Byrd Man

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Somehow Byrd has infected every superhero GM with a microchip that forces us to like him.

@Inkarnate

It's just my winning personality.

...

Fucker.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

@Byrd Man

You seem pretty eager. Heh.

@Inkarnate

I've got to go to bed, and with a ten hour workday ahead of me tomorrow you gotta strike while the iron is hot

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

This is like 95% a sheet I made four or five years ago.

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

BATMAN

^{_{BRUCE WAYNE ♦ ENTREPRENEUR ♦ GOTHAM CITY ♦ INDEPENDENT}}

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

^{"Every society gets the kind of criminal it deserves."
-- Robert Kennedy}

HISTORY

Bruce Wayne was born to Thomas and Martha Wayne, a working class couple from Gotham's East End. The Waynes lived paycheck to paycheck, Thomas working as an EMT while Martha worked as an IT technician at a cable company. Bruce showed an aptitude towards electronics at an early age, taking the phone apart and putting it back together when he was five, and he learned from his father that every life, no matter how rotten or undesirable, deserved another chance. While the Waynes didn't have much money, thy did have love for their son and their small and humble life. That changed when Bruce was eight. After coming out of a movie theater one night, a mugger stepped out of the shadows and robbed the Waynes. The robbery went bad, the man killing both Thomas and Martha. The mugger turned his gun on Bruce, but was gunned down by a nearby patrolman who heard the shots and rushed to the scene. Officer James Gordon comforted the crying boy covered in the blood of his parents and their killers. It was that day that he made a secret vow to his dead parents. That he would do any and everything in his power to make sure another little boy wouldn't lose his parents.

Bruce was briefly placed in a foster home before his uncle, Phillip Wayne, adopted him. Phillip and his partner Alfred Pennyworth raised Bruce. Alfred, a former Royal Marine with a background in clandestine services, took a shine to young Bruce. Having dealt with loss as well, Alfred and Bruce could connect with each other. Bruce disclosed his mission to Alfred, his pledge that he made to his dying parents. Bruce was sixteen when Phillip died of lung cancer, leaving Bruce and Alfred alone. Alfred encouraged him to go to college as an engineer. Never forgetting his dreams and ambitions, Bruce went to school and learned both about electronic engineering and criminology. Bruce was a natural in both classes. He quickly grew bored of school and dropped out after his junior year. Alfred then suggested that Bruce join the Gotham City Police Department, but Bruce recognized the corruption and vice inside the department. The city and its systems were broken. To be truly effective, he would need to operate outside the law. The next day he created Wayne Tech.

Over the course of two years, Wayne Tech went from an upstart to mid-level player in Gotham City. Bruce's cheap and effective security alarm systems were bought by nearly every business and organization in the city. What the people who installed the system didn't know was that their systms were all connected together. Using their security cameras and other embedded listening devices and sensors that were part of the security package, Bruce had a massive, real-time map of the city that fed him information and intelligence on nearly all the comings and goings of the city and its residents.

His network was in place, now he needed training. He approached Alfred for advice. Hesitant at first, he finally agreed to train Bruce. With Alfred as his guide, Bruce learned basic hand to hand combat skills, Krav Maga, and self-defense. The network and training were done, and now he needed tools. He bought basic kevlar and body armor and outfitted it with sensors and processors linked with a massive database. The database provided him with a full holographic HUD with streaming information on a variety of subjects and computations. In addition to the suit, Bruce also rigged up mini sticky tasers, tear gas loaded throwing balls, and special throwing weapons that worked like boomerangs. Bruce bought a motorcycle and rigged it with both offensive and defensive capabilities. With Wayne Tech's growing business, he was also able to purchase the components of a drone he could assemble and use.

One night, after an attempt to stop a hijacking became a fiasco, Bruce realized the key to win a war on crime was to use psychology. Strike fear and use it as an initiative against the cowardly and superstitious. He was licking his wounds when a bat came crashing through the window of his apartment. He had his symbol.

The network was running.

He had the tools.

Now he had the bat.

YEARS 1 AND 2

His first full fledged mission ended with Gotham Police seizing a million dollars worth of cocaine from the Falcone Crime Family, Carmine Falcone himself in bracelets. Bruce reached out to Jim Gordon, now a lieutenant, and formed an alliance to work with each other to fight against the corrupt system. Added to their group was assistant DA Harvey Dent. The three men and their crusade swept Falcone's organization up. Several members of the corrupt police commissioner Loeb's organization were among those arrested, Loeb included. Gordon's hardwork and void of command led to Gordon's rapid promotion from lieutenant to colonel. Rumors of The Batman of Gotham began to circulate. Ironically, Gordon was appointed to head up a taskforce to find and arrest the vigilante.

And the new year brought new trouble, as a madman he had been chasing through the shadows surfaced. Calling himself the Joker, he threatened to slaughter the entire population of Gotham's Village Square's new year's party with deadly nerve gas. Batman managed to disable the gas and take down Joker's men, but not before he slipped away.

