DJAtomika

Long Beach, A City In Need

@Blade17 I see. You better check in with everyone else to see if they're still keen on continuing this.

Recollections: The Fourth Seal [Mystery/Urban-Fantasy/Horror RP]

╚══════════════╝

Araminta?

---

David held onto Abigail's hand and ran as fast as he could. A group of the others, Jaden included, had found a strange young girl and a portal that had lead to the outside world. It almost seemed to good to believe. And yet, as the young man fired bolts of air and sound at the monsters that nipped at their heels, David hauled Abigail through the tear in the fabric of reality back into their home. He recognised it almost instantly; no more wrongness, no strange sense of extra-dimensional vertigo. Just the cool, Araminta night air and the bright orange, early 90s street lights of some back road through the forest near the city.

He breathed a sigh of relief and let go of Abigail, catching his breath as he stood by the side of the road. Then he dove a hand into his satchel and pulled a foil packet, popped a tablet from its housing and then stuck it in his mouth to chew on it, before going back to Abigail. In his fingers was a business card and he handed it to her.

"Hey, sorry about all the force. Name's David, I work for the local papers. You ever need to uh, talk to somebody about this whole thing, call me. I promise it won't end up on Araminta Daily. No one would believe me anyway."

And as the group slowly dispersed, David added one more name to his mental store to research later.

Brianna Grier. Whatever this whole thing was, she'd pulled them through the portal that brought them back home. And he needed answers.

Araminta Daily
Two days later

---

"Hey, Fred."

"Yeah?"

"You got a place for me?"

"Oh yeah! Here."

David rounded Fred's desk at the Daily office. His editor was hunched over his computer, typing a revision into the latest front page story that David had written, when the latter had arrived in the office. The last two days had been strange for David. He had to explain how he'd suddenly gone from his apartment to the woods outside Araminta without getting into all the otherworldly stuff, then figure out how to find this Brianna Grier with the connections he had. Only way he knew how was to search through old news articles with his editor to find the answers he sought. And today was the fruits of their labour. Fred jabbed a finger at his computer monitor as David stood next to his seat. The article open on screen was from several months ago, about Daria Wallace, written by one of their colleagues. How she'd lost her husband in a car accident, then how she had continued to be the librarian of the Araminta Serenity Library. True to form, the article mentioned the hired help: one Brianna Grier. It even contained a picture of her, not taken by David but by the other photojournalist with the Daily. The face was the exact same one he'd seen two days ago in the woods, after the portal.

"See her?"

"Yeah?"

"She's hired this Brianna girl you're looking for. Helps her keep the shelves neat 'n tidy."

"I can see that, Fred. Thanks. I owe you another dinner now."

"Hey man, you still owe me for vanishing the other day. What even happened?"

"I'll tell you that over dinner. I gotta run, the library's still open and I need to catch Brianna before she goes home."

Ignoring his editor's protests, David grabbed his jacket, satchel and camera and left. A few minutes by scooter later and he was at the library in all its gothic glory. The library had been built in Araminta's early days and was a shining symbol of the architecture of the time; stone pillars flanking the entrance to a building that he would've pegged as a mausoleum if it didn't have the words "Serenity Library" emblazoned on the sign atop the door. As he stepped in, he looked around and found Daria reading a book at the front counter. David approached her and gave her a warm smile.

"Hello Daria."

The lady looked up at him, sighed and closed her book.

"Yes? What d'you need?"

David leaned on his elbow and chuckled.

"I'm looking for your assistant, Brianna Grier? I need to interview her regarding a case I'm reporting on for the papers."

Daria disinterestedly scanned what shelves she saw and gestured vaguely in one direction with her hand.

"She's there...somewhere. Probably."

David's smile lost a little of its warmth as she dismissed him with a wave of her hand and went back to her book. She looked very much worse for wear indeed. Months after she'd lost her husband and it was only hitting her now? A little strange, but not his concern. Instead he thanked her and made his way to the shelves at the back where she'd gestured, perusing the books on display and wondering if he'd have time to start a new read in between writing and figuring out this case. It took him a few minutes but he followed the sound of conversation in the library deeper past the shelves to a small table where two women were seated. He recognised both; Brianna herself and the Chinese woman Jaden had been hanging out with in that strange otherworld. He gave them both a wave as he approached their table.

"Hey ladies. Don't mind me buttin' in, but I remember both of you from eh...two days ago? Big crack, purple light, scary nightmare version of Araminta? Miss Grier, you saved my life and I owe you big time. But I'm just as curious about what the hell happened as everyone else was. Do you ladies mind if I, uh, sit in?"

Recollections: The Fourth Seal [Mystery/Urban-Fantasy/Horror RP]

╚══════════════╝

Araminta?

---

“Y’can’t just ask me to stop taking pictures, kid. I’m a journalist, that’s what I do. Araminta Daily? Almost all the pictures in there are by me.”

