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Master Bruce male Member

Winged Freak

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Very well, where do I begin?

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.

My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.

My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds - pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles.

There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking. I highly suggest you try it.

Most Recent Posts

In Justice League: World In Crisis (GM-led co-op superhero game) Interest Check → 6 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
You have my sword - er, batarang.

Yes. That.
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Master Bruce
On the same note- while I don't think what I have planned steps on any toes, perhaps a concrete rule as to how much mayhem any individual can create could maybe inspire people to 'go big', or get more involved in large events already established?


Outside of dropping a nuke on an entire city or something, sky's pretty much the limit. All I ask is that you know which characters are gonna be affected and give them a head's up if you intend to do major damage.
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Retired, I believe of all of the suggestions so far, you brought forth the best solution. I absolutely agree that the idea of events being spread out rather than kept solely to the middle and end of seasons could be a very fun experiment in driving up the game's interactivity. I've already discussed options with @Hillan regarding how we want to implement this as a system going forward, and he's on the same page. So, with that in mind, everyone should be ready to see an announcement in the next few days.

Also, I've decided on a new rule. In order to ease the more militant idea of strict posting deadlines, even though the rule will remain to post at least once every two weeks, I've decided that I'm going to replace the Weekly Post Check with The Bi-Weekly Post Check instead.

In conjunction, I will be utilizing the "expiration" method of roster duty to give players more of a chance to gather themselves in what are undoubtedly very troubled times in all of our outside lives. As such, the player characters in red on the roster will now indicate who is halfway to roster removal rather than who is past the point of character ownership. After a month in red, a character is removed. But in that month, players have the chance to resume at their convenience.

I hope this makes sense, and if there are any questions, feel free to ask. But I think this can help to both address the fact that this is a slower game getting off the ground and that circumstances are a bit different for everybody with COVID-19 heightening problems all around.
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Anyway, with Opposite Day festivities coming to an end...

In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
THE MOST DANGEROUS MAN IN THE WORLD
T H E
G R I F T E R

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:

"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:
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:
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:
"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:
Issue 1:
1.00 - Seventeeen


Hmm...

Nah. Nah, you don't pass.

In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
ATTENTION!


After some extensive discussions over the Discord sever between active and former players, aswell as other interested parties, I've made the decision to review any and all pitches for the future functionality of the RPG. Some people want one thing (IE: more interaction and cohesion, player-driven events), other people want another (IE: solo-driven content, minimal oversight), and even some ideas in between, so I'm taking this opportunity to start an open dialogue within the OOC to bolster the player community and lay a foundation down for how the game should operate based on everyone's feedback.

At our current trajectory, a month into the game's launch, progress has been admittedly stilled from both a narrative standpoint and sheer quantity in the level of posts. There are virtually no incentives for player interaction and weeks have gone by without some characters even being posted for, leading to several roster removals and drops. Interest has been expressed in continuing the game as it is on a base level, however, without a reboot or retooling of the core concept. So there needs to be a change of some kind, but what exactly that is should be determined through an examination of what's working and what isn't.

I'm opening the floor now.

In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
8/8 - The Weekly Post Check

@Retired - Zatanna - 2 Days Left
@WXer - Animal Man - 4 Days Left
@Cybermaxx - Teen Titans - 7 Days Left
@Bounce - Kai-ro - 7 Days Left
@webboysurf - The Outlaws - 7 Days Left

Safe For This Week:

DocTachyon - S.H.A.D.E.
Reason: Said to return 8/4. Will begin counting days next week if no posts are made.

Tackytaff - Birds Of Prey
Reason: Personal loss.

Thank you and happy posting.


In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Thunder echoed in the distance as the dark of night swept over Gotham City like a violent hand cascading into the inhabitants' chests. It was almost loud enough to drown out the sirens in the distance, the crying of infant children in the background, the verbal altercations of motorists in the foreground, and every other potential assault on the senses. And yet as the rush of wind picked up and brought with it a sudden current and the weather seemed to weigh like a heavy ton of bricks hovering above the streets far below, a shadowy figure touched down onto a rooftop that seemed well removed from anyone's line of sight. For a moment, he remained standing, like a sprawled inkblot against a page that only wanted to soak into the fibers to become a permanent fixture. But he quickly found himself a reason to move. Each step forward was deliberate, slowly bringing the oddly shaped individual forward. Like a child experiencing his first steps. There was a hesitation evident, but a curiosity that seemed to prevail above all else. The figure stopped at the rooftop's edge and took in the view infront of him. The lights of the city's skyline seemed so distant from up here. From his position, it was as if he were inhabiting a sinister outer-world that were divorced from it. A realm of shadows, where the light couldn't touch. It felt cold and isolating, yet so vividly familiar. Like a horrible memory or a faded dream.