SUBJECT TO CHANGE

With the absence of Falcone, new criminals began to fill the void. The horribly disfigured Jigsaw started a bloody gang war with Salvatore Maroni, Falcone's underboss turned don. A strange Serbian criminal known as the Purple Man threatened to take over both men's rackets, while Russian killer Sergi Kravenoff set his sights on the Bat of Gotham as the ultimate hunting trophy. While the work as Batman continues on, Wayne Tech continues to expand to other places outside Gotham, creating a wider and wider intelligence network for the Batman to use.

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:

Pretty much what I'm going for with Batman is an idea I've always had. Batman stripped of his money and years of training. People argue that while Batman is the most realistic of the superheroes, he's still a superhuman in a lot of ways. So I want to downplay his resources and make him more smarter, even more craftier, and using his brain and intellect to create workarounds to being a truly ordinary human. Also, I want to give him a bit of a Sherlock Holmes vibe, making the detective angle of Batman come to the forefront. Bruce is motivated by the same stuff he's always been motivated by. I think the different spin will help bring a new twist on things.

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

Allies:

Commisioner James Gordon: supervisor of both the Special Case Unit (Anti-Batman Squad) and the Major Crimes Unit (Anti-Organized Crime) Batman's source inside the GCPD.

Alfred Pennyworth: British expat and former Royal Marine. Took Bruce under his wing after his uncle's death.

Lucius Fox: Manager of Wayne Tech

Harvey Dent: Assistant District Attorney, Batman's ally inside the Gotham DA Bureau.[

ENEMIES:

WIP

S A M P L E P O S T:

SAMPLE

NOT IN CONTINUITY, NOR IS IT PLANNED TO BE IN CONTINUITY. JUST A SAMPLE.

Gotham City
11:50 PM

The bike roared while I swerved through the mild downtown traffic. It was coming on midnight, and I had an appointment to make. The holographic map in my HUD showed the quickest route to my destination. It took just a few minutes to get to the GCPD's headquarters. I stood on the roof of the building across the street from GCPD headquarters and activated a button on my wrist. Wayne Security Tech installed all the cameras inside Gotham Central last year, along with a few pinhole mics that found themselves embedded in key locations.

Device 210434
Listening: 2nd floor break room

"So that's when the bear stops and looks at the hunter and he says 'You just don't come here for the hunting, do you'?"

Device 210437
Listening: Lt. A. Flass' Office

"Yeah, my shift ends in a few minutes. I'll be at the meet at about two, and then we can talk about the cut there. Just hope that sonofabitch Skeevers doesn't keep me too late."

Device 210440
Listening: (GCPD Night Shift Commander) Dep. Commissioner A. Probson's Office

"Come and knock on our door, we've been waiting for you!
Where the kisses are hers, and hers, and his. Three's Company, too!"

Device 210438
Listening: Col. J. Gordon's Office
N/A.... No Activity

Good. That meant he was waiting. I shot out a grapnel line and swung from the roof, gliding over the street below to the roof of Gotham Central. The night shift were half asleep and sloppy. The cameras and bugs guided me through the halls of Gotham Central, all the way way down to the basement in ten minutes. From there it's to the morgue, where the only friend I have in this city was waiting.

"You're late," the dark haired man in the suit said before he lights up a cigarette.

Identified:
James W. Gordon
Colonel, Gotham City Police Department

"Is it another OD?"

"Yep. This makes the sixth one in a month."

Junkies. They've been dropping like flies all over the city for the last two months. The heroin in their veins has up has been purer than anything they've ever had and then some. Toxicology reports said the vials have an extra dose in them. Something I hadn't been able to identify. Gordon and I were the only ones who seem to care at all. As far as most of the police were concerned, who cares if another junkie drops dead?

"Let's see."

Gordon led me to a sheet covered slab where the latest victim was. He pulled it back, kicking the sensors in my mask into overdrive. A man, appearing to be in his mid to late 40's. There were track marks all up and down his arms and legs. A long time drug addict. The medical examiner already had his chest cavity open, the organs packed away in a freezer somewhere. All that is window dressing though. The real action was on his face. Like all the others, his face was contorted into a sick and twisted grin that pulled back his lips and exposed a set of sickly green gums juxtaposed with bright red blood.

"It's the heroin, isn't it?"

I nodded. "That's the only explanation. Someone's tainting Gotham's drug supply."

"I would put my money on a rival dealer. Last I heard, the Council were pushing most of the H through the city along with their front man, Jeff Skeevers. Someone must have got tired of them getting all the profit."

The HUD blinked rapidly three times, snapping photos of the cadaver and sending them back to my harddrive at home. Gordon pulled the sheet back over the tarp when I finished.

"That's a good theory. I'll look into it. You should get home, Gordon. It's late. You're family will be worried about you."

Gordon flinched and quickly dug his hands into his pocket. He's trying hide his missing wedding ring. He's much too late on that front. I noticed it the last time we met. That and the fact that his partner, Sergeant DeWolffe, both disappeared about the same time.

"I'll be alright. What I want to is what are you going to do? I tried sweating some of the street dealers out there and see what they knew about it. They all clammed up in a hurry. Even when I threatened them with jail. They didn't flinch."

I turned away from Gordon and begin to walk out of the morgue.

"I'll make them flinch."

