping open the pages and lifting a hand to cast a spell Pannosiccum.” Both of our clothes fluttered for a moment, a sudden warm breeze entering my room and fading away in the same moment. Huh. Instant clothes-dryer. That was cool. A finger-snap alerts me back to attention.

“ As for why I'm here, I was wondering why you were here. I didn’t see you at the robbery at 6th Main, so I knew something was up by the time I had them in cuffs.”

“ Well, lucky you.”

“ Let me guess." She raised a eyebrow. " The parent patrol finally caught on, didn’t they?”

“ You shouldn’t be here. If my parents catch you - “

“ Like being busted ever stopped us before, Tennyson.” Her lavender eyes danced between the window and the Omnitrix. “ So…., are you ready to go hero?”

Her crescent grin was infectious, egging me on. A trio of wailing police cars zoomed down our neighborhood street. My fingers twisted the dial reflexively, room filling with emerald light.

“ I’ve been wanting to go Echo-Echo for a while……”

---------------(> <)---------------

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V I R G I L H A W K I N S C O L L E G E S E N I O R D A K O T A C I T Y , M I C H I G A N B A N G B A B Y H E R O
C O N T I N U I N G C O N C E P T:

"When you see the lightning, you best be ready to hear the thunder."

Before the Big Bang, there was nothing. Now? I'm something else.

Two months after the Electrocutioner's attack, the life of Virgil Ovid Hawkins, geeky college senior, and Static , defender of Dakota City, have become inseparable from one another. College drama and gossip has become routine for Virgil Hawkins Meanwhile, Static has become a symbol of heroism within Dakota City by the locals and over the last month, has become heavily involved in the community of Dakota City, particularly assisting Freeman Community Center.

Things are changing within Dakota City. With the local city election around the corner, Virgil's dad, Robert Hawkins, leader of Freeman Community Center, is campaigning for the position of Mayor with a sizable majority of the city population supporting him. Current incumbent mayor, Mayor Jefferson, an old conservative who is controversial for his decisions that led to the Big Bang, is aware of the threat to his position. With whistle-blowers revealing a connection between Alva Industries, one of Mayor Jefferson's campaign funders and the Big Bang incident, Dakota City seems to be on the cusp on change.

In response to Stryfe's attack, metahuman activity has re-surged all over the country and super gangs that were once afraid of the Kilowatt Kid are now crawling out of the woodwork. The Rough Pack and the Blood Syndicate are tussling on the street with one another, claiming territory and turf in a feud that may rip apart Dakota City. The Night Breed continue to protest on the steps of Dakota's Municipal Office to seek a cure to their photo-allergic condition. All the while, Ebon, enigmatic leader of the Meta-Breed, watches from the shadows to take advantage of opportunities that come from the chaos.

Dakota City has become a powder keg waiting to go off. The future of this great city lies within the choices of one Virgil Hawkins, the Kilowatt Kid, The Defender of Dakota City, Static. Because in Dakota City, everyone always has a choice to make.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:

Continuing on from the finale of last season and the crisis itself, I feel that Static's story should continue to be the quintessential bildungsroman or a story of growth that naturally expands on the themes of responsibility whilst increasing in scale. Season 1 of Static focused on a fairly, personal story to ground out and characterize Virgil. This time, Season 2 will be be more epic in scale, focusing on Virgil dealing with the ramifications of the Big Bang on the social structure of Dakota City itself and the various factions that have been 'birthed' as a result of the incident.

Another concept that I want to explore more this season, which I left breadcrumbs and hints throughout Season One, is the concept of Black Lightning as Static's father. It's an arguably rare concept that I haven't seen explored in any DC comics about the sheer coincidence of the two existing in the same universe. In terms of how I want to explore Black Lightning, I'm primarily basing this version on Black Lightning: Year One and Cold Dead Hands with a twist of my own. What does it mean to live up to someone's legacy, especially when they're supposed to act as a parental figure to you?

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:

//Jefferson Davis/Black Lightning - Michigan State Department of Education newest candidate principle for Hemingway High, legendary hero, Black Lightning and birth father of Virgil Hawkins. Looking forward to an eventual father-son reunion.

//Richard Foley - Virgil's best pal in Hemingway High and a code junkie.

//Robert Hawkins - Virgil's stepfather who Virgil considers his true birth father over Black Lightning. Holds the position of Head Manager of Freeman Community Center and currently running a campaign for the position of 25th Mayor of Dakota City.

//Sharon Hawkins - Virgil's elder step-sister who is currently studying in Dakota City University.

//Herman Schultz/The Shocker - Virgil's former criminal confidant who was a member of the supervillain team, Squadron Supreme. Currently serving penance for his crimes in Ryker's Island.

//Ebon - Master of Shadows. The Shadow Man. The Night Strider. Only his true name is whispered fearfully between scum of the streets of Dakota. This powerful metahuman demagogue is rumoured to be the mysterious leader of the Meta-Breed and has his hands dirty in virtually every criminal gang and organisation within Dakota City. No one knows the truth of whether he is actually real or not.