Then the rain began to sprinkle from the heavens. The figure reached out with a hand and allowed the droplets to smack against the black leather covering his palms. He allowed himself to forget, one last time, and simply experience it. The rain was inviting, even as it poured down harder with every passing moment. It seemed to beckon him forward, even though he remained firmly planted where he was. Telling him that this was the path he was meant to choose, guiding him towards a destination he hadn't even chosen. His exposed skin, what little of it was there, grew hotter with the humidity. All he had to do was close his eyes, breathe deep, and focus on what he'd been taught. More than half a world away, a voice rang through the back of his mind. Shihan Matsuda, an often cruel and unwavering master of the eight disciplines, had been the one to expand his knowledge of how to control his body. It took less than seventeen seconds for his core temperature to adapt.

This can't be how it ends.

The thought was less of a mortified rejection of the admittedly unusual tactics that he'd spent so many of the previous weeks developing and more of a defiant, angered bellow that acted as a call-to-arms to bring himself out of his childlike wonderment. The moment that his mind snapped into the present, his stature changed. He felt himself tense up, his palm clutching against the wet rooftop as he leaned against the edge. Hyper-focused, with a laser-like scan of the miles of concrete and suffering ahead of him. The truth of the matter is, he didn't have the slightest idea of what he was doing. He'd convinced himself otherwise not too recently, and that had ended in unmitigated disaster. A miscalculation had cost him weeks that had compromised an advantage that he had mistaken for being his. So he resolved himself to give into instinct instead of planning. Patience and fortitude would give him the weapons that he needed to enter battle in place of reliance and expectation. After all, this was war. And wars weren't won with time on the enemy soldier's side. They were won with a turning of the tide. Everything leading into that was designed to be fleeting and irrelevant.

Still, failure wasn't an option. He'd spent too many years and made too many mistakes for these endeavors to continually be halted by trial-and-error. He wasn't going to get anywhere by continuing to linger on the misfires, the moments where his overconfidence nearly got him killed before he could even begin. Otherwise, this would all amount to little else than insanity manifesting itself as a desperate last-ditch effort to justify fifteen years of globetrotting and honing everything he thought he knew into something definite. And any misgivings that he had about tonight aside, the one possibility that he couldn't begin to face was that it was insane. He'd sooner die than tell himself that. What he could tell himself with certainty was that one way or another, tomorrow morning would answer the question of whether or not any of it was ever worth it. Either he'd be in the headlines as an obituary or he'd have accomplished something beyond his wildest imagination. Either way, Alfred would likely be there to say 'Per the usual, I was right all along.'

No more questioning, he told himself. This was the time to focus on the task at hand. To look at the forest, ignore the trees, and hope that he didn't trip on his way in. Bringing up the back of his wrist, he touched a hidden screen running vertically down his forearm. The glow of the device illuminated the dark for a moment, giving him text alerts that had been automatically rerouted to his GPS from the Gotham City Police Department's radio dispatch, translating the feed through a text-to-speech writing algorithm that yielded higher accuracy than the most advanced search engine. Waiting for some sign of where to go and what to do first, he carefully scrolled through every minor alert that the GCPD were expected to respond to and often didn't. An electrical outage in a neighborhood south from his position. Some kids strolling late at night on the streets somewhere on Miagani Island. An amber alert that had already been solved by the time it reached the channels. As his brow furrowed and he started to grow frustrated, he saw a code flash across his screen that commanded his attention.

Code 211S. Silent alarm triggered in a robbery. He glanced out at Gotham upon memorizing the coordinates. Immediately, he surmised that the patrol car wouldn't make it in time. The neighborhood had been assigned to two men under the employ of Rupert Thorne, and Thorne had been busy as of late having all uniforms on his payroll ignore the areas between Robinson Park and 77th Avenue. A fifteen block radius that was going to remain unmonitored just because one of Gotham's most prominent fixers had it reserved for some unsavory activity that he'd yet to discern. But it meant that no matter what happens, even if active gunfire sprayed the into the walls of every building in the area, no cop would go near it if they valued their badge. Some even had to fear for the safety of their families.

