Afro Samurai

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

He was late for the Currahe run, and he knew he'd probably get put on toilet duty because of it. For whatever reason, he wasn't worried; he was new anyway, it wasn't like they'd berate him too bad for one little mishap, would they? Probably. He had resigned himself to his fate and instead dressed in his PT garb to give the impression he had made an attempt to make it to PT. Come mess hall time, he was one of the first in line and he hoped his punctuality here would disguise his tardiness elsewhere--even if he was the most distinguishable face in the regiment.

He got his slop, no, it wasn't slop this time. It was spaghetti! Yes, did he love himself some saucenoodle. His plastic spork shoveled torrents of noddles an round ground meat into his gullet followed by several rythmatic swallows. Since this wasn't a large company like the 366th Infantry from which he came, he had no choice but to sit by the others: three women, a Spanish looking cat, a yellowman, and some other indiscriminate pasty white folk. They all looked the same to him. But it didn't matter, he continued gorging the spaghetti without a second recognition of the others with whom he sat. He did eavesdrop on their conversation, though. It sounded like it all had something to do with fighting on the North African front? He'd never been to Africa before, be good to see some'a my kind in our own habitat for once he mused in solidarity.

He still didn't know why he'd been sent here, though. He didn't ask questions, it was never his right. It was a sordid mentality drilled in him by his own country more than anything the army had ever taught him. For how uncomfortable he felt, what with being the only black face around, it was sure nice to see some different looking people. He got tired of seeing the same grizzled, distraught grimmaces his all black company had on their faces all the time. Peckerwood this, peckerwood that. Walter thought they all needed a break, they all needed to find them one of those nice German girls with African warrior fetishes--that'd cheer them up right good.

He had finished eating, and his blue-green eyes shifted from his plate to the cast of characters seated around him; he didn't say much, back home you didn't speak to a white person unless spoken to, that was the rule. He didn't know if it was any different here, so he waited to see if anyone would bother to initiate.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

Am I good to post or do I have to wait for the whole approval thing? I want to jump in while things are still relatively mundane.

Hunters of Remnant: Bleeding Hearts

@Ryuji Sakamoto Sure.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

I'm a s-s-s-snake.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

370th Infantry Regiment
366th Infantry Regiment
Tuskeegee Airmen (fighter pilots as you mentioned)
93rd Infantry Division (Blue Helmets)
Harlem Hell Fighters
369th Infantry Regiment
9th Armored Division (the famous "Buffalo Soldiers" Bob Marley mentions in his song of the same name).

There certainly were not as many African Americans serving in WWII as there would be in following wars (Vietnam and on), but they were there--and some of them were even awarded for their bravery. Many of the all African American units disbanded in WWI were re-opened for WWII, and actually most of the regiments listed above were re-activated and put on the frontlines in '42. If you want reference for the experimentation I talk about in the post, check here.

@ONL

Welcome to Marchand!

Herman's face smashed against the cheap leather of the bus seat in front of him when the bus hit a large bump. After his body jolted back from the impact and he had enough time to lament the new purple bruise that contrasted his mocha skin, he settled into the seat again... alone as before. Next to him was the green backpack with an assortment of stickers of favorite basketball stars, cartoons, and novel titles. He didn't make much noise, not that it would matter if he did; his voice was so shaky and soft no one would hear him anyway. As the bus came to a stop, he wrestled his tie back into place--if there is one thing he did take pride in, it was his presentation. A mesh black suitcoat decorated his thin frame and made him look sleeker than normal. When the bus halted, he freed himself from the cold leather seat and swung the dual-strap backpack over his shoulders.

He dragged a suitcase beside him that had some strange elvish looking language scrawled in its oak. He let it scrape along the concrete, a dense rustling screech of wood grated against the thick concrete. The sound didn't bother him, though it may annoy others, he thought. His moment of altruism passed, before him reigned a massive ornate entrance, decorated like one of those old Victorian mansions from an Austen novel. He reveled in it for a moment. Once more his astonishment gave way to indifference, and he proceeded to pull the suitcase behind him until he reached the massive doors. He reached for the large door handle which seemed twice his size--there was no way he was opening this door by himself.

"Hey, can someone help me out?!" Herman huffed, using all the strength in his one minuscule arm, but to no avail. And on top of that, he smelt pancakes. He was starving! Death his over-dramatic thought began, is sweet.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

Walter Thompson

Name

Walter Thompson

Gender

Male

Age

24.

Appearance


Personality
Hardened. Possesses a searing hatred for discrimination. Will snap into erratic and irrational fits when angered. Hateful of his grotesque appearance.

Background

---

His head rose above the bubbler, he ran a charcoal black hand across his lips. The ‘Colored Only’ sign draped some inches above his head. Adorned in a short-sleeved white button up, brown slacks, black socks, and black dress shoes, he entered the church from the back door after a brief re-hydration recess. He took the stairs up to the balcony where the colored section was and sat himself where he thought the rest of the sermon could be heard best. A frivolous pursuit. This far back in the church, all one can hear are the occasional claps from the folks below and the pastor’s occasional “Thank you, Lord!”’s humming their way up the balcony, only for the sound to be sucked up by a sea of black bodies shoveled together in rusty seats. There were black churches, but Walter wasn’t one to subconsciously and indirectly propagate the social mores de jour—legal or not.