David shrugged as Abigail accosted him for taking a photo of her. She had been on the outline, at the edge of the shot he’d framed of the gaping abyss that used to be their town, but now she was accusing him of taking exclusively her without her consent? He raised his camera to her and scrolled to the picture he’d just taken, but before he could show her, she lit a cigarette and then bolted down the slope.

“H-hey kid! Wait! God damn it-”

David took off jogging after Abigail, almost tripping down the grassy slope as she moved to one of the warehouse walls to lean on and smoke. He came up to her, with his camera in his hands, and he deleted the photos he’d taken that contained her in the frame with the little LCD screen facing her.

“See? All gone. Now let’s get back to-”

”David! A little help over here!”

His head whipped around as he heard Archie cry for help, followed shortly by screams of terror from the rest of the group. As he charged back up the hill, he saw the retreating forms of darkness that dove back into the chasm, looking like tentacles that had grabbed onto three of their group. But there was no time to rest; shadow monsters appeared out of the darkness that came when the street lights flickered out for a brief moment and were charging towards the group en masse. And shortly after, the revelation that some of their group had paranormal abilities; one young lady transformed into an insect, another man could fire bursts of sound from his hands. All he had were his special eyes. But no matter. Things were escalating very fast and out of control and David couldn't stay behind. Not when everyone was in danger.

David turned and ran back down the slope to Abigail, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away from the melee. Then he made sure to raise his voice as he shouted up at the group that was still up the hill, running in the direction of Tristan and June.

"Archie! Anyone! C'mon let's get outta here!"

Recollections: The Fourth Seal [Mystery/Urban-Fantasy/Horror RP]

╚══════════════╝

Araminta?

---

David straightened his jacket as the others filed out of the warehouse to follow a strange-looking girl that had woken up in the midst, prodded by Jaden's toe. As they left the warehouse, David took the opportunity to frame a shot; the backs of the group facing him, contrasted by the sheer, empty wrong that was the warehouse walls and ceiling. His finger depressed the shutter and his camera clicked as it snapped a photo. Satisfied with his work, David let his camera fall to his chest as he followed the others out.

The sun set at a rapid pace in this weird world, confirming his suspicions that they weren't in Araminta any more. But some weird, otherworldly semblance of it. Even as he emerged into the cool night air, the sense of dread and wrongness that he'd felt in the warehouse only grew greater. They were in the industrial district, devoid of any crackheads, junkies or hobos pestering him for change. David took the opportunity to snap another photo of the place, using his flash to illuminate the sheer, almost impossible level of isolation that came from being the only ones in the district. As the group moved forward, David pulled his cellphone from his pocket but found that it had no reception or service, only serving to compound his suspicions. But it was the sight that awaited him atop the hill they climbed that well and truly told him everything he needed to know.

It was like the world was divided in twain; a yawning chasm dominated the city street ahead of them, except the chasm wasn't due to any earthquake. Rather, it seemed like someone had taken a wedge and shoved it into a rubber version of his home. Buildings, streets and structures curved down into an impossible space, twisted by the curvature of the valley within, ignoring all bounds of the realm of physics.

It made for a damn good photo.

David raised his camera to frame the dark, unnatural abyss within his lens and snapped another photo, before letting it fall to his chest as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Well... We're not in Araminta any more, that's for sure. But then where the heck are we?"

Recollections: The Fourth Seal [Mystery/Urban-Fantasy/Horror RP]

╚══════════════╝

David's apartment, Downtown Araminta

---

"Thirty nine...forty. Whoo boy, time to hit the showers."

David pulled the towel he'd been using as an exercise mat from the floor and wrapped it around his neck. A sheen of perspiration covered his toned, slightly flabby body, the evening sun shining in through his windows as the journalist grabbed his bottle of water and chugged a few good gulps from it. His new exercise regime was hard, geared towards older men whose bodies weren't as young and sprightly as they'd used to be, but he'd managed it. And today was only the end of the first week! He was definitely making progress but there was no doubt in his mind that he was going to ache all over tomorrow.

He took a hot shower and busied himself with his evening's preparations; he was supposed to meet his colleagues from the Araminta Daily at a pub nearby for a night of beer and good food. Only the best dinner plans were with colleagues, old friends of many years. And, as usual, he was packing his essentials into his satchel bag; never left home without his journal and his camera, like the good reporter he was. In case he needed to write down an idea for an article, or the evening's sunset was particularly beautiful, he had the tools of his trade at hand. The ethereal smoke that poured from his bag was a reminder how much memories were stored within his treasured camera, and as he grabbed the keys to his apartment from the bowl next to the door, he patted his bag with a smile on his face. Always a good time for photos.

As he left, he called one of his friends. Hopefully they'd gotten seats already; his editor was a notorious stickler for punctuality and everyone in the office knew it. After the second ring, he heard Fred pick up.