But not him. Clenching his fist, he felt a surge of determination guide his movements as he pushed the cloak wrapped around his body far enough away to give him the space to move. The raindrops were now sliding in thick trails around his boots, and the concrete below the soles was getting slippery. But he ignored it all and broke out into a sprint across the roof, stopping himself only when he reached the other side. Turning to take one final look, he paced himself for a moment's preparation. Then ran forward even faster, reaching into the back of the belt around his waist for a device that would guide him over the next few blocks. As the edge of the rooftop came closer into view, he felt his heart pound against his chest and leaped over it, into the open air.

The device in hand, he reached out and fired it infront of the space ahead. A thick cable shot out into the night's sky and a multi-pronged titanium hook wrapped around a nearby railing. The line went taut and he went from free-fall into an ascent above the dark alleyways below him. Trying not to allow himself to be overwhelmed by the moment, there was nevertheless a feeling that had felt foreign beginning to manifest itself at his very core. It was wild, untamed and equally unnatural to the disciplines that he'd spent half a lifetime mending into second nature. But it was a feeling that definitely had a name, a name that shot across his mind like a massive surge of lightning.

Freedom.



"Guard's tied up. Fidgety old fucker's not going anywhere."

Lowering the walkie-talkie from his lips, a ski-mask clad hoodlum raised a semi-automatic uzi to mid-chest level as he and another stood watch for a larger group of thugs. They were in the midst of raiding a large truck full of wares infront of a shipping dock connected to a pharmaceutical company. The night watchman had seen them park onto the lot and managed to hit the silent alarm, but he wasn't much of a fighter when it came to defending himself from the brunt end of a gun. With an open gash across his forehead, the guard hopelessly watched as the masked men began to wheel crates off of the ramp and hoard them into the back of an unmarked van that had been sitting for hours across the street. Clearly, this heist had been planned in advance. But the thieves had been sloppy, casing the outside of the warehouse without even bothering to check for security measures. They simply wanted to get in and out with as much as they could carry and figured anything else would be wasted effort. The shipment had been broken into select palates, but the ones that they had clearly been eyeing were chemical components for the creation of a prescription antibiotic called Tromosierm, a fast-tracked but FDA-scrutinized answer to the epidemic of side-effects inflicted on patients that had been unfortunate enough to be exposed to airborne particles that had been sweeping Gotham's long-impoverished Bowery neighborhoods following the shutdown of several factories connected to the manufacturing of Janus Cosmetics.

The drug had also been rumored to make up one hell of an easy recipe to concoct military-grade heroin. The black market had been looking for a boom in sales of trade narcotics after Gotham's streets had opened back up following the worldwide epidemic, so now was the time to get in on the ground level of the seller's market. The problem with that being, in alot of supplier's minds, that anyone able to fake a diagnosis was being handed the keys to becoming a direct competitor. That's where these men had come in, being instructed to pick up the shipment before it could reach the streets by an industrious third party. For the sake of convenience, they had all chosen to remain anonymous to eachother - jobbers vying for a chance at an easy payday, most of whom had already been out of work for months. But the minute that they'd been supplied with the shipment of guns to help pull this off, there hadn't been any hesitation among the group. They were in it for the long haul, and the guaranteed prize was a couple of grand per crate. Harder tasks had been performed on these streets in recent months.

The ringleader had been a volunteer ex-marine with a chip on his shoulder. He was imposing enough, towering above every other member of the group by at least a good two feet with pounds of muscle that made him look built like a freight car.

"Take it nice and slow. Remember, the cops aren't coming."

"Yeah, that's what the boss said, too. I'm not taking any chances. They won't slap the cuffs on us for this, but that doesn't mean they're not gonna muscle us out of pocket and take this shit for themselves."

"Jesus, are we doing this or do you two wanna talk semantics for the rest of the night? The point is, there's no bust happening. That means we can parcel this out between at least a couple of cars. Larger the payload is, the bigger the payout."

The ringleader rolled his eyes. "There won't be a payout if any of you assholes mess up and damage the freight for being jumpy. Just make it as relaxed as you can, alright? We're on the clock."