It was the Jim Crow south. 1942. War raged overseas, and the condition of the black person in the land of the free wasn’t much ado about freedom at all. America was fighting a war on two fronts: one for the freedom of oppression from the Reich; the other for freedom of her own dark sons and daughters at home. It was this patriotism--and secret optimism that he could elevate his status as a citizen by enlisting and becoming a war hero--which caused Walter to enter the war shortly after FDR announces America’s involvement in December of ’41.

What Walter—and many of his other black servicemen—did not expect is the segregation on the frontlines. Few and far were companies mixed together. All black infantry squadrons and platoons were the first ones sent into the fray, many of their members crippled (mentally and physically), thousands more dead or M.I.A. Hundreds of company men went A.W.O.L. Not only were these all black squadrons and their individual servicemen the objects of extreme prejudice, they were also experimented on. Across the Front one could hear the rumors; hundreds of horror stories of black service members subject to mustard gas, chemical baths, and serum injections all in the hopes of creating the ideal soldier. (Un)fortunately, it worked.

Walter was one of the middling subjects, a guinea pig to a near-perfect chemical bath whose strains had been tested for months to produce radical change within human cells. As a result of the bath, his skin is forever scarred, marked with: boils, discolorations, burns, and hardened scar tissues--a testament to the inhumane treatment he and many of his fellow colored servicemen underwent for the sake of liberty. But he didn’t desert, he couldn’t—if he went home he’d be a Negro and a deserter. It wouldn’t be more than a week before the valiant White Knights were knocking on his door with torches and nooses. No. He would earn his right to be called a hero—to be called man and not boy.

---

Superpower and how the character got it: Solar Empowerment: Walter’s cells became hyper-pinocytic, that is their ability to take in energy—the energy of the sun—was enhanced hundreds of times over. When Walter’s cells drink energy from the sun, his body can perform feats well beyond typical human capacity: superhuman strength, speed, reflexes, durability, energy conversion/storage, solar blasts, flight, and much more.
His powers are null come nightfall, and his cells can only take in so much energy before he must rest for several hours. If he willingly expels any absorbed energy from himself, he drains his power supply at a rapid rate.

(Meant to post this here, not Character's tab).

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

Walter Thompson

Name

Walter Thompson

Gender

Male

Age

24.

Appearance


Personality
Hardened. Possesses a searing hatred for discrimination. Will snap into erratic and irrational fits when angered. Hateful of his grotesque appearance.

Background

---

His head rose above the bubbler, he ran a charcoal black hand across his lips. The ‘Colored Only’ sign draped some inches above his head. Adorned in a short-sleeved white button up, brown slacks, black socks, and black dress shoes, he entered the church from the back door after a brief re-hydration recess. He took the stairs up to the balcony where the colored section was and sat himself where he thought the rest of the sermon could be heard best. A frivolous pursuit. This far back in the church, all one can hear are the occasional claps from the folks below and the pastor’s occasional “Thank you, Lord!”’s humming their way up the balcony, only for the sound to be sucked up by a sea of black bodies shoveled together in rusty seats. There were black churches, but Walter wasn’t one to subconsciously and indirectly propagate the social mores de jour—legal or not.

It was the Jim Crow south. 1942. War raged overseas, and the condition of the black person in the land of the free wasn’t much ado about freedom at all. America was fighting a war on two fronts: one for the freedom of oppression from the Reich; the other for freedom of her own dark sons and daughters at home. It was this patriotism, and this secret optimism that by becoming a war hero, he could elevate his status as a citizen, that caused Walter to enter the war shortly after FDR announces America’s involvement in December of ’41.

What Walter—and many of his other black servicemen—did not expect is the segregation even on the frontlines. Few and far were companies mixed together. All black infantry squadrons and platoons were the first ones sent into the fray, many of them severely crippled (mentally and physically), thousands more dead or M.I.A. Hundreds went A.W.O.L. Not only were these all black platoons and their individual servicemen and the objects of extreme prejudice, they were also experimented on. Unspoken horror stories of black service members subject to mustard gas, chemical baths, and serum injections all in the hopes of creating the ideal soldier. (Un)fortunately, it worked.

Walter was one of the middling subjects, a guinea pig to a near-perfect chemical bath whose strains had been tested for months to produce radical change within human cells. As a result of the bath, his skin is forever scarred, marked with: boils, discolorations, burns, and hardened scar tissues--a testament to the inhumane treatment he and many of his fellow colored servicemen underwent for the sake of liberty. But he didn’t desert, he couldn’t—if he went home he’d be a Negro and a deserter. It wouldn’t be more than a week before the valiant White Knights were knocking on his door with torches and nooses. No. He would earn his right to be called a hero—to be called man and not boy.

---

Superpower and how the character got it: Solar Empowerment: Walter’s cells became hyper-pinocytic, that is their ability to take in energy—the energy of the sun—was enhanced hundreds of times over. When Walter’s cells drink energy from the sun, his body can perform feats well beyond typical human capacity: superhuman strength, speed, reflexes, durability, energy conversion/storage, solar blasts, flight, and much more.
His powers are null come nightfall, and his cells can only take in so much energy before he must rest for several hours. If he willingly expels any absorbed energy from himself, he drains his power supply at a rapid rate.

Olympus Academy

@The One I'm stll interested.

Why We Fight? (WWII with superpowers)

@Oak7ree Great! I'll drop a CS later tonight. Also, how many powers are we allowed?