"Frederick here."

"Fred! It's Dave, I'm on my way over. You got a place already?"

"Of course! I'm the only one here but I'm sure the others are on their way. I hope you don't mind that I've already started drinking."

"Hey man, that's not cool. At least wait for everyone to get there before you start with a beer."

"Drinking water, David."

There was a moment in which David paused what he was doing. Then a wide, cheeky grin spread over his face as he laughed.

"God damn it, Freddy. That was a lame joke and you know it."

"Hey man, it's what men of our age are best at."

"Fred you're five years younger than me. You shut your trap."

Both men laughed as David exited the apartment block and began walking down the street. At least, that was what he was about to do when a loud crack split the silence of the evening. The sound reverberated through the downtown area and David could see glass windows wobbling in their frames as he whipped his head around to where he'd heard the crash come from. Without much clue, even with his...strange powers, David saw nothing amiss in the direction that he'd heard the noise from.

"Holy shit!"

"You heard that too, David?"

"Yeah. Holy shit what was that?"

"Don't know. You gonna check that out?"

He bit his lower lip. Work? Or a night out with friends? He gave it a moment, made a decision and then pressed his phone back to his face.

"Yeah. Tell the boys I'll be late. Or I might not even-"

And then he saw it. An unnatural pillar of purple light that shone from the source of the noise, engulfing anything in its path. It took David a moment but, as he turned to run from the advancing wall of light, it consumed him in his entirety.

"David? David?! David! Oh shit."

---

???

David started awake on a cold, concrete floor. Face down, with a sense of vertigo and dizziness filling his head, along with all the aches of being thrown bodily onto concrete. He slowly raised himself to a sitting position and rubbed his eyes in an effort to get himself back up to fully functional, even as he heard the voices of other people around him. With his vision clear, he looked around the room.

Surrounding him were several people in various states of panic; mostly young men and women that he didn't recognise, save for two. One, the unconscious form of Archie Anderson, a man with a tragic past that David had covered many years ago. The other? Jaden Dominguez. One of the victims of the Horde that had survived his encounter with the crazed serial killer. He'd carried out the interview himself; had Jaden in an interview room at the Araminta Daily offices while his colleagues talked to his friends. The story had made headlines, of course, but there was an inner strength to the young man that he admired.

David stood, dusted off his front, made sure all his things were where he'd had them, before pulling his camera out of his satchel to hang it around his neck. This warehouse... It felt wrong, being in here. David didn't like it, especially as he trained his supernatural sight across the walls and ceiling. It felt like a minute, almost imperceptible wrongness, like when a picture frame is ever so slightly off center, or a minor detail on a painting is out of place. It didn't sit well with him and it made him frown.

"Well kids, wherever we are, it's probably Araminta. But something feels real off about this place."

He turned to face the small handful of young men and women who were awake, Jaden among them.

"You guys saw it too? Loud crash, bright purple light?"

Recollections: The Fourth Seal [Mystery/Urban-Fantasy/Horror RP]

David Sawyer

╚══════════════╝

"Smile for the camera."

[ 44 | 5' 10" | Caucasian | He/Him | 192 lbs ]

[Inquisitive]

---

"It feels like I'm made of fifty percent sandpaper, fifty percent grit."

David Sawyer. Not exactly a tall, strapping man, David is relatively average sized; with an athletic build that has clearly seen the wrong end of age, a minor pot belly and muscles that have given way to flab in places. His normally dark brown hair is peppered with grey in places, especially round the sides of his head, and is kept short and neat as is appropriate for his job. Along with this, he maintains a neat, if light, beard, the hair also brown and gray with his age. His eyes are brown and his features are slightly wrinkled from age and experience, crows feet at the corners of his eyes and wrinkles over his forehead. His normally rather pale skin is almost permanently tanned from all his time spent under the hot, blazing sun, taking photos of wild animals, marathons and sports events. He has tan lines in the form of his watch on his right wrist and on his shoulders from the short-sleeved shirts he would wear to such events. A scar exists on David's face, a small one that crosses the bridge of his nose.

His Sigil lies on his back: an ornate, All-seeing Eye.

His normal clothing style is simple and rugged; David likes to wear either a brown leather jacket or a short sleeved, collared shirt, with a white tank top underneath. The man only has a few pairs of jeans, mostly blue, and as such all of them display a rugged wear across the knees and rims of the legs that are all part of the years and years of use. David normally wears a pair of leather loafers to work or out to relax, and a pair of brown hiking shoes if he's going out for a long walk in the park or going out of town. David also has several items that are considered part of his 'signature' look; a gun-metal grey diving watch, purchased as a thirtieth birthday gift, that always sits on his right wrist. A black DSLR that almost always hangs from his neck. A weathered brown leather biker jacket with a small icon of a film camera stitched onto the left breast.