"Hey, wait a minute. You hear something?"

"Hear what?"

"It sounded like..."

Everyone paused. They all looked to the gunmen watching the lot for any unwanted attention, who turned to them as soon as it became apparent that the theft had stopped in its tracks. At first, they both looked confused, looking at eachother as if something was amiss. But when they looked back at the truck, both of their eyes widened and their jaws collectively dropped. Raising their semi-automatics, both men were unexpectedly, swiftly taken down by something that had whisked by them in the torrential rain and flew up into the air. One fell forward onto the pavement, hard, while the other fell backward. The rest of the group had let go of their stack trucks in the immediate confusion and began to scan the area. They weren't hearing anything, mostly because of the storm. But something had definitely taken down their lookouts. Shining a flashlight across the lot, the ringleader stepped forward, armed with a large crowbar and a 47. magnum.

"Huh. What the hell's that thing on the ground?"

By the time the light focused on it, the group immediately recognized the small object embedded into the pavement as a piece of metal. But not any ordinary kind of artillery or bullet fragment, like they'd vaguely suspected. No sign of sniper rifle fire amongst the fallen bodies, which were still twitching with life. Instead, what they found was a single projectile, visibly sharp and shaped like an unusual form. It was almost as if it resembled a spread-out animal, with widened wings like sharpened razors and horns atop a flat head.

"Any of you ever seen shit like that?"

Before any member of the group could answer, a loud thumping noise bounced off of the top of the truck and caused each gunman to jerk in the opposite direction, flashing their lights towards whatever could have caused such a commotion. For a split second, none of them knew what to make of what they saw staring back at them. But it was enough of a glimpse to cause one of them to bellow in a shrill, immediate scream of fright. The figure looked down towards him first and raised it's arm. Suddenly, pockets of smoke erupted from the ground, catching each member of the thieves off entirely off guard as they ran for a safe distance. But their lungs were full in an instant, causing them to wheeze and cough while stumbling around, unable to see anything as their eyes were overpowered with irritation. None of them could speak, as their throats fought against them for air.

But they could all hear what happened next. Another muffled scream, before the same punk who had first reacted to whatever the hell had landed ontop of the truck could be heard grunting in pain, following a series of hard smacks against flesh. A crushing noise followed, similar to the sound of bones being smashed before the screams started again and were silenced. The ringleader pressed himself against a wall and aggressively wiped his eyes of stinging tears, unable to comprehend whatever had just happened. Was it the cops after all? This easily could have been tear gas, but the more the brutish thug thought about it, the less it made sense. Police would generally announce themselves, and nothing about whatever they had seen on the truck was explainable through police interference.

With a couple more coughs, he coarsely called out to the rest. "Hold the line! For fuck's sake, hold the line! This is an ambush! It's gotta be! It's gotta---"

Another projectile flew out of the cloud of smoke and embedded itself into the concrete next to him. He looked visibly confused as he got a closer look at the weapon. It looked like a...

"Wait a minute. Wait a fucking a minute."

He squinted, barely whispering his next utterance.

"Is that a... is that a bat?"

As if answering him, a dark, suddenly widened wingspan rose from the top of the smoke cloud and rushed forward. Black-clad hands reached out, grabbing the ringleader by the collar of his shirt and forcing him, with considerable strength, back into the disorienting smoke cloud as it began to dissipate. As the punk face-planted directly into gravel, hitting his jaw so hard that he saw one of his teeth violently dislodge and slide onto the lot with a thick trail of his own blood, he gazed up at the scene infront of him. Black boots landed directly into his field of vision, standing over several of the guys that he'd been watching load the crates into the van just seconds prior. They were knocked clean unconscious, with another few attempting to fire their weapons at whatever was coming at them. Either the guns were entirely jammed, somehow rendered unable to fire with only a clicking noise to offer, or the men wielding them were too scared out of their minds to try and blow away the thing. A wide swath of black leather-wrapped itself around two of the men at once and brought them colliding into the street, hard. Unwrapping itself, it only revealed two more of their ranks downed and out.