Two Days Later
Krank Co. Toy Factory
1:52 AM

Nearly 48 hours of tearing up the underworld has led me here. The freelance dealers for once are working in harmony, getting their smack from the same source: this place. I gently lifted up the window pane and stepped lightly inside the factory's assembly line floor. The ultraviolet lenses of my cowl activated, brightly showing everything hidden by shadow. I approached a set of chemical vats placed on the floor. There was fresh residue all over. I rubbed my finger through the vat and get residue on my finger tip. That was more than enough sample for the computers in my suit and the uplink it has with the computer back home. A few seconds later, it finished combing through the database before showing the results on my HUD.

Residue Result:

75% Diacetylmorphine aka Heroin
Street name: "Up, Up, and Away!"

15% Inositol
Primarily use: cutting agent

10% Unknown Substance
No matches with known chemicals in database

The results were interesting to say the least. Three quarters pure heroin is more than enough to kill almost all the junkies in the city and tri-county area who grew up with shots of smack cut down to ten and five percent. But it's the unknown substance that interested me the most. My databases are connected to the drug and chemical databanks of the DEA, FBI, SHIELD, and ATF. There's no known chemical compound that they don't have. But that would come later. For now, I needed to keep climbing the ladder. I took out most of the street dealers and middlemen pushing the poison, now it was time to take out the source.

The sound of a door opening a few hundred feet away drew my attention. I melded back into the shadows as three men entered the room. One of them towered over the others while one wore a three-piece suit and the third is dressed in a suit with a cowboy hat on his head and a lasso on his hip. I deactivated the UV lenses and boot up the facial recognition software.

"Can we go get some burgers?" The large man asked his two smaller partners.

Identified:
Raymond Bloch aka Ray Block aka Ox
Three arrests for assault & armed robbery
Known associates: Daniel Brito & Jackson Brice
Known method(s) of attack: Brute strength

"We got a job to do, Ox. Stop thinking with your stomach all the time!" The man in the suit said.

Identified:
Daniel Brtio aka Fancy Dan
Arrests for shoplifting, kidnapping, & racketeering
Known associates: Raymond Bloch & Jackson Brice
Known method(s) of attack: Guns, martial arts

"Wish ya'll would pipe the hell down!"The cowboy grumbled. "It's almost two in the goddamn morning!"

Identified:
Jackson Brice aka Montana
Arrests for armed robbery & kidnapping
Known associates: Raymond Bloch & Daniel Brito
Known method of attack(s): Lasso, knives

Three of them to the one of me. The one called Ox might be a problem. I pulled a small pad from my belt, and stuck it on the middle finger of my right, gloved hand. The glove and pad let out a soft, electric whine. I crept through the dark while they talked.

"Willie got pinched last night by the cops."

"Wasn't the cops that did it. It was that freak Batman. The cops were just on clean-up duty."

"Damn. Willie didn't know this is where we make the H, did he?"

"Naw, we always used Sam as a buffer. He came here to pick the shit up and then pass it on to Willie and the others."

"Well, if the Batman comes...I'll be ready. I don't give a damn what he can do. Nobody can beat the Ox!"

Taking the opening, I flicked the pad at Ox. It twirled through the air, a small spark shooting out and arcing with electricity. The pad slapped against Ox's neck and sent out a one time burst of 20,000 volts.

"Ggggk!"

The big man crumpled to the ground and convulses. His two friends ignored his convulsions, instead opting to put their guards up. Montana pulls a knife while Dan goes for the gun.

"Your friend didn't live up to his promise," I said as I step out of the shadows. "Can you?"

I tossed a batarang sidearm from the hip. It knocked the gun from Dan's hand and continued on an arc that sliced Montana's lasso into two bits of rope. I pounced on the man, kicking Montana in the chest and driving him to the ground. A well aimed punch to a nerve ending sends waves and waves of pain through Montana's body. He squealed in pain before another punch to the forehead knocked him out.

Dan was in the process of going for his gun when I stepped in the way. The gangster crouched into a defensive stance as I lashed out with a kick. He countered my karate chop and attacked with a roundhouse kick. I stepped back and held my cape, spinning it into Dan's face to disorient him. He stepped backwards as a reflex. It's more than enough time for me to lash out again with a grapple, spinning him around and knocking him to the ground in a submission hold. I tightened my grip around his neck.

"All I need to do is apply a three more pounds of pressure to your neck and pop your jugular. You're going to tell me everything there is to know about this operation. Who is making it, who is selling it, who is being paid off, and who pays you..."

I applied two and a half more pounds of pressure to his neck.

"Talk!"

He talks.

They always talk.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

So I hate to do this, but I'm changing characters. I feel like I jumped into a character without a story, and now I'm struggling to really formulate one.

But I'm working on something else, so I'm not dropping out of the game all together or anything. Sorry for the trouble, but I'd feel bad establishing a character like Batman only to get stuck at the beginning and screwing over other people who are dependent on me.