---

"If you buy me a drink, we're going to be good friends."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ To live a simple life, open-minded and carefree, taking pictures and relaxing with a beer in his hand.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ "Oftentimes, some of the best stories are those told through pictures."

SECRETS ⫻ David once had a drug problem. Not a bad one, but in the days of his youth, he had to resort to cocaine abuse to keep himself awake during periods of time spent overseas as part of an attachment to a PMC operating in Africa. When he came home to Araminta, the urge remained and the abuse continued until someone at work noticed. He went to rehab for it and came out a better man, but part of that horrible experience still remains, ingrained in his psyche.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Straight.

FEARS ⫻ He fears his past of drug abuse getting out into common knowledge. So far the only person who knows is one of his colleagues at the Araminta Daily, but that's it.

REPUTATION ⫻ David is one of Araminta's prominent writers and the only photojournalist in town, courtesy of the Araminta Daily. The sight of him, his camera and his laptop anywhere is bound to attract the attention of the locals who know him.

QUIRKS ⫻ David has to have his camera with him at all times. It's a modern DSLR camera that hangs from a brown sling on his neck.

FLAWS ⫻ The fear of his secret being found out, and the resulting public ridicule and falling-out with the general populace. Even though he takes pride in the fact that he's been clean for years since, he's afraid of his sterling reputation being tarnished.

---

"I've seen some of the best and worst humanity has to offer. Captured and cataloged in my stories and in my camera."

David was born and raised in Araminta, going to school there, attending yearly festivals and growing up alongside a small, close group of friends that stuck with him all through grade school. High school split up their little clique but they almost always met after class was over for the day, drinking milkshakes and playing tag in Araminta's main park. He took an early interest in documenting the escapades of him and his friends, at first through the media of drawing, but when that failed him, his father suggested the next best thing: a camera. His dad, a photographer by hobby, had an old film camera in his closet that he let his son borrow when he was old enough. All through his teens, David took photos of his adventures, developing the pictures and even scribbling little blurbs about what he and his friends had done that day, like cycling up to the city limits and back, or watching a sunset in the park.

When he graduated, David took his scrapbook of photos and, for a time, sold his services as a freelance photographer. In such a small city, business was brisk; weddings, special occasions, anniversaries and festivals were part and parcel of his life for roughly two years. It was then that the Araminta Daily took notice and sent him a letter asking if he would like to be employed at the newspaper as one of their photographers. He readily agreed and began work for the paper, helping their journalists and reporters capture every little event that went on in their sleepy little town. In between reports and work, David took time out of his schedule to submit some of his better pictures to national competitions, calendars and photography magazines. Most of his work wasn't up to par, but he earned himself several honorable mentions and smaller spots in minor magazines.

Three years passed in a flash. By then, David had built himself a rep, both within Araminta and around the country, as a budding young photographer with promising work, an eye for detail and a heart for telling stories. He had gone from being merely a photographer to a full-blown photojournalist, having a small column to himself about his 'Photo of the Week', where he showcased his best photograph he'd taken that week and wrote a few paragraphs about how and where he'd taken it, among other things. David was a familiar face among the townsfolk, so it came as a surprise when he told his boss that he was going to leave for a few months. When prodded as to why, he told him that he had accepted a brief overseas contract; to help further his reputation and to provide him an opportunity, a humanitarian magazine based in New York City had offered to send him with a UN aid convoy in Mogadishu, attaching him there over the course of three months to both help out and to take photos of them. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, and later that year, David left his quiet home of Araminta.

It would turn out to be the lowest point of his life. In those three months, he would take photos of some of the worst human suffering he'd ever seen, in the worst conditions. Helpless to do anything except work and watch, David fell to drugs to help himself cope. It didn't help that they were in a rough part of the world, feeding his addiction until his contract was up and he returned to Araminta. But, buried somewhere in that haze of work, picture-taking and addiction, was an event that changed David's life. A rather rude Awakening, brought on by a one-off visit to a small rural village. They were there to bring water, food and medicine as per normal, but one of his colleagues dared him to pay a visit to the village's shaman and undergo a "cleansing" ritual. David wasn't the superstitious sort but he knew he had a problem, so he went along with it. The ritual, while benign, exposed the sensitive within David to the other side with a combination of hallucinogens, chanting in foreign words and an odd, hypnotic drum beat. It sent David into a state of calm so profound, it Awakened him to the other side, allowing to see a world once thought invisible to the naked eye.

At first, David didn't know how to deal with his newfound sense of the supernatural. It started as seeing shadow figures at the edges of his vision, shapes not conforming to his world's physical norms. But he took it as the effects of withdrawal from being close to the end of his tenure there. Once his time was up, he gratefully jumped on the first flight back to the US and returned to Araminta, a different man than the reporter that had existed before.

