Hillan

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

My Sample is done.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

@Hillan

I am sorely disappointed by the lack of Nick Cage in your CS.

@Bounce

For now

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

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

G H O S T R I D E R

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^{_{Johnathon "Johnny" Blaze ♦ Bounty Hunter Of Satan ♦ Earth / Hell ♦}}

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

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^{"Go to Hell."}

Johnny was the Ghost Rider for a decade, back in the start of the century. He was left for dead after a gang attack, his girlfriend at the time and his adoptive father were both with him and in the same situation. On his deathbed, Johnny asked whatever power there was in the world to do a sinner like him one favor. Take his soul, but save his family's life. Heaven didn't take the deal. He became bonded to the ArchDemon Zarathos, and became the spirit of vengeance. For ten years he rode. Fighting anything from no-good drug dealers to rogue angels from the Black Host. While Ghost Rider was putting the hurt on the Knight Of Hell Abaddon, Zarathos betrayed Johnny and broke their pact. Leaving Johnny dying on the ground, and when his heart stopped beating, his soul was sent to hell for all eternity.

Johnny's been dead for four years. Which in hell was the equivalent of 400 years. During this time, Johnny's been fighting demons every second to avoid endless torture. But with Zarathos and Abaddon's coup on Hell, they released Mephisto's most valued inmates. And the Lord Of Hell needs them back. He resurrected Johnny as a man, to hunt the demons down and maybe, he'd get a chance at redemption for his soul. And more importantly, revenge on Zarathos.

He's back from the grave again. No longer a host split between the man and the demon. He's just a rider. A Rider who dreads he's more ghost than man.

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:

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Johnny's prime desire is to kill Zarathos. But in doing so, he'll hunt down every evil son of a bitch he can get. Using the centuries of combat skills he's amassed, he's the most qualified human to fight demons there ever was. Using weaponry enhanced with demonic magic, hellfire loaded buckshot and the occasional shot of demon blood. He's determined to get his soul back from the clutches of hell. For now, his goal is to hunt down the seven sins before they bring ruin to the world.

He's the protector of the innocent and the tormentor of the wicked.

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

---

[+]

Allies:
Elaine Belloc: Nephilim, Daughter of Michael, Granddaughter of God. Former Reaper and the one who will inherent heaven, and all of creation one day.

Jim Corrigan, The Spectre - Ghost Rider's counterpart from heaven. Jim carried the Spirit Of Vengeance in him for many decades before he finally moved on. In his last days, he met Johnny and the two hosts of vengeance had a brotherly bond.

Enemies:
The Seven Deadly Sins; Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy and Pride. Seven of the most evil and twisted demons in all of Hell, released upon the earth with Zarathos's betrayal. Sure to bring destruction everywhere they go.

Zarathos - Demon and former Lackey of Mephisto, much to his chagrin. Former Co-Pilot of the Ghost Rider and the catalyst for the spirit of vengeance.

Mephisto - One of the many rulers of the underworld. Like, the fiery one. Not the criminal one. A trickster, a manipulator and overall one of the most evil creatures in all of creation.

Zadkiel And The Black Host - Every bad thing the angels ever did in mythology? Yeah, Zadkiel was the one who was tasked with all of it. Planning on overthrowing Heaven and becoming the new God.

Father Carmichael - A Protestant Priest who is highly critical of this Ghost Rider and his inherent demonic connection and is in direct contact with Heaven, spreading propaganda fed to him from the Angels. The guy is sadly technically innocent, so Johnny cannot do anything to him.

Machine Gun Nurses - a group of highly trained assassins and Demon Hunters posing as Nurses, armed with heavenly steel and bullets forged with angelic technique, making them one of the few human forces in the world that are a threat to Ghost Rider.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

[+]

The Fateful Night in Detroit, because like everything of this nature, it was destined to go down in that Michigan Metropol. The man in black riding his motorcycle, dug up from his grave, a grave that had been empty long before he came there with lantern and shovel. His name was Johnny Blaze, but people these days only knew him as The Rider. Sitting on top of his father's old 1993 Harley Davidson, the bike he infused with the power of Vengeance so long ago. The wheels that tarnished the streets of America with hellfire and spread terror to the things that go bump in the night.