@HenryJonesJr

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Part I:
Down the Rabbit Hole

"But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked.
'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'
'How do you know I'm mad?' said Alice.
'You must be,' said the Cat, 'or you wouldn't have come here.'"
-- Lewis Carroll

French Riviera

Tresser watched Vertigo do a line of cocaine off the glass coffee table. They were in the opulent cabin on Vertigo’s yacht somewhere near Saint-Tropez. Vertigo snorted and rubbed his nose before shaking his head and collapsing back on the wall white leather couch.

“Careful,” said Tresser. “Too much and you won’t be able to get hard.”

Vertigo chuckled and grabbed his crotch.

“No need to worry, Tresser. For me, getting hard is so easy.”

Tresser resisted the urge to roll his eyes. With his accent and gaudy jewelry, Vertigo was the perfect picture of Eurotrash. He was from some small Eastern European country, a deposed noble who clung to his title of count like a drowning man clings to a life raft. Regardless of his boorishness, the title at least granted him some partial entrée into the European upperclass.

“How are our friends in New York, Tresser?”

Tresser shrugged. “The Campisis send their love, boss.”

“I can’t spend fucking love. What about their money?”

“I took care of it,” Tresser said with a slight sigh. “It wasn’t easy, but I think Angelo learned the hard way not to fuck with people with enough weapons to supply a standing army.”

Vertigo laughed and started to chop together another line with his black credit card.

“This is good shit,” Vertigo said after doing another line. “I need you back to America, Tresser. A potential business client will need wooing. You know of this Hub City?”

“Vaguely. It’s a real shit-hole.”

“Who cares?” Vertigo asked with a shrug. “Money spends regardless of where it comes from.”

Vertigo stood while Tresser started for the deck of the yacht. Two beautiful women in slinky dresses came from the cabin downstairs and wrapped their arms around Vertigo’s waist. He chuckled and said something to them in French, something that made them laugh, but not too hard do that they sounded disingenuous. That was the difference between top dollar call girls and the cheap ones.

“Call me when you are in Hub City and have made contact,” Vertigo said as he pulled his eyes away from the two hookers. “We’ll go from there.”

“Sure.”

Tresser started to walk away as the two women began to undress.

---

O’Hare Airport
Chicago

Tresser swiped his credit card and bought twenty-four hours worth of time on the airport locker. He placed a simple smartphone inside the locker and closed it up. Tradecraft dictated that someone would be by within the next day to collect the phone. The phone was only capable of data storage. On it was Tresser’s report on his movements over the last month.

Per the op guidelines, he never wrote anything down or left any evidence of his true identity where Vertigo could find them. He always bought a brand new laptop before boarding a plane. While in the air and cut off from almost all digital signals he would write up a report, put it on the dummy phone, and destroy the laptop's hard drive soon after landing.

The report chronicled Tresser’s activities in New York City, along with the meeting Vertigo and Tresser in Turin with some real-life Italian mobsters. It seemed Vertigo was eager to get in bed with 'Ndrangheta, one Europe’s oldest and most powerful criminal organization. If he could do that, then he’d really be playing in the big leagues. Maybe that would get him and Tresser in the room with the real people behind LEVIATHAN.

Tresser used his false passport and credit card to rent a car. Vertigo, for whatever reason, never wanted him to directly fly in to whatever city he was doing business in. He’d always fly into the next closest city and drive the distance. That worked fine in Europe, but in parts of the Americas and Eastern Europe it could eat up a whole day just driving.

The little red compact car was his chosen vehicle and he hit the interstate, a sign announcing that Hub City was a few hundred miles away.

---

Hub City

The lobby of the office building wasn’t much to look at. But then again, Hub City itself wasn’t much to look at. If you could imagine all the worse parts of Detroit and Chicago without any of those redeeming qualities, you got Hub. Treser had only been here once or twice, and only then he was just passing through to a bigger and better city.

When the man he was here to see finally let him into his office, it was as dumpy as Tresser was expecting. A few bookshelves half filled, cheap desk and cheaper computer. It looked like a CPA’s office. The man who occupied this office would never been expected to work with international arms dealers.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said with a smile. “The surroundings are the point. No flash, no cash, no suspicions.’

He was middle aged, white with greying hair, and his suit was off the rack. A pair of reading glasses resting on the bridge of his nose helped with the CPA illusion. Tresser sat down across the desk from the man.

“You’re awfully trusting,” said Tresser. “To just invite me in to your office like this.”

“You’ve been vetted,” he said. “You and your boss are the real deal. Plus, if you are something like a cop I’m not too concerned. This office and the company who leases it are all registered in fake names. Shell companies within shell companies. I have many names, but nobody knows my real one. If you want to call me anything, you can call me Broker.”

“Okay, Broker. So why are you in need of my services?”

“Guns are my business. The past twenty years I’ve been selling weapons to the gangs in Chicago. Do you watch the news, Mr…”

“Thomas,” said Tresser. “Call me Thomas. And, no, I don’t want the news a lot. I prefer things with happy endings.”

“Right,” Broker said with a chuckle. “If you watched the news you’d see about Chicago. Politicians love to talk about the violence in the city, despite the strict gun laws. It’s a conservative talking point at this point. The problem with that talking point is that as strict as Chicago is with their laws, it doesn’t make a bit of fucking difference. It’s surrounded by Indiana and Michigan, places you can get a gun with no problem. So I buy guns in both states with straw purchasers, completely legal people who always pass background checks. Then I file the numbers off the guns and sell them to people in Chicago at double the amount I paid for them.”