Those who knew David reported a change in the once cheery, hardworking man. He was haggard, tired and jumpy, but most attributed it to the stress of his work. The pictures he'd taken there were published soon after and cemented his reputation as a sterling photographer, but the damage was already done. David Sawyer was a changed man, one who prowled back alleys looking for his next fix, addling his mind to maintain his work ethic. However, two months after his return, a colleague stopped him. One of his best friends. He'd noticed the change in David and knew the symptoms of addiction. Worried for his friend, he offered David a chance at redemption: to keep his secret safe, all he had to do was to go to rehab and get himself clean. Then he wouldn't let the rumours of him being an addict spread and he'd keep his job at the newspaper.

Without much choice, David reluctantly submitted himself for rehabilitation, taking each and every day as it came, until he was thoroughly clean and recovering from his addiction. The process was long and he still worked weekends at the Daily, but six months later, David was a new man. Broken apart in Africa, but put back together again. Stronger than before, with a renewed sense of purpose. He resumed his work at the Araminta Daily, supplementing himself with regular runs at the park, exercise to get fit and eating just a little healthier.

However, David would not know of the events that would occur later on in his life, opening his eyes to more...unfamiliar territories.

The Horde. A dreadful serial killer. Personally, David didn't have any close encounters with the masked killer. But he reported on the aftermaths. Each and every victim. Taking photos of the scene, police cordons, reporters from other news agencies as the case developed into a national phenomenon. He even wrote a news piece for an online news site that circulated around the globe like wildfire. The mild-mannered photojournalist in David wanted nothing to do with the case as time went on, having seen enough tragedy to become numbed by it. But the curious, inquisitive side of him wanted to know more. With his connections in the Araminta Daily, along with the police department and emergency response, David began digging into the case by himself, determined to figure out who the Horde was and what they wanted by murdering so many innocent people.

Whatever the cost.

---

"Taking pictures is my life. It's what I do best. And I wouldn't give it up for the world."

[Keen Eye for Detail] ⫻ David's eye for detail as a photographer has been honed through many years of experience, taking thousands of pictures and studying how they made people feel.
[Healthy-ish] ⫻ As part of his rehabilitation, David took up regular exercise to keep himself trim and fit. The lingering long-term effects of his addiction still exist in his body, but a long run every day and an hour in the gym have, for the most part, returned him to tip-top shape.
[Photography] ⫻ The main part of David's repertoire, he is an expert photographer with an eye for prize-winning shots. His camera never leaves his side and neither do the skills he's learned from decades spent on the job.
[Writing] ⫻ The other part of his job, David had to hone his skills in creative writing as part and parcel of his job as a journalist.

---

"If you've been a photographer for as long as I have, you're bound to see some weird things. Comes with the career."

TYPE ⫻ Awakened

ABSTRACTION ⫻ All-Seeing Eyes; the ability to see beyond supernatural sight.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ David's special powers, awoken through a ritual conducted by an African shaman work on several levels, contained within his head and eyes:

• David's Abstraction enhances his visual senses, allowing him to see fine, minute details on objects up close, extend his visual range and acuity at long distances, as well as being able to catch extremely fast movements that wouldn't normally be visible with regular vision.
• His Abstraction also allows him to see past visual illusions that are magical in nature, for example things that hide in invisibility, or charms/spells cast upon objects to obscure their true nature.
• The powers of his Abstraction also extend to photographs. His eyes allow him to use pictures or photos as a living window into the moment the photo was taken, letting David see into the past of the object or even person in the photograph. Regular photos allow him to do this just fine, but photos taken specifically from his camera allow him to see their history in greater detail.

AURA SENSING ⫻ David can see and sense the auras of places, buildings and objects that hold wells of supernatural power, emotion and human history. These auras usually appear as wispy smoke wafting from the things he sees, with the colours of whatever emotions are the strongest within that thing.

LIMITS ⫻ David's abstraction has no on or off button unlike most Abstractions, so if there's something that he would rather not see he gets to see it all in its vivid detail. Fortunately, he's not limited by the Extra-Normal's innate resistance to each other.

WEAKNESSES ⫻ Of course since he cannot turn off the abstraction if he's caught seeing something he wouldn't want to see he has no choice but to observe it. The act of seeing into the past has an effect on David's mind that will affect him down the line. He'll eventually lose the ability to tell past memories from his own the more he sees. His abstraction will place him into these situations that he was never apart of and make him lose track of himself and who he is.

---

"I've been through some dark times in my life. But I'm not letting that shape who I am in the now."

Recollections: The Fourth Seal [Mystery/Urban-Fantasy/Horror RP]

David Sawyer

╚══════════════╝

"Smile for the camera."

[ 44 | 5' 10" | Caucasian | He/Him | 192 lbs ]

[Inquisitive]

---

"It feels like I'm made of fifty percent sandpaper, fifty percent grit."