What the fuck is going on?!, the ringleader screamed inside of his own head. But there were no logical answers as the group became completely overwhelmed. Nine men had entered the lot with the intent to steal the chemical supplies that were only half-loaded. Six of them were now on their backs, their stomachs, slumped against the massive tires of the truck or otherwise incapacitated. The remaining three tried to fight, with one even pulling a knife against the rapidly-moving shadow that seemed to move from target-to-target. That unfortunate individual found his swing countered with an unseen motion, with the knife being driven directly into his own leg. As he cried out in pain and fell to the ground, clutching his fresh wound and attempting to foolishly pull out the handle plunged into his flesh, the massive form cracked like a whip against the remaining two thugs, sending them and their guns flying into one of the nearby crates.

The ringleader attempted to move, but his jaw felt numb and immobile. It caused him to wince hard, signaling either a fracture or a complete break. By the time he opened his eyes again, the guard was being untied, though the old man's eyes were as widened with shock as the group that had been taken down in less than a minute. One of the black-clad hands reached out to help the watchmen to his feet, while the boots turned - apparently, the figure had noticed that one of the men was still conscious, though his state was far from prime. Despite being a Marine, all that the massive man could do was try and crawl away. A futile gesture, as he was brought up from the ground by an iron grip and slammed, spine-first, against the nearby wall.

"Who hired you?"

The voice was impossibly deep, almost inhuman. Like the pit of hell itself had formed a throat to speak through. With a single step forward, the figure seemed to go from being massive, almost formless to being the shape of a tall, horned creature. While the ringleader tried to speak, mostly to utter a series of bewildered curses, blood only trickled out of his mouth and another tooth fell. This seemingly angered the shadow, who grabbed the ringleader by the throat and pressed the side of his head against the wall. The ski-mask was ripped from his head, revealing an ugly patch of blonde hair in a ponytail adorning a half-broken face, as the powerless soul shrieked in pain as his jaw's injury was exploited.

"ANSWER ME! WHO HIRED YOU?"

"Nuh... nuh nahm. Nuh nahm! Ah swear, ah..."

With another violent pull, the ringleader found himself staring down the most horrifying sight of his life. A visible stain formed in the front of his pants, despite the rain soaking everything, and his panicked breaths turned sharp as he looked upon the unfathomable thing that he and his fellow opportunists had apparently unleashed. He could see the guard slowly back away as the face only grew closer, encapsulating all that he could see.

"You swear?"

He shook his head repeatedly as if to say "it wasn't real" over and over, trying to wake himself from a dream that he couldn't shake if his life depended on it.

"Look me in the eyes."



"Say it again."

But it was very real.

And it was only getting started.
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T P R O P O S A L
T H E B A T M A N
Bruce Wayne .♦ .Philanthropist .♦ .Gotham City, New Jersey, USA .♦ .Wayne Industries
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:
...
"It's about identity. If you can choose that, choose who you are in the world... you can choose to call yourself sane."

Nine months ago, billionaire Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham City to claim his inheritance and take an active role in his father's company, Wayne Industries. Or at least, that's what the public was intended to believe. In reality, Wayne had spent the last fifteen years of his life testing the limits of his mind, body, and soul in order to prepare for a self-imposed war against crime in an effort to avenge his murdered parents and bring order to his corrupt home. While spending considerable time learning all that he could of Gotham's inner-workings, wining and dining amongst the elite class to discover the depths of their apathy towards those affected by the criminal fraternity, Wayne also took to the streets in disguise to see just how the disenfranchised and the desperate could be corrupted. Thinking he had it all figured out, Wayne donned the garb of a masked vigilante and set out to reclaim the night.

He was wrong. He had learned nothing, as he found himself beaten beyond recognition by the ruthless Red Hood Gang whilst attempting to interfere with a turf war between them and the The Falcone Crime Family. Desperate to know where he'd gone wrong, he found himself barely clinging to life in his father's study, looking toward the bust of William Shakespeare and hallucinating it to be the late Thomas Wayne. He'd developed the skills, the knowledge, and the will to carry on - but until he had the method, there was nothing he could do to turn the tide.

Resolving to let it end then and there, Wayne's answer came in the form of a leathery-winged creature of the night that had struck fear into his heart as a boy. It's wings expanding, it lowered itself over the bust until it had covered the top half of the face - creating a terrifying visual that imprinted itself onto Bruce's psyche. Criminals, as he had learned, were ultimately a superstitious and cowardly lot. If he was to wage war, he'd have to utilize methods that they couldn't predict. Become something that they could never fathom, even in their nightmares.