Tresser tried his best to looked impressed. Broker was just another one of a long list of motherfuckers he wished he could put through a wall. The ops objective wasn’t to stop the influx of guns and violence in America. As fucked up as Vertigo’s business was, Tresser’s handler just saw it as a means to an end. They had no intention of shutting it down until Tresser could get intel on LEVIATHAN.

“It sounds like a pretty solid business,” said Tresser. “So why change it up?”

“I want to expand,” said Broker. “Into the other big cities in the midwest. Detroit, Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Kansas City. I can’t do that with simple straw purchases. I need to up my supply to meet the incoming demand.”

“That’s where we come in, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll have to touch base with my boss,” said Tresser. “But I think we can do business, Mr. Broker. Tell me what your needs are, and we’ll do our best to fulfill them.”

---

Tresser pulled his gun from the shoulder holster the second he walked into his motel room. There was supposed to be a splinter wedged in the doorjamb. He’d left it there after he went out to meet Broker.

He saw the figure sitting in the dark beside the lamp. It snapped on and he breathed a sigh of relief. His handler, Sarge Steel, had a jovial grin on his face. Even with the cool weather outside, Steel still wore shorts and flip flops.

“Read your report this morning,” he said with no preamble. “Forwarded the information about the mobsters over to Justice. Hopefully the FBI will be up on them in no time.”

“Why the fuck are you in my room?” Tresser asked as he holstered his gun.

“We needed to talk, ASAP. Can’t do it over the phone. Stopping you in the street would look suspicious as hell.”

Tresser sat down on the lumpy bed and faced Steel. The bed groaned slightly and sagged under his weight.

“What’s so important?”

“Your friend, Broker,” said Steel. “I assume your meeting with him went well.”

“It did,” said Tresser. “And how do you know about him already?”

Steel pulled a smartphone from his pocket and started to scroll through it in silence. When he found what he wanted, he passed it to Tresser. A mugshot of Broker was on the screen. A SHIELD logo in the corner of the photo.

“He’s on the government’s radar already. And I think you’re being led into a trap.”

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

<Snipped quote by Inkarnate>

I am not a 'stan'. I just happened to have grown up on Smallville and it has a large nostalgia factor but I can recognize its flaws and shortcomings.

@Lord Wraith

I look forward to reading that sixteen volume work.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Given how great the Doom Patrol series currently is, I'm surprised no one here has taken them on!

@Natty

Thought about it. But at the end of the day I had no new spins on the team that hadn't been done before.

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

So, since some people(read: all of you) remain obstinately untalkative:

Is there anyone's run you're particularly excited for in this game, besides your own? Myself I'm looking forward in particular to seeing @Hillan trying to make a Thawne-shaped cube fit into a Barry-shaped hole. There's sure to be a lot of tension and good times to be had by all. Not to say I'm not looking forward to all the incoming runs in some respect, but something about Hillan's concept is just off the wall enough that it makes me pretty excited.

@DocTachyon

This. This right here:

dope shit

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

W O L V E R I N E

---

^{_{L O G A N ♦ A T L A R G E}}

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

---

For all intents and purposes, this version of Wolverine is indistinguishable from the depictions of Logan most of us are used to. I have attempted to repurpose his backstory for a shared universe setting and as such have incorporated DC characters into his past and present where possible. Other than that, conceptually I have not made many, if any, radical departures to the character.

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:

---

Wolverine has been my favourite comic book character since I was a kid, but I've mostly avoided playing him in roleplaying games, outside of an incredibly short-lived run in the dying days of SHH. I think a big part of that is because, even as a Wolverine superfan, I'd grown as tired of the character due to overexposure. Listening to Wolverine: The Long Night kind of rekindled my interest and, despite having vowed to be done with comic book games, here I am. Dusting the cobwebs off the saddle for one last ride. Again.

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

---

N/A.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

Hider

In ... The Beast Within: Pt. I

Kitimat, British Columbia

Heather MacNeil had been holding her hands in front of the heater for the best part of ten minutes and they were no closer to being warm. Beside her James Hudson was bristling in the driver’s seat. His face was as white as a sheet and the blankness of his expression worried her. Rather than break the silence, MacNeil slid one of her icy cold hands around Hudson’s as he reached to shift gears. Usually it elicited a smile from him, but this time he didn’t so much as acknowledge the gesture. Finally the silence became too heavy for Heather to bear anymore.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” Hudson murmured without so much as looking in her direction.

“It’s obviously not nothing, James,” Heather sighed. “You’ve hardly said a word all evening.”

Both MacNeil and Hudson worked for the Can-Am Corporation. Three years ago, Heather had been secretary to Truett Hudson, James’ half-brother, but she had given that up to follow James to Kitimat because she believed in him – but most of all because she loved him. It had been hard living for both of them, but the research James was doing had the potential to change everything.

Perhaps sensing that he’d been too brusque, Hudson cleared his throat quietly, and looked away from the snowy road for a second.