That bike is perhaps the only thing left to remind Johnny of who he was before he was the rider. When he was just a man. A man with a life, adopted into a loving family, spent his life as a performer and fell in love with a girl he had loved his entire life up until that point when they were seventeen. He was a daredevil, a defier of gravity and scared of nothing. Not of flaming rings or rows of buses. He knew his grit and his bike would carry him through it.

Those seconds he was in the air, the roar of the engine as he let go of the gas, the purr of his motorcycle. He felt immortal. And being able to feel that way again, after all those years in the pit? He almost couldn't believe it. He'd be happy, euphoric, even. If that was something he could still feel.

The freeway was empty. It was after all two in the morning. It was off the main road, but Mr. Blaze was hunting his target. And the White SUV with the tinted windows was coming up. They were pulling up onto the overpass, overshadowing the now closed down dive bars of Detroit, bars Johnny had once frequented. Health violations, he would've guessed. He grabbed the chain of Zarthal, demon of the north gate, from it's place wrapped around his shoulder and torso. Un-coiling it from himself with the grace of a olympic gymnast.

Sure, he lacked the magic to do any of the fancyness the chain could do. He couldn't make it burn, and he couldn't change it's shape anymore.

But what could he do with the indestructible metal rope?

Hit the back axle of the SUV. That's what he could do. He threw the chain, coiling around the axle, Coiling the end in his hand around the center part of his handlebar. With his left hand, he pushed the brakes. Forcing his motorcycle to halt, pulling on the chain, and as he started tipping forward, he put his weight on the back of his bike, forcing it back down to the ground after the chain went taunt, the car gave weight, breaking the back left wheel off. Johnny pulled the chain back, coiling it around his right arm as he pulled up alongside the now skidding car, coming to a halt from it's maimed journey.

He removed his black helmet, dismounting the bike. He tossed the helmet on the ground as the front door opened. From his left hip with his left arm, he pulled a revolver loaded with iron bullets blessed by a virgin. The first guard poked his head out, machine gun in hand. Johnny fired his first shot, hitting the guard straight in the head. His head didn't bleed, the bullet lodged in his skull, paralyzing him.

Johnny Fanned the hammer on the revolver as the other two doors opened firing through the car, hitting the guy in the passenger seat in each shoulder, the door closest to him swung open, he took a step backwards to avoid the door, but the possessed man inside lunged at him, Johnny took another step backwards to avoid getting knocked down, shoving his revolver under the man's chin and firing the bullet, seeing it getting lodged inside of his head, it shut him down completely with a spark.

"Come out here, Pride!" He shouted. "Your goons are down! I've come for you!" The rider yelled, the entire car shifted as the second backdoor opened, and Pride, wearing his 6'8 Mexican Cartel Boss- Meat Suit, smirked.
"Well well well. If it isn't little Johnny. Come here to play with the big boys, huh? Follows us out of hell? Came back to get a taste of the good life, ay?"

"There will be no life left for you after tonight, Pride. And after you, I'm killing your siblings."

"My my my, little Johnny's all full of himself. You're really gonna take us all down, all by yourself? Driving your dad's bike, using an old Rider's gun? C'mon. You think I don't know that revolver's the one, what, Hellbilly, used? What a stupid-ass name. You can't kill demons with it. Your blessed iron doesn't do anything but put my boys under for a bit. They'll recover, and it'll do nothi-" He was cut off by Johnny firing four shots into him, hitting his stomach, his chest and his forehead, throwing his head back, and making him take three steps backwards, leaning against the highway wall.

"Nothing but tickle me." He said, the bullets popping out of him as the impact-wound in his forehead immediately closed. A sadistic smile curling on his lips as he walked towards Johnny who was largely unphased, if only angrier by the futility of his firearm. His face was covered in darkness as the singular horn grew out of his left side of the face, his skin turning dark red and claws sprouting on his hands and he grew a half a feet and about doubled in muscle mass.
"You aren't surprised by my true form, Rider?" He asked, mockingly. His voice having a much deeper boom to it as Johnny simply shook his head.