He'd have to become a Bat.
"What in the name of Bill Finger is this?", you may be asking yourself. Well, oddly curious reader, this is me throwing up my hands in defeat. While the idea of what I was trying to do with my first concept for this game's Batman sounds great in theory, actually practicing it turned out to be a highly tedious process where I just wasn't having any fun with what I was writing. It took me until the third post to really realize it, and I had already had doubts before that. In order to really commit to a version of Batman so reliant on redefining the Bruce Wayne half of his identity, you tend to be forced to do alot of character building in addition to world building. And in order to get to one of the villains, not to mention get Bruce into the suit, I would have to compromise and cheat my way to getting there in a way I just didn't feel was worth it.

So I'm starting over. First post is going to deal with Bruce's first night donning the cape and cowl, with all of the gadgets, the money, the training, and everything that makes him traditionally Batman. Where it goes from there is anyone's guess, but doing it in this way will at least give me the freedom to build the world that he inhabits without having to learn just who he is all over again. I'm also taking more of a hand's off approach with the supporting cast, as I see no reason to reserve characters for my story until I've gotten to them - with the exception of The Joker and, of course, Robin, since you can't really drop them in there from the get-go.

This is actually more in line with how I originally saw the RPG, anyway. I don't have any explanation for why I chose to do such a dramatic departure for my first sheet other than "my kneejerk reaction is to figure out how I can 'ultimize' a character", which was never actually what I thought of when developing DCU: Genesis. My mindset was to take the character as they were traditionally presented, at their start, and build up the changes to the world from there.

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:
The why should be obvious at this point, and I've already outlined the motivation. What I want to do is build the myth of Batman using bits and pieces from every source I can reference until it's all thoroughly blended into a fine soup. I'm not out to reinvent the wheel so much as honor the parts of it that's made it work for 81 years, which will hopefully make integration into a multiplayer game far more accessible for team-ups and interactions that my previous concept just didn't allow, to my detriment.

As far as the character himself goes, he's largely the Batman we know. The only differences I'm going with off the top are that Bruce Wayne is more of a media oddity who spends way more time attending galas and nightclubs then he does running a company, which is a responsibility that he's designated to Lucius Fox. He's also a member of the board of directors for Arkham Asylum, which will play a more prominent role in this run than I've done before, but his role in the goings-on over there aren't common knowledge. Basically, Bruce Wayne is the Elon Musk of this universe, in that he's always in the headlines for the wrong reasons. Which of course is by design, as it helps him commit to the vigilante crusade he's got going on.


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

Supporting characters:







S A M P L E P O S T:
Salvatore "The Boss" Maroni screamed at the top of his lungs as he was thrust into the open air amidst shattered glass. The masked lunatic that had thrown the gangster aswell as himself out of the top floor of the penthouse grabbed onto Maroni hard and produced that same grappling device that had sent them hurtling into an over 50 foot drop towards the pavement. Firing it again, this time managing to snag a stone gargoyle overlooking the adjacent building, The Batman pressed hard into Maroni's back so that they swung into an arch, heading directly for the building just across the street.

All that Salvatore could see was oncoming glass before a very large and leathery piece of fabric shielded him from the impact. He couldn't see them hit the window, but he could feel it, aswell as the hard landing that both men made. By the time the fabric unfurled itself off of his face, Maroni realized that he was on his back, staring directly at his shadowy assailant, who stood above him. Salvatore growled.

"ARE YOU OUTTA YOUR FUCKING MIND?! WE COULD'A BEEN KILLED JUST THEN, YOU---"

The Batman's boot slammed down onto Maroni's chest, causing him to involuntarily keel and roll over in immense pain.

"Quiet."

With his prey momentarily incapacitated, Batman searched the room ahead of them. A set of office cubicles greeted him in the darkness, evident of a local business. The employees had long since gone home, leaving no one but a janitor who had already ran for the emergency exit. But The Dark Knight sneered as the heat signature-detection feature of the lenses in his cowl picked up the image of an additional few men heading up the staircase, guns drawn. Evidently, Captain Bolton had managed to round up some of his remaining men to pursue them.

Looking down at Maroni, Batman forcibly grabbed him by the arm and pulled him up.

"We're not done."