“They gave to grant to Langkowski.”

Heather’s hand slid back around Hudson’s and she gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got to break the news to Jaxon in the morning.”

Jerome Jaxon was Can-Am’s chief executive. He’d humoured Hudson’s little venture in Kitimat out of sympathy more than anything else. James had needed an escape when Truett passed away and the Guardian project had provided him with it – but it was leaking money like a sieve, and having missed out on a grant for three years running now, there was no way that Jaxon would support it anymore.

“God, Langkowski’s such a hack,” Heather sighed. “I can’t believe it. There must be some other way? What about next year?”

The grimace that appeared on Hudson’s face as the words left her mouth all but confirmed the impossibility of their being some way out for the pair of them.

“You don’t get it. We’re screwed, Heather, without that money we’re not going to make it through the winter, let alone to next year. Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve worked for these past three years, it’s all been for nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Suddenly MacNeil perked up as if struck by a lightning bolt.

“You still have that money that Truett left behind in his w-”

James shook his head grimly.

“We might as well pack up and head back to Toronto because the Guardian project is officially dead in the water as of this afternoon."

A deflated rattle left Heather’s lungs and she glanced out of the window at the unpressed snow reaching out into the darkness. Hudson’s icy hand switched on the radio. He flicked past a news station, then past another playing metal music, until he settled upon something more to his liking. Kenny Rodgers echoed around the front of the truck as they crept through the cold towards the ranch the pair called home.

“I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole and then I followed it in,
I watched myself crawlin' out as I was a-crawlin' in,
I got up so tight I couldn't unwind,
I saw so much I broke my mind,
I just dropped in to see what condition my condition was in.”

For a second, Hudson’s eyes began to close with tiredness but he jolted away just in time to see a sudden flash of movement appear in his headlights. His foot crashed down on the breaks and the truck skidded along the icy road, very nearly flipping onto its side at one point, before coming to a screeching halt.

Heather’s eyes were fixed on him in desperate confusion. “What the hell, James?”

“There was something in the road.”

Hudson could tell from the look on MacNeil’s face that she didn’t believe him. He let his hands, now wet with sweat, slip free from the wheel and cut the engine. Now the truck had come to a halt it was clear that there was a carcass in the road in front of them, but it wasn’t the carcass that concerned James. It was what was stood over it.

“It almost looked like a person … but that doesn’t make any sense,” Hudson murmured with shock. “All the way out here in this cold? They’d be dead in minutes. It doesn’t make any sense.”

James tried his best to reconcile what he’d seen with what he knew about the Tundra. Whatever he’d seen didn’t look anything like any animal he’d seen before, but there was no way it could have been a man. He tugged the keys out of the ignition and slipped them into his coat pocket. As he reached for the driver’s side door he felt Heather’s hand clamped tightly around his bicep.

“I think we should call the Mounties.”

“No,” James said with a shake of his head. “It’s fine, I’m going to go out and check.”

Hudson pulled his arm free and stepped out into the road. He slammed the door shut behind him, smiling unconvincingly to Heather through the frosted glass, and slowly made his way towards the carcass. It was a deer – or at least what was left of one. He knelt beside it and pressed his hands against it. It was still warm to the touch. There were no teeth marks, only long, straight gashes along its stomach and neck.

“Whatever that was, it's long gone,” James muttered. “Christ, it really went to town on this poor thing. It’s all torn up. There are claw marks here I’ve never seen before.”

Hudson tried once more to parse the images that had flickered through his brain in the moments before he’d slammed down the brakes. He was still struggling to make sense of it as he set the deer’s head down on the road and rose to his feet. The least he could do was move the carcass out of the road, he thought, as he took one last look down at the savaged animal.

“James,” Heather called out nervously from the truck.

“What’s wrong?”

There was a desperation in her voice this time. “Get back in the truck, James.”

Hudson nodded. “I’m coming, I’m just going to make sure this thing’s out of the road. It’s dangerous enough out here witho-”

Without warning, James found himself on his back with the taste of blood in his mouth. His ears were ringing and there was a dull pain in his chest. In the distance he could hear Heather screaming and managed to lift his head enough to make sure he hadn’t been shot. Standing over him was a hairy brute of a man with blood caked around his mouth. There was a crazed look in his eye that made Hudson’s blood run cold.

“Whoa, take it easy there bud,” James spluttered feebly as he tried to push himself onto his elbows. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A guttural growl left the man’s chest as Hudson tried to climb to his feet slowly and James froze. He met the feral man’s gaze but something told him not to hold it. Instead he lowered it, glancing towards the hairy, torn feet that looked as if they were frozen through. After a few seconds, James carefully tried to climb to his feet again, slower this time, taking care to step back away from the man and to seem as small and unthreatening as possible.

“Alright, I get it. The deer’s yours. Look, here, I’m moving away from it. You see? Take it. I’m going to just back away slowly and head back to my truck, you hear me? Nobody needs to get hurt here.”