"You aren't the first demon-son-of-a-bitch I've killed. I've waded in the blood of your kind, Pride. And you won't be the last." He holstered his revolver and drew his shotgun. Pride could smell the ammunition and knew he couldn't well, be prideful this time. This wasn't virgin-blessed iron.

He dashed, slicing at Johnny, who had to move backwards, his sawed off shotgun coming up into firing-height as Pride tackled him, the shot going off, but missing by half an inch. The buckshot hit the pavement, exploding into small burning bits of gunpowder.

"Where the hell did you get hellfire from?!" He shouted and Johnny simply smirked. "It's not the only trick up my sleeve." Pride slashed at him, Johnny drew the knife from his back, hitting Pride in his palm, the blade cut him with a bright light, Pride let out a painful groan at the presence of a blade powerful enough to harm him. While Pain was recoiling from the counter-attack, Johnny holstered the shotgun again, saving his remaining shot.

"You insect! A shard of Michael's sword, in your possession?!" He yelled, his voice exploding the windows on the SUV he had been riding in before. Completely stunned to learn that Johnny posessed one of the pieces of the now broken blade, that the Archangel had used to defeat his younger brother.
"A going away present from Hell. Mephisto called it my 500-year gold watch." Johnny goaded, twirling the blade in his hand.
"Heh. You think fighting for 500 years in the pit makes you special, boy?" Pride was getting more composed, less angry about the weaponry Johnny brought. He dashed forward, faster than Johnny could react, the man swiped at him with the knife, but Pride avoided it, jumping in a semi-circle around him, slashing Johnny in the side, a grazing wound. He kicked off again, his knee hitting Johnny in the stomach, while Johnny got to cut him in the arm with the knife, a shallow cut, but still one that pissed the demon off.

He clawed Johnny in the face, he slashed the demon's leg. Getting some distance between the far faster, stronger and more durable foe, Johnny realized he was losing a lot of blood. His leather jacket was soaked in it, in fact. The claw wound wasn't so shallow, after all. He had to end this, quick, or he was doomed. Something else caught his attention, too. The sound of engines in the distance. Motorcycles, getting closer.

"Oh. Look. It's my cavalry." Pride grinned, and Johnny finally showed another emotion than anger and confidence, he was actually concerned. "Ah, there we go. A crack in that armor of your, Johnny Blaze." Pride got ready to attack again, Johnny twirled the shining silver blade in his hand as Pride shared him, twirling it upside down and throwing it at the demon, aiming for his heart.

Like a bolt of lightning, the dagger soared through the air, piercing the demon in the chest.

He cried out in anger and pain, cursing the rider in his ancient tongue. Johnny had a smile on his lips, sure of his victory. But the demon didn't give in. His hand gripped the handle of the blade, pulling the blade out, as his hand and the wound both started burning from being in the presence of the divine blade. He threw the bloodied blade to the ground, his demonic blood lighting the ground on fire as the metal clinked to the floor. Johnny reached for his gun, but as he did, Pride was already upon him, unleashing a flurry of blows tearing him to shreds.

Cutting him up, breaking his arm, scratching him across the face again, putting Johnny on the ground with his boot-clad foot onto his chest, breaking his ribs. Johnny cried out in pain, but nobody was there to help him. The five bikes stopped beside them, and Pain motioned for the other demonic spawn to stay back. This one was his.

After breaking the last of his ribs, Pain grabbed Johnny by the neck and dangled him off the railing, below was a 20 meter drop. He was gonna choke the life out of him, and then drop him for good measure.

"You know what they say, Blaze. Pride cometh before the fall."

As Pride applied more pressure to Johnny's throat, the man's hand grabbed the shotgun and jerked it to the demon's face.
Uttering two most profound words in all of human language. Something not even the destruction of Babel could take away from us.

"Fuck. You." Johnny Told Pride, who barely managed to parry with his arm as he pulled the trigger, unleashing the second shot of hellfire-loaded shotgun shell onto the demon, a loud explosion covered the two and Pride's grip on Johnny was loosened, he careened to the ground. A man beaten and broken, fire from his gun coming off him in ironic symbolism.