Maroni wheezed in pain. "What the hell are you talkin' about?!"

Punching the mobster hard across the face with an executed right hook, Batman caught Maroni's body as it fell limp, immediately rendered unconscious. Letting him fall gently, Batman produced a pair of military-grade handcuffs from the back of his belt and dragged Maroni over to a support beam. Propping him up and placing his hands behind his back, the vigilante secured his captive in place, put something into the front of his jacket pocket, and looked towards the door to the spacious room they were in as the heat signatures immediately approached.

Retreating to the darkness on the opposite end of the room, Batman watched in cold silence as the door was slammed open from the outside with a kick. Several of Flass' dirty cops burst into the room, each holding weapons that were far above standard issue for the GCPD. Laser sights, automatic ammunition. The vigilante narrowed his eyes as they searched for any sign of him in vain. Someone had been outfitting Flass' men with the latest in high-tech ordinance. The other precincts didn't have the luxury of such treatment, and it wasn't hard to guess why. Salvatore Maroni had a good majority of the GCPD under his payroll, directly. It was how the mobster had kept himself one step ahead of his rival, The Roman.

"Look! Over there! There's Maroni!", one of them yelled, signaling two of the men to his opposite. "Get him out of here before that freak comes back! We'll stay here and keep watch!"

As the two men approached, The Batman produced a detonator hidden within his gauntlet. Waiting precious seconds as the cops inched closer to Maroni's unconscious form, the vigilante waited for them to discover the handcuffs.

"Uh, Lieutenant? He's bound to this thing. We're gonna need to..."

Hitting the detonator hard, Batman leaped forward with a roll as an explosion of smoke immediately hit the two cops from within Maroni's jacket. Seizing control of the situation as the smoke coated the entire room, The Dark Knight hit the side of his cowl and switched his cowl's surveillance mode so that the lenses could isolate the smoke and make the room clear to him alone. Immediately slamming his knee into the chest of one of the cops with a rising strike, The Batman spun mid-air and sent four projectiles directly into the hands of two of the other armed officers. He'd taken to calling them "bat-blades", though one of his associates had given them perhaps a more fitting moniker: batarangs. Landing behind the officer he'd struck, Batman downed that one with a hard elbow and immediately followed that up with a brutal headbutt, knocking him into one of the cubicles. Shooting his right leg out, Batman spun for a hard sweep, sending a second one to the ground fast enough for the officer to hit the back of his head. Opting for a palm strike against an oncoming enemy's jaw, the vigilante simultaneously reigned a flying high kick down onto a fourth officer's face, knocking both to the ground. As he regained his footing, he looked down to his chest and noticed the red targeting lasers start to cross his path.

"THERE... *COUGH* THERE HE IS! SOUTHEAST CORNER OF THE ROOM! OPEN FIRE!"

Dammit.

Bullets sprayed the walls behind him as The Batman somersaulted forward, counting himself lucky as a bullet barely grazed the armor plating covering his right shoulder. Leaping into the air, he kicked off of the wall to the south of the room and produced his grapple gun yet again, firing a line directly into the northern wall. Directing a spin kick into an officer as he attempted to reload his weapon, Batman pulled at the line hard, catching the two leading figures of the group by the chest and waist as the steel cable slammed them into the adjacent wall. As another officer rose from the ground, still partially unconscious, the vigilante grabbed a stapler from one of the nearby cubicles and launched it directly into the man's head, sending him back to the ground. One remained. And he was firing off into the distance, having already lost the trajectory of his target. A batarang flew from the smoke and forced the weapon from his hands, embedding it into the window with a spiderweb crack. The officer's eyes widened as he looked at his unreachable weapon, failing to notice the figure that approached him.

"Tell Commissioner Loeb. Tell your fellow men. Tell everyone..."



"I'm coming for them, too."

P O S T C A T A L O G:
01.02 - Call Of The Kobra, Part 1
In DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All → 6 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Roster is updated. Couple of notes:

@Hound55 has been given an extension on Sandman due to his method of posting being broken.

@Roman has dropped out as Jonah Hex.

Sarge Steel and Hawgirl were removed due to inactivity.

And I've started marking expired characters with red text. As a reminder, once a character is expired, the player has a chance to post and regain their status as an active player. But should someone apply for the character before that, the application can be considered for approval.
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