The growling quieted as James retreated and he was sure that the truck was only a few metres behind him. He was almost counting the inches as he moved. He felt the hood of the truck hit him in the back and moved to turn around but as he did so made the mistake of making eye contact with the wildman one last time. James heard the roar and saw a glint of metal as the beast seemed to cut the distance between them in a millisecond. It was inches from him when a loud bang rang out.

In Heather's hands was an old shotgun that James kept in the truck in case of emergencies. It was so heavy that she could barely keep it aloft. The naked man had been flung by the impact of the shot into the snow and looked, as far as either of them could tell, to be dead. Hudson was planted to the spot in shock. It took him a few seconds to realise he hadn’t answered.

“Are you alright?” Heather called out. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I’m fine,” James mumbled. “Though I don’t think we can say the same for our friend here. That was one hell of a shot, MacNeil.”

It was clear from Heather’s face that she saw through his bravado. “I don't care what you say, this time I’m going to call the Mounties.”

James took the shotgun from MacNeil and trained it on the naked man’s bleeding husk. Heather scuttled towards the truck in search of a phone as Hudson drew closer to the man. The snow around him had been splattered with blood. Under other circumstances, the patterns in the blood-flecked snow would almost have been beautiful. James set that thought aside as he nudged the body with the shotgun. A gentle groan came from it. Hudson staggered backwards in shock.

“Wait,” James shouted towards the truck. “This crazy son of a bitch is still breathing. Get some blankets.”

Heather’s face twisted in revulsion. “What? You’re not seriously suggesting that we try and move h-”

“The blankets, Heather.”

MacNeil groaned and ran towards the back of the truck. Hudson shot her an approving look, and then tightened his grip on the shotgun. The man in the snow stirred ever so slightly, revealing the wound in his chest to the elements. Seconds ago it had been the size of a basketball. Amongst the mess of blood and hair, Hudson could have sworn the muscles were reaching out to one another. The naked man was healing.

@Morden Man

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Here's a wild idea: why use colored text at all?

Absolute Comics - Season Two: The Monster Within

Called for a Mulligan with the Night Shift so I could do this instead.

NEMESIS

C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L

NEMESIS

^{_{TOM TRESSER ♦ SECRET AGENT/CRIMINAL ♦ VARIOUS LOCATIONS ♦ US GOVERNMENT}}

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

^{"
"Transmit the message, to the receiver,
Hope for an answer some day
I got three passports, a couple of visas,
You don't even know my real name
High on a hillside, the trucks are loading,
Everything's ready to roll
I sleep in the daytime, I work in the nighttime,
I might not ever get home"
--Talking Heads"}

Tom Tresser didn't mean to become the world's best spy. It just happened. After joining the Navy right out of high school, Tresser was picked for special forces duty and after months of grueling training became a member of the Navy's DEVGRU team, aka SEAL Team Six. While a member of Six, Petty Officer Tresser took part in countless counter-terrorism missions at home and abroad, all of them classified.

Special forces work proved to be an easy transition into spy work for Tresser. He left the Navy and became a member of the CIA Special Activities Division. As a member of the Activity, Tresser conducted covert missions ranging from assassinations and honey traps, to psychological warfare and enhanced interrogation. While with the Activity, Tresser learned spycraft and mastered the art of disguise.

After six years with the Activity, Tresser was recruited by a man called Sarge Steel. Sarge represented the Council, a secret organization inside the US Government dedicated to recording and protecting the secret history of the world. The Council's main opponent was an organization known as LEVIATHAN, a former Soviet intelligence organ turned rogue criminal empire. The assignment for Tresser would be deep, deep cover. His entire history would be rewritten by Steel, turning the decorated SEAL and spy into a dishonorably discharged basketcase. He would be dangled above the criminal underworld as bait for LEVIATHAN, a man with a backstory and qualifications perfect for the organization.

Tresser went back to his home town of Baltimore and tried to find work as an armed enforcer while he waited for LEVIATHAN to make contact. He didn't have to wait long. Just three months after leaving the CIA an international arms dealer made contact with him. He needed a man of Tresser's skill to help him do business. With Sarge's approval, Tresser took the job. Almost one year into the assignment and lines have begun to blur. With no idea who he's working for and why, Tresser has begun to wonder where the lie ends and the truth begins.

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'm taking Nemesis and I guess grounding him a little more in reality and making him a bit more gritty. Inspired by stuff like the Mission Impossible series, Training Day, and The Americans I kind of want to tell a story about how fragile our identity is. There's a Vonnegut quote that kind of serves as a thesis for this story: “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”

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

Sarge Steel -- Tom's handler.

Werner "Vertigo" Zytle -- Tom's boss, a metahuman weapon's trafficker the ability to disrupt people's equilibrium at will.

Valentina de Fontaine -- SHIELD agent on Tresser's trail.

Brig. General Terrence "Yorkie" Mitchell -- Former SAS officer, now head of Task Force 66 aka "The Losers", an international anti-terrorism hunter-killer squad.

Cpt. Jamal Stuart -- Delta Force operator and now field leader of The Losers.

Lt. Brian Falsworth -- Special Boat Service member and second in command of the Losers.

Sgt. Georges Batroc -- Member of Commandement des forces spéciales and member of The Losers.

Sgt. Christoph Nord -- Originally a Kommando Spezialkräfte sniper, now does the same job for The Losers.