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

---

"My name is Johnny, and it might be a sin, but I'm the best there's ever been."

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel Comics / DC Comics Crossover RPG!

Frank's definitely got the advantage.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel Comics / DC Comics Crossover RPG!

I'm interested in writing Ghost Rider.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

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

S U P E R M A N

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^{_{Clark Joseph Kent ♦ Intern ♦ Metropolis ♦ Truth and justice.}}

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

---

^{"True strength comes from lifting up those that have fallen."}

Clark Kent, Kal-El Of Krypton, The Man Of Steel, Last Kryptonian.
Intern at the Daily Planet and last in his fantasy Football league. Just joking, Clark wasn't invited to play Fantasy Football.

Clark is a nerdy kid from Smallville, Kansas. By all accounts, a perfectly normal, albeit, maybe a little weird, young man. He went to High School, then studied at an online college, majoring in journalism and photography. Spent his teenage years chasing the 'Wall Of Weird' with his High School buddies. All the while yearning for, searching and eventually dreading a destiny. This is the tale of how mild mannered Clark Kent becomes The Man Of Tomorrow, and how he protects his city, and all of the world.

His first journey into heroism isn't stopping a meteor from crushing the planet, nor is it lifting an airplane out of the sky. But it'll be about him tackling the concept that there's a world outside of Smallville, and all of the dangers and excitement that brings.
Clark is 22 years old and has just moved to Metropolis to fulfill his destiny, and it starts with a red T-shirt, a blue jean jacket and a internship serving coffee to the reporters at the Daily Planet.

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:

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Why Truth be told, Superman is my favorite Superhero, and honestly, maybe one of my favorites in all of fiction. But he wasn't always. There was a time where I thought the boyscout routine, the do-gooder and godlike powers got stale after you realized every other hero can also fly and lift heavy stuff, but face far more challenge than Clark. But then I realized what Superman is about, at least the parts that resonate with me te. And there in lies my motivation to play him and show what made him my favorite after all.

It comes down to the heart of the character, the constant burden of carrying the world on his shoulders, sometimes quite literally. The knowledge that being the most powerful being on the planet, yet still just a regular guy. The powers to be a god, but lacking the hybris to do so. Superman, at his core, is someone who always considers others in every action he does. I want to chronicle the alien who proves we humans can be better, Superman is the best of us because he brings out the best in us. I want to tell his story, and how he got there.

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

---

TBD As the IC Progresses.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"Y'know, my dad always told me that I could achieve anything, as long as I put my heart into it and worked hard. The sky's the limit, he would say. I'm starting to think that maybe... He was wrong. I don't think the sky's where it stops. Not for any of us." The black haired man said, chewing lightly on a pencil, trying to think of a way to solve the riddle presented to him on the paper in his hand. He scratched the back of his head, pushing his glasses back up when he grabbed the pen from his mouth again.

"Crossword giving you problem, Smallville?" his brown-haired coworker mocked from the other side of the lunch room. Well, coworker, she was Lois Lane and she was technically his boss. Or at least higher up in the food chain than him. The way she had explained it to him on his first day here, two weeks ago was Lois was a dolphin, Perry White was a great blue whale, and Clark... Well, Clark was a guppy.

"Yeah, it's a real tough one today." Clark murmured, having just filled in 'Sky'.

"Try 'Ahab' That usually does it." Lois added, grabbing her lunch from the fridge, the salad box that said 'Olsen' on it. Clark shook his head. "I don't think Ahab was the 22nd President of the United States". Lois raised her eyebrow. "It's Grover, man."
"Cleaveland. Like the state. C-L-E-A-V-E-L-A-N-D" Lois spelled it for him and he couldn't help but to snicker a little about it. "That's not how you spe-" He was interrupted by Lois walking past him, back to her desk to eat her lunch. She was always working after all. "Good talk, miss Lane." Clark concluded, returning to his crossword.