David Sawyer. Not exactly a tall, strapping man, David is relatively average sized; with an athletic build that has clearly seen the wrong end of age, a minor pot belly and muscles that have given way to flab in places. His normally dark brown hair is peppered with grey in places, especially round the sides of his head, and is kept short and neat as is appropriate for his job. Along with this, he maintains a neat, if light, beard, the hair also brown and gray with his age. His eyes are brown and his features are slightly wrinkled from age and experience, crows feet at the corners of his eyes and wrinkles over his forehead. His normally rather pale skin is almost permanently tanned from all his time spent under the hot, blazing sun, taking photos of wild animals, marathons and sports events. He has tan lines in the form of his watch on his right wrist and on his shoulders from the short-sleeved shirts he would wear to such events. A scar exists on David's face, a small one that crosses the bridge of his nose.

His normal clothing style is simple and rugged; David likes to wear either a brown leather jacket or a short sleeved, collared shirt, with a white tank top underneath. The man only has a few pairs of jeans, mostly blue, and as such all of them display a rugged wear across the knees and rims of the legs that are all part of the years and years of use. David normally wears a pair of leather loafers to work or out to relax, and a pair of brown hiking shoes if he's going out for a long walk in the park or going out of town. David also has several items that are considered part of his 'signature' look; a gun-metal grey diving watch, purchased as a thirtieth birthday gift, that always sits on his right wrist. A black DSLR that almost always hangs from his neck. A weathered brown leather biker jacket with a small icon of a film camera stitched onto the left breast.

---

"If you buy me a drink, we're going to be good friends."

MAIN GOAL ⫻ To live a simple life, open-minded and carefree, taking pictures and relaxing with a beer in his hand.

PHILOSOPHY ⫻ "Oftentimes, some of the best stories are those told through pictures."

SECRETS ⫻ David once had a drug problem. Not a bad one, but in the days of his youth, he had to resort to cocaine abuse to keep himself awake during periods of time spent overseas as part of an attachment to a PMC operating in Africa. When he came home to Araminta, the urge remained and the abuse continued until someone at work noticed. He went to rehab for it and came out a better man, but part of that horrible experience still remains, ingrained in his psyche.

SEXUALITY ⫻ Straight.

FEARS ⫻ He fears his past of drug abuse getting out into common knowledge. So far the only person who knows is one of his colleagues at the Araminta Daily, but that's it.

REPUTATION ⫻ David is one of Araminta's prominent writers and the only photojournalist in town, courtesy of the Araminta Daily. The sight of him, his camera and his laptop anywhere is bound to attract the attention of the locals who know him.

QUIRKS ⫻ David has to have his camera with him at all times. It's a modern DSLR camera that hangs from a brown sling on his neck.

FLAWS ⫻ The fear of his secret being found out, and the resulting public ridicule and falling-out with the general populace. Even though he takes pride in the fact that he's been clean for years since, he's afraid of his sterling reputation being tarnished.

---

"I've seen some of the best and worst humanity has to offer. Captured and cataloged in my stories and in my camera."

David was born and raised in Araminta, going to school there, attending yearly festivals and growing up alongside a small, close group of friends that stuck with him all through grade school. High school split up their little clique but they almost always met after class was over for the day, drinking milkshakes and playing tag in Araminta's main park. He took an early interest in documenting the escapades of him and his friends, at first through the media of drawing, but when that failed him, his father suggested the next best thing: a camera. His dad, a photographer by hobby, had an old film camera in his closet that he let his son borrow when he was old enough. All through his teens, David took photos of his adventures, developing the pictures and even scribbling little blurbs about what he and his friends had done that day, like cycling up to the city limits and back, or watching a sunset in the park.

When he graduated, David took his scrapbook of photos and, for a time, sold his services as a freelance photographer. In such a small city, business was brisk; weddings, special occasions, anniversaries and festivals were part and parcel of his life for roughly two years. It was then that the Araminta Daily took notice and sent him a letter asking if he would like to be employed at the newspaper as one of their photographers. He readily agreed and began work for the paper, helping their journalists and reporters capture every little event that went on in their sleepy little town. In between reports and work, David took time out of his schedule to submit some of his better pictures to national competitions, calendars and photography magazines. Most of his work wasn't up to par, but he earned himself several honorable mentions and smaller spots in minor magazines.

Three years passed in a flash. By then, David had built himself a rep, both within Araminta and around the country, as a budding young photographer with promising work, an eye for detail and a heart for telling stories. He had gone from being merely a photographer to a full-blown photojournalist, having a small column to himself about his 'Photo of the Week', where he showcased his best photograph he'd taken that week and wrote a few paragraphs about how and where he'd taken it, among other things. David was a familiar face among the townsfolk, so it came as a surprise when he told his boss that he was going to leave for a few months. When prodded as to why, he told him that he had accepted a brief overseas contract; to help further his reputation and to provide him an opportunity, a humanitarian magazine based in New York City had offered to send him with a UN aid convoy in Mogadishu, attaching him there over the course of three months to both help out and to take photos of them. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, and later that year, David left his quiet home of Araminta.