Dean Swarbrick & Johnny Frost -- Hoods who work for the Kansas City Mob.

Arthur Blackwood -- Outlaw biker and white supremacist. Vertigo client.

Anton Trojak -- The man above Vertigo, rumored to be part of LEVIATHAN high command.

S A M P L E P O S T:

MR. SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL

Hot Springs, Arkansas

Music

Tom Tresser took the gun out of his shoulder holster and passed it to the man in the fatigues. The big man flashed a smug smile before he led Tresser through the dark corridor. Somewhere he could hear Lynyrd Skynyrd. The music grew louder as they came out of the hallway and into the backroom of the Hot Springs Gun Club. Confederate flags draped every wall. There was a cardboard shooting target of the last president of the US, a neat little hole in the middle of the president's forehead. Three men in fatigues that matched the guards were sitting on worn out couches and cleaning rifles.

"Gun man," Supreme General John "Jeb" Stuart said as he stood from the couch. "That time of the year already?"

"Sure is," said Tresser. "What can I get for the Free White Republic of Hot Springs?"

"I got an idea," Stuart said with a laugh.

He pulled a handgun from the holster on his hip and put it against Tresser's temple. The three other men in the room began to heehaw at the sight of the big .45 pressed against the side of Tresser's head.

"You can tell me why the fuck you're talking to the government."

---

Bush Intercontinental Airport
Houston, Texas
Two Days Earlier

"Say cheese, Tresser."

Sarge Steel grinned as he passed the glossy paper to Tresser. It was a black and white surveillance photo of him. The man just at the edge of the frame was Fernando Diaz, cocaine kingpin of Miami and one of Vertigo's many clients. The two of them were on Diaz's private dock, Tresser dressed in black and Diaz in a speedo.

"Where'd you get this?"

"SHIELD," said Steel. "They've got a file on you now. Mozel tov, kid."

"Fuck."

Tresser looked around. He and Steel were the only two sitting at the gate. The flight to Chicago had just boarded. Tresser had flown in a few hours ago from Albuquerque and proceeded to the meeting point with Steel. Steel came in from... wherever the hell it was he came from, Tresser guessed. He sure as fuck had no idea if Steel had an office and where it was. He always dressed in cargo shorts, flip flops, and a Hawaiian shirt regardless of the year and always had a sucker in his mouth.

"It's a good thing. You're on their radar. Actually making a name for yourself."

"Yeah, and that also means I can get busted by the cops."

"Anybody busts you," Steel said with a smile. "You call that number I gave you and you waltz right out."

"Sure," Tresser said with a sigh. "A government agency that doesn't exist on paper has the power to just get me out of jail at the snap of its fingers."

"You want The Council to have flying fucking battleships, Tresser? Secret agency means it'a fucking secret, son. Says so in the title."

"Right, whatever. What do you need from me, Steel?"

"Update on Vertigo, his movements. What's going on with his superiors?"

"I'm hired help, so I don't know shit about the superiors," Tresser said with a shrug. "But as far as movements. He's meeting with prospective clients in Asia. There's some very conservative Japanese nationalists who'd like hardware. I'm on my way to Arkansas to meet some backwoods militia fucks, their quarterly reup on weapons."

"We'll look into." Steel stood and looked down at Tresser. "In the meantime, the SHIELD file helps get you exposure. You don't know about the people Vertigo work for, but you will. Just keep at it."

Steel winked and started down the terminal in his flip flop-clad feet. Tresser watched him go, shaking his head softly at the sight of Steel walking with a jovial pep in his step.

---

Hot Springs
Now

"We got eyes everywhere, boy," Stuart. "They saw you talking to that government man in Houston two days ago."

Tresser closed his eyes and sighed. Fucking Steel. Fucking Steel. Fucking Steel. One of the other militiamen let out a humorless chuckle.

"You and that faggot you work for are a bunch of informers. We don't take too kindly to informers."

Tresser opened his eyes again. He took note of the four men in the room and started. He grabbed Stuart by the wrist, shoving his gun up into the air as he popped off two shots. With one hand on Stuart's wrist, he used the palm of his free hand to drive it into one of the approaching guard's noses. When he fell, Tresser turned to Stewart and twisted his wrist until it snapped. Stuart let go of the gun and Tresser caught it before it could fall.

He spun and gunned down the two militamen assembling their rifles before the two men could get completely off the couch. Tresser looked down at the man he had hit with the palm of his hand. The twitching of his leg let him know the man was in the process of dying, his nose driven into his brainstem.

"Who else knows?" Tresser yelled at Stuart.

"Wha?" Stuart asked. His brain was fogged by the pain of the broken wrist and the quick turn of events. "Know what?"

"About me and that man?"

"...Just me...."

Tresser pulled the trigger of the gun twice. Stuart was dead before he hit the floor. Cursing, he dropped the gun by Stuart's body and started back to his car. With this being the gun club, the sounds of the shooting wouldn't attract much attention. But he had to go and be long gone by the time anyone else came back.

It was a long drive back to Houston and he'd need every minute to try to come up with an excuse Vertigo would believe.