A few minutes later, Jimmy Olsen, the up and coming hotshoot photographer for the paper walked into the room, looking for his lunch. It was gone. He let out a loud groan. Clark picked up sirens thanks to his extraordinary hearing, and if there was one thing to know about Mr.Kent, was that he tried to be where the sirens were.

He put down the crossword and turned to Jimmy. "Hey, Jimmy! I'm just about to do a coffee run for Mr.White, I'll grab you a sandwich from McLarens while I'm out. Meatball sub, right?" Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, extra marinara, thanks Clark!" Clark smiled, walking towards the exit, taking the stairs in favor of the elevator. The sirens moving past him now, two blocks east. Once he knew nobody could see him in the staircase, he ran towards the roof. Once he emerged onto the roof, the grabbed the backpack he had left hidden by the side of the entrance. He took off his glasses and dress shirt, revealing his red T-shirt, grabbing the blue denim jacket from the bag as well as the pair of aviator goggles he had there and the black ball cap.

Once geared up, he ran towards the edge of the building and stepped off, in one leap, he had cleared a block and a half, flying through the air.

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

---

Issue 01: You're not in Kansas Anymore Parts. 1 - 3

Hillan's Parade Of Characters

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

S U P E R M A N

---

^{_{Clark Joseph Kent ♦ Intern ♦ Metropolis ♦ Truth and justice.}}

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

---

^{"True strength comes from lifting up those that have fallen."}

Clark Kent, Kal-El Of Krypton, The Man Of Steel, Last Kryptonian.
Intern at the Daily Planet and last in his fantasy Football league. Just joking, Clark wasn't invited to play Fantasy Football.

Clark is a nerdy kid from Smallville, Kansas. By all accounts, a perfectly normal, albeit, maybe a little weird, young man. He went to High School, then studied at an online college, majoring in journalism and photography. Spent his teenage years chasing the 'Wall Of Weird' with his High School buddies. All the while yearning for, searching and eventually dreading a destiny. This is the tale of how mild mannered Clark Kent becomes The Man Of Tomorrow, and how he protects his city, and all of the world.

His first journey into heroism isn't stopping a meteor from crushing the planet, nor is it lifting an airplane out of the sky. But it'll be about him tackling the concept that there's a world outside of Smallville, and all of the dangers and excitement that brings.
Clark is 22 years old and has just moved to Metropolis to fulfill his destiny, and it starts with a red T-shirt, a blue jean jacket and a internship serving coffee to the reporters at the Daily Planet.

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:

---

Why Truth be told, Superman is my favorite Superhero, and honestly, maybe one of my favorites in all of fiction. But he wasn't always. There was a time where I thought the boyscout routine, the do-gooder and godlike powers got stale after you realized every other hero can also fly and lift heavy stuff, but face far more challenge than Clark. But then I realized what Superman is about, at least the parts that resonate with me te. And there in lies my motivation to play him and show what made him my favorite after all.

It comes down to the heart of the character, the constant burden of carrying the world on his shoulders, sometimes quite literally. The knowledge that being the most powerful being on the planet, yet still just a regular guy. The powers to be a god, but lacking the hybris to do so. Superman, at his core, is someone who always considers others in every action he does. I want to chronicle the alien who proves we humans can be better, Superman is the best of us because he brings out the best in us. I want to tell his story, and how he got there.

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

---

TBD As the IC Progresses.

S A M P L E P O S T:

---

"Y'know, my dad always told me that I could achieve anything, as long as I put my heart into it and worked hard. The sky's the limit, he would say. I'm starting to think that maybe... He was wrong. I don't think the sky's where it stops. Not for any of us." The black haired man said, chewing lightly on a pencil, trying to think of a way to solve the riddle presented to him on the paper in his hand. He scratched the back of his head, pushing his glasses back up when he grabbed the pen from his mouth again.

"Crossword giving you problem, Smallville?" his brown-haired coworker mocked from the other side of the lunch room. Well, coworker, she was Lois Lane and she was technically his boss. Or at least higher up in the food chain than him. The way she had explained it to him on his first day here, two weeks ago was Lois was a dolphin, Perry White was a great blue whale, and Clark... Well, Clark was a guppy.