//The Meta Breed - A gang of teenage Bang Baby supremacists, several members of which took part in the infamous 'Week of Terror' that preceded after the Big Bang. Their base of operations are rumored to be located within the Dakota Exclusion Zone, commonly known as the Black Hole.

//Nightingale - Prominent meta-human activist and leader of a disenfranchised group of homeless Bang Babies known as the Night-Breed. Currently seeking a cure to their debilitating condition. Unbeknownst to the public, she has made an alliance with the Meta-Breed.

//The Night Breed - A large group of Bang Babies who possess yellow-slitted eyes and a condition which makes them deathly allergic to sunlight. Currently inhabit the abandoned Dakota Metroway.

//Holocaust - Notorious outspoken militant pyrokinetic leader of the recently formed Blood Syndicate. Aims to bring order to the streets and expand the territory of his gang aggressively.

//The Blood Syndicate - A gang formed from the remnants of the two largest gangs that took part in the Paris Island Gang Bang - The Paris Bloods and the Force Syndicate. Currently located within the north-west of Dakota City in Prospect Hills. Suffering from a number of issues such as in-fighting, lack of a central vision and the death of their former leader - Tech 9.

//The Rough Pack - A small gang ruled by a trio of animal-themed Bang Babies, Hyde, Kangor and Ferret, who engage in petty crime and robberies. Ridiculed and disrespected by other Bang Baby organisations within the city.

//Adam Evans/Rubberband Man - Hip-hop artist and host of the radio show 'Dakota Midnight Central' who goes by the psuedonym of 'Rubberband Man'. His studio is currently based in Sadler.

//Larry Buchinsky/The Electrocutioner - Former member of the Squadron Supreme and associate of the Shocker who has been arrested for his attempts to kill Static and is currently on route to being imprisoned within the Raft.

//Edwin Alva - CEO of Alva Industries, a multi-national corporation whose headquarters are based within Dakota City. Avid financial supporter of Mayor Jefferson's campaign and under scrutiny for being linked to the Big Bang.

//Mayor Jefferson - Controversial 24th District Mayor of Dakota City who authorized the use of the mutagen on gangsters which catalyzed the Big Bang. Has a 'tough-on-crime' attitude and believes Bang Babies to be detrimental to Dakota City.

S E A S O N O N E S Y N O P S I S:

One month after the Big Bang, 18 year old Virgil Hawkins, has been secretly operating as the urban vigilante, Static. Suffering from the pressures of responsibility upon his shoulders as well as grief from the loss of his mother, Virgil wonders whether or not he should still continue to be a superhero. During one routine patrol of Hemingway, Static encounters an individual identifying himself as the Shocker who has been hired by Ebon, the leader of the Meta-Breed, to kill the local superhero. At the end of their bout involving improvised molotov cocktails and excessive use of vehicles, Virgil ends up with his powers severely crippled and a broken arm.

With the help of his best friend, Richard Foley, and a series of coincidences, Virgil finds out that his chemistry teacher, Harry Schumer, is actually Herman Schultz, the real Shocker who retired from the criminal gang known as the Squadron Supreme years ago. Throughout their conversation, Schultz reveals that a prototype suit of his was stolen by an unknown robber and that he wasn't responsible for Virgil's broken arm. Much to th Virgil's irritation, Herman tries to convince him to retire from superheroics, using an old anecdote involving his last mission with the Squadron Supreme where Larry Buchinsky, the Electrocutioner, murdered the Crimson Avenger during a bank robbery.

Taking a break from high-school and his vigilante escapades by having brunch with his step-father in Sadler's Shack, Virgil is introduced to his father's co-worker, Larry Buchinsky, much to his distress. Larry soon recognizes the tell-tale signs of nervousness and figures out through a series of clues that Virgil Hawkins is indeed Static. Confronting Virgil out of costume in his dorm room, Buchinsky offers Virgil a deal that he'll leave him alone in return for Virgil never engaging in vigilante action ever again. Unsurprisingly, Virgil refuses the offer and nearly dies if it wasn't for Herman saving him, once again returning as the Shocker. The ensuing fight between the Electriocutioner and the duo of Shocker and Static soon results in Virgil gaining his powers back and overloading Electrocutioner's newly upgraded armor with enough juice to fry a neighborhood.

After the arrest of the Electroctioner, Virgil resolves to become more involved within the community with a fresh perspective and fully embrace the role of 'Static', deciding to play an active part within the future of Dakota. Herman is arrested for his former crimes, albeit leaving on good terms with Virgil in spite of his criminal background being exposed to the public. Meanwhile, forces work and conspire to overthrow the system of Dakota City whilst a familiar face arrives on the outskirts of Utopia, eager to meet their son.......

P O S T C A T A L O G:

S E A S O N O N E: Shockin' The System

1.1 - BANG
1.2 - SNAP
1.6 - WIRE

S E A S O N T W O: Power Outage

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