It would turn out to be the lowest point of his life. In those three months, he would take photos of some of the worst human suffering he'd ever seen, in the worst conditions. Helpless to do anything except work and watch, David fell to drugs to help himself cope. It didn't help that they were in a rough part of the world, feeding his addiction until his contract was up and he returned to Araminta. But, buried somewhere in that haze of work, picture-taking and addiction, was an event that changed David's life. A rather rude Awakening, brought on by a one-off visit to a small rural village. They were there to bring water, food and medicine as per normal, but one of his colleagues dared him to pay a visit to the village's shaman and undergo a "cleansing" ritual. David wasn't the superstitious sort but he knew he had a problem, so he went along with it. The ritual, while benign, exposed the sensitive within David to the other side with a combination of hallucinogens, chanting in foreign words and an odd, hypnotic drum beat. It sent David into a state of calm so profound, it Awakened him to the other side, allowing to see a world once thought invisible to the naked eye.

At first, David didn't know how to deal with his newfound sense of the supernatural. It started as seeing shadow figures at the edges of his vision, shapes not conforming to his world's physical norms. But he took it as the effects of withdrawal from being close to the end of his tenure there. Once his time was up, he gratefully jumped on the first flight back to the US and returned to Araminta, a different man than the reporter that had existed before.

Those who knew David reported a change in the once cheery, hardworking man. He was haggard, tired and jumpy, but most attributed it to the stress of his work. The pictures he'd taken there were published soon after and cemented his reputation as a sterling photographer, but the damage was already done. David Sawyer was a changed man, one who prowled back alleys looking for his next fix, addling his mind to maintain his work ethic. However, two months after his return, a colleague stopped him. One of his best friends. He'd noticed the change in David and knew the symptoms of addiction. Worried for his friend, he offered David a chance at redemption: to keep his secret safe, all he had to do was to go to rehab and get himself clean. Then he wouldn't let the rumours of him being an addict spread and he'd keep his job at the newspaper.

Without much choice, David reluctantly submitted himself for rehabilitation, taking each and every day as it came, until he was thoroughly clean and recovering from his addiction. The process was long and he still worked weekends at the Daily, but six months later, David was a new man. Broken apart in Africa, but put back together again. Stronger than before, with a renewed sense of purpose. He resumed his work at the Araminta Daily, supplementing himself with regular runs at the park, exercise to get fit and eating just a little healthier.

However, David would not know of the events that would occur later on in his life, opening his eyes to more...unfamiliar territories.

The Horde. A dreadful serial killer. Personally, David didn't have any close encounters with the masked killer. But he reported on the aftermaths. Each and every victim. Taking photos of the scene, police cordons, reporters from other news agencies as the case developed into a national phenomenon. He even wrote a news piece for an online news site that circulated around the globe like wildfire. The mild-mannered photojournalist in David wanted nothing to do with the case as time went on, having seen enough tragedy to become numbed by it. But the curious, inquisitive side of him wanted to know more. With his connections in the Araminta Daily, along with the police department and emergency response, David began digging into the case by himself, determined to figure out who the Horde was and what they wanted by murdering so many innocent people.

Whatever the cost.

---

"Taking pictures is my life. It's what I do best. And I wouldn't give it up for the world."

[Keen Eye for Detail] ⫻ David's eye for detail as a photographer has been honed through many years of experience, taking thousands of pictures and studying how they made people feel.
[Healthy-ish] ⫻ As part of his rehabilitation, David took up regular exercise to keep himself trim and fit. The lingering long-term effects of his addiction still exist in his body, but a long run every day and an hour in the gym have, for the most part, returned him to tip-top shape.
[Photography] ⫻ The main part of David's repertoire, he is an expert photographer with an eye for prize-winning shots. His camera never leaves his side and neither do the skills he's learned from decades spent on the job.
[Writing] ⫻ The other part of his job, David had to hone his skills in creative writing as part and parcel of his job as a journalist.

---

"If you've been a photographer for as long as I have, you're bound to see some weird things. Comes with the career."

TYPE ⫻ Awakened

ABSTRACTION ⫻ All-Seeing Eyes; the ability to see beyond supernatural sight.

ABSTRACTION DESCRIPTION ⫻ David's special powers, awoken through a ritual conducted by an African shaman work on several levels, contained within his head and eyes:

• David's Abstraction enhances his visual senses, allowing him to see fine, minute details on objects up close, extend his visual range and acuity at long distances, as well as being able to catch extremely fast movements that wouldn't normally be visible with regular vision.
• His Abstraction also allows him to see past visual illusions that are magical in nature, for example things that hide in invisibility, or charms/spells cast upon objects to obscure their true nature.
• The powers of his Abstraction also extend to photographs. His eyes allow him to use pictures or photos as a living window into the moment the photo was taken, letting David see into the past of the object or even person in the photograph. Regular photos allow him to do this just fine, but photos taken specifically from his camera allow him to see their history in greater detail.