"Yeah, it's a real tough one today." Clark murmured, having just filled in 'Sky'.

"Try 'Ahab' That usually does it." Lois added, grabbing her lunch from the fridge, the salad box that said 'Olsen' on it. Clark shook his head. "I don't think Ahab was the 22nd President of the United States". Lois raised her eyebrow. "It's Grover, man."
"Cleaveland. Like the state. C-L-E-A-V-E-L-A-N-D" Lois spelled it for him and he couldn't help but to snicker a little about it. "That's not how you spe-" He was interrupted by Lois walking past him, back to her desk to eat her lunch. She was always working after all. "Good talk, miss Lane." Clark concluded, returning to his crossword.

A few minutes later, Jimmy Olsen, the up and coming hotshoot photographer for the paper walked into the room, looking for his lunch. It was gone. He let out a loud groan. Clark picked up sirens thanks to his extraordinary hearing, and if there was one thing to know about Mr.Kent, was that he tried to be where the sirens were.

He put down the crossword and turned to Jimmy. "Hey, Jimmy! I'm just about to do a coffee run for Mr.White, I'll grab you a sandwich from McLarens while I'm out. Meatball sub, right?" Jimmy nodded. "Yeah, extra marinara, thanks Clark!" Clark smiled, walking towards the exit, taking the stairs in favor of the elevator, the sirens moving past him now. Once he knew nobody could see him in the staircase, he ran towards the roof, instead of towards the lobby. Once he emerged onto the roof, the grabbed the backpack he had left there. He took off his glasses and dress shirt, revealing his red under-shirt, grabbing the blue denim jacket from the bag as well as the pair of aviator goggles he had there and the black ball cap.

Once geared up, he ran towards the edge of the building and stepped off, in one leap, he had cleared a block and a half, flying through the air.

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

---

Issue 01: You're not in Kansas Anymore Parts. 1 - 3

Justice League: World in Crisis

I'll get working on a sheet, I'm really interested in seeing how the format helps the game.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

_{Location: New Orleans - 17 Months Ago}

Grifter #0: Kid

---

_{Interaction(s): None}

Previously: None

In a hospital in New Orleans, things start for the former spook known to the world as Cole Cash. Where the air is sterile and the bedsheets sting. He’s hooked up to a machine that buzzes and beeps every time his heartbeats. He lays in his bed, curled into a fist, protesting death and how every breath is either hard labor or hard time. He can’t get over how he’s always either too hot or too cold. Yet, to him, it doesn’t matter why he was there. Why they had to pick shrapnel out of his chest or why he had to keep his hand in a cast.

Because his hospital roommate wears star wars pajamas and is 9-year-olds. Cole doesn’t have to ask him what he’s got. The bald head with the skin and bones frame tells it all. The kid’s name is Oscar. He’s got his Nintendo Switch in his bed and a stack of comic books by the side of his bed. A pillow from home and a few stuffed animals. Cole spotted an action figure in his hand, too. The staff at the hospital are doing what they can to make Oscar comfortable, he’s going to be here for a while after all.

Cole smiled the first time his eyes met with Oscars, and it felt like the biggest lie the conman had ever put into the world. He’s holding his breath towards Oscar, worried that the kid is gonna call him on his bullshit any minute. He’s scared of a 57-pound kid hooked up to a machine because maybe Cole’s got him pegged all wrong.

Maybe he’s bionic or some shit.

So Cole looked away. Like he was facing a Los Lobos Gang member with a rap sheet longer than the lines of shady politicians who had sent Cole on black-ops missions in the sandbox. Cole doesn’t know how to handle him to such a degree that he almost considers pulling out his pack and asking Oscar if he’d like a smoke.

His fears subside when he realizes that Oscar is all show and tell. Oscar tells Cole about the things he’s got. The comic books, the toys. Video games. How he’s really all about something called ‘Animal Crossing’ and Cole asked him if he was scratching out animal names from his hit-list, and Oscar just laughed. Oscar told him about the shotgun shell he had kept from that time his dad took him to the shooting range. About the crow's feet, he found on a field trip when he was six, and how it really freaked out the weird girl he knew. Speaking off, his stuffed teddy bear was from that weird girl.

It took Cole a day and a half to figure out that ‘the weird girl’ was Oscar’s sister, Maya. And it took Oscar about an hour after his family had left to realize he missed her. His family stays well past visiting hours because for families like his, those rules don’t apply. Oscar tells him that the worst part about being sick is that you get all of the ice cream you could ever dream off.

Cole chuckles and says that doesn’t sound so bad.
Oscar tells him that the worst part about all of the ice cream you can eat, is realizing that there’s nothing else the staff can do for him. And those words coming from a nine-year-old boy hits Cole harder than a shotgun slug to the chest.

The kid never greets Cole with anything but a smile, there’s never real silence in the room and there’s no judgment from the kid towards the man who's got a laundry list of mistakes.

Cole does his best to distract Oscar with his own stories. While it’s hard to compress a 25-day siege of a Terrorist hideout, a firefight that led to the bust of 13 million dollars worth of heroin, or how he accidentally protected the president of Kaznia while being sent on a mission to kill said president.

He scrubbed the details, but his war stories kept the boy entertained. Cole explains battle plans and military strategy to him, he doesn’t have the fundamental skills to break it down for a child to understand, yet, Oscar seems to.

He explains that they called Cole ‘Grifter’ in the army and that when he was on overwatch, he’d have a spotter. That spotter was someone he’d call ‘Porkchop’. On the third day Cole was in the hospital, he and Oscar would steal extra pudding cups from the kitchen after dinner, where Oscar would watch out for Cole, planned like small military missions.

The games distracted him and it kept Cole from the question that’s been on his mind since the day he got there. Four nights into their stay, when Oscar can’t sleep. He asks Cole if he’s awake, and Cole wakes up. They talk. Mostly about the video games Oscar is playing, but in the end, they talk about how Oscar is doing, and Cole finally gathers the courage to ask him.

“Are you scared?” The man asks the nine-year-old boy, and without even hesitating, Oscar responds with a loud, solemn but forceful exclamation.
“Fuck yeah I am.” Cole realizes that if a curse word would help this boy get through this, then Cole wants to teach him every curse word there is, in every language he knows. He wants to teach him to curse so much that the devil will be sitting beside them taking notes.

“Please don’t tell my dad.” Oscar says, gripping his blanket so tightly his knuckles turn white, his face almost breaking into tears and Cole nods.

“Your secret’s safe with me, kid.”

Oscar falls asleep with the game still on.

Cole’s never seen someone like Oscar before. Someone who’s got so much patience, in spite of knowing they’re dying. And he tries his best to not remind him.

Cole walks around, feeling better. He’s mostly healed now. And with it comes the sorrow. Cole will soon be out of here, going back to taking his life for granted and smoking too much. Lying to people who will kill him in an instant if they found out they had been duped.

And there’s nothing Cole can do to save Oscar, and he doesn’t quite know why, but this nine-year-old kid has implanted himself into his mind forever. His plight becomes a burden that grows on Cole in the time to come, and it grows into a shield that protects Cole from the challenges ahead.

Perhaps that’s why, 17 months later, Cole’s kneeling in front of a tombstone that reads “Oscar Matthew Jefferson”. Because Cole’s realized he needs some of that strength that a 57 pound 9-year-old boy possessed.

He holds the red mask in his hand as a tear begins rolling down his cheek. He ties it behind his blond hair covering his face. He stands up, the green coat falling to his side as he looks at the gravestone.

“I will remember you, Kid.”

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN THE WORLD

T H E
G R I F T E R

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^{_{COLE ADAM CASH ♦ CON-MAN ♦ ON THE RUN ♦ TEAM SEVEN}}

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

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^{"A bullet is forever."}

You remember that New 52 run called 'The Grifter - Most Wanted"? No? Me neither.