AURA SENSING ⫻ David can see and sense the auras of places, buildings and objects that hold wells of supernatural power, emotion and human history. These auras usually appear as wispy smoke wafting from the things he sees, with the colours of whatever emotions are the strongest within that thing.

LIMITS ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)

WEAKNESSES ⫻ (DO NOT FILL THIS OUT, I WILL PROVIDE IT FOR YOU)

---

"I've been through some dark times in my life. But I'm not letting that shape who I am in the now."

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

23/05/2047
Alberquerque, New Mexico

Alex sighed as Arbiter produced a body bag from the trunk of the super car that rolled up to the debris pile. Without another word, he began the process of packing agent Reynolds' body into the bag and zipped it up tight. Once that was done, he hefted her body in his arms again and sighed. Once a person, now reduced to just another object. It was a feeling that was familiar and painful to him; images of his parents' deaths all those years ago flashed briefly through his mind as he stood.

"Hey, Tower."

Shirley tapped him on the shoulder, concern written on her features.

"Are you going with him?"

He shrugged.

"Might as well, yeah. There's nothing left for us here."

"Then I'm not going with you."

"Shi- wha-"

His sister grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in close.

"Listen, Alex. If we travel together, we might be stronger but we won't get jack shit done otherwise. Look what happened today. You follow Arbiter and help him with whatever, I'll go back to Cedar Fort and see if I can't use our fame to get me some pull with their police department, maybe get access to other things Addison had on Hex."

"No, I- What are you thinking, Beacon? Denver and Cedar Fort are very far apart. I won't be able to help you if you get in trouble."

"I'll be fine. We're both armoured, remember?"

"Yeah but you're not strong like me."

"I'm going back to Cedar Fort by myself and that's final. We'll uncover more info if we split up. I'll meet you wherever afterwards after, say, a week?"

"...fine. But you keep me in the loop at all times. Make sure you call me if you need help."

Shirley nodded as she turned to head back to their car, while Alex sighed, shrugged and addressed Arbiter.

"Arbiter, wait."

Alex turned to face the American. Their plan was in tatters, their leaders (as far as everything was concerned) was dead and most of their team was gone. The only thing they could do was pick up the scraps. Arbiter was right. They had to be a lot more careful. If a ballistic missile was aimed at them, who knew what other hazards laid ahead? But it just felt like a lot of effort to go to Denver to track down possible leads? Rumours? Whatever worked, he guessed. Whoever wanted them dead had clearly meant it and they weren't safer if they all clustered in one place. Holding the body bag in his arms, he approached Arbiter.

"I'm going with you. My sister's going back to Cedar Fort to look into Addison's files, see if she had anything that she wasn't sharing with us. If you need protection, I'm your best bet. Beacon can handle herself."

---

I'm here again to say yes, I'd like to participate in this reboot and yes, I'm bringing back my original character from the original rp.

R E D U X .// 2047 //.

23/05/2047
Alberquerque, New Mexico

When Alex and Shirley emerged from the ruins, it was to a shadow of their makeshift team's former image. Out of all the old capes and names that had shown up, only ET and Stardust were left standing after the missile hit. The duo were clearing rocks and slabs of concrete from what used to be the front door when the Tower's massive form burst through the rubble, one shoulder charge away from salvation. Behind him was his sister, illuminating their path up until they hit the surface. In Alex's arms was the corpse of agent Addison Reynolds. All attempts to resuscitate her had failed, while they'd been trapped in their underground prison.

Alex strode forward and gently placed Addison's body on the ground, silent and solemn, arms at her sides as if she were asleep. But Alex knew; the burns that covered agent Reynolds' body were too extensive, internal and external. There was no healing from this. No surgery. No magic. Not even nanotech. They were out in the middle of a desert, following a dead man's trail of breadcrumbs, trying to make something out of nothing. And it had cost the lives of several supers and one unlucky agent who'd managed to get into the wrong mess at the wrong time. Alex knelt in front of Addison for a while, silent and sombre, before he spoke.

"Nothing I could do. I tried my best."

Shirley placed a hand on his shoulder as she stood next to him, squeezing him warmly.

"You did. You protected us both. But she's not augmented like we are."

Alex sighed and shook his head, gesturing vaguely to the corpse ahead of him.

"And this is what happened. What are we even doing out here? Most of our team is dead or buried, whatever, and who's left? Just the four- wait, five of us."

He stood, dusting off what was left of his clothes as he surveyed the scene. The ruins of the bunker were still on fire in places, concrete, rebar and metal plating littering the area. Other than the flicker of the myriad number of fires in the area and the subtle shifting of rubble due to gravity or otherwise, it was quiet. Alex shrugged and looked to the rest of the team.

"...what now?"