This takes the bare bones of that concept and runs with it. Adapts it to my writing and I'll strive to tell some sort of military-on-the-run story with sci-fi elements and the ability to bring the entire world into chaos via alien invasion. Writing an action thriller that's about uncertainty and a guy who thinks he's playing everyone else for a fool. A cat and mouse game where nobody's sure who's the cat and who's the mouse.

Basically, a lot of shooting, spycraft and what it really means to be a psionic.

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:

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To be frank, I've been wanting to play Grifter for as long as I've known about the character, and never had a story or even the faintest idea of what to do with him. After rewatching Mission Impossible, Shooter (both the movie and the TV-show) and reading his New 52 run, I realize he's the perfect vehicle for me to tell my military based stories I'd normally try to push onto an OC or some Frankenstein version of some other street hero like Red Hood or Punisher.

Due to his psionic connection, he allows for the weird and whacky to undercut the grimdark, bullets and explosions.

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

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Max Cash:
Younger Brother, Government Agent and massive pain in Cole's ass. Max played hard with the rules while Cole played loose. A decorated war hero and veteran, Max is one of the most esteemed soldiers America's produced in the past half century.

Rick Flag:
Cole's commanding officer before he joined Team Seven. Flag taught Cole everything he knows about being a soldier.

TEAM SEVEN:
His brothers in arms once upon a time. They've fallen out of touch with each other, but if there was one thing the military teaches you, it's how to rely on your new family.

Jeanette Tarkov:
(ex) Girlfriend and Partner in crime.

Franklin Clay:
A Burnt spy he met along the way.

Daemonites:
Freaky psychic aliens who are infiltrating mankind.

S A M P L E P O S T:

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"When you realize that kind of person you are, you know your path in life, right?" He began, taking out the cigarette from his mouth, putting the glass of whiskey against his lips instead, drinking deeply. "For some, it's when they catch that 50 yard throw and wins the homecoming game with a touchdown. For others, it's when they have to save someone who's drowning. When they first pick up a guitar, or when they drive their dads 69 Mustang for the first time." His words were dry, hanging in the air of the empty bar, only him and the barkeep who wasn't really paying any attention to him as he was closing up. Wiping the counter and hanging chairs upside down on it afterwards.

"For me. I thought it happened when I held a gun for the first time. Colt 1911, 40 caliber. We were hunting, and I had tracked down the deer. It got out of the way of the bullet from my rifle, but I chased him down when I heard it scream. By dumb luck, it had stepped on a beer trap that was laid out there in the forest. I was 13 when me and my dad found it, and he handed me his pistol and told me to put it out of it's misery." He took another whiff of his cigarette, filling his lungs with the black smoke, exhaling, playing with the liquid at the bottom of his glass.

"If I'm being honest. I was scared as hell. Firing the rifle was exciting. But a handgun? Looking into the scared deer's eyes as a pressed the metal barrel against it's skull, and how my hand shook till my dad put his hand on my shoulder and told me the advice I'd live my life by."

"I knew that that was my calling. The way of the gun. A hunter. A warrior." He scoffed. "Yet, these days, it seems like I'm the prey." His eyes peered into the TV in the corner of the room, reflecting the light from the news, showing how a man with long blonde hair, just like his, wearing the exact same black T-shirt he had on, fought and killed two Police Officers four blocks away, an hour ago.

The bartender caught a glimpse of the Newsshow, finally paying attention to what the patron was saying. His eyes grew wide with concern.
"Get out of here before I call the cops." He promised, his hand reaching behind the bar, grabbing the handle of the wooden bat. Cole could see his eyes were full of deceit, as his hand rested on his hip.

He Knows! I need assistance! the bartenders true voice hissed in the other man's head. The smoker pulled his gun out, the same kind of gun he had talked about from when he was a kid. The .40 cal 1911. Leaping from his seat, Cole dodged under the swing of the bat, the bat colliding with the counter behind him, shattering the wooden counter, showing off the bartenders incredible strength. Cole hit him with the butt of his gun, stunning the bartender, Cole could now see the blue energy oozing off of the man. He aimed his pistol at the disoriented man and quoted the words his father had told him back in the forest that day.

"A bullet is forever."

BANG

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

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Issue 1:
1.00 - Seventeeen