Avatar of Rekker
  • Last Seen: 2 yrs ago
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    1. Rekker 4 yrs ago


Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current What do you call a hippie’s wife? Mississippi.
3 yrs ago
I'm just a person, standing in front of a salad, asking it to be a donut.
4 yrs ago
Feels like the whole country is on Maury waiting to find out who’s the father.
4 yrs ago
My body has absorbed so much soap and disinfectant lately that when I pee it cleans the toilet.
4 yrs ago
Stop naming your babies James. Name him Jame. He is one Jame.


Heterosexual Male / United States / Central Standard Time
Posting frequency: 1-2 times per week (typically on weekends)
Discord: Rekker#0473

RP Genres of Interest:
Horror Supernatural Survival Comics Fantasy

Most Recent Posts

Jefferson Hospital - Premium Patient Room

Numbness. Sweet, merciful numbness. Kane's eyes couldn't help but fixate on the IV drip that was administering his pain killer. Each drip seems more fascinating than it had any right to be. An involuntary smile crept over his face as the euphoric relief continued to spread throughout his body.

His feet, adorned in some fascinating fluffy yellow socks with little robber traction dots (a gift from a nurse) nearly touched the southern railing of his hospital bed. His gown felt a few sizes too small, but was grand enough to cover the important bits. His long hair sat disheveled upon his head, traces of debris and possibly blood decorated a few strands here and there.

Despite it all, there he sat watching the liquid within the hanging bag drip, drip, drip with a goofy, slouched grin.

"I'm Rosaria Voronin..."

The declaration was enough to shake Kane from his trance.

"And I uhh... Can turn shadowy. With a skull for a face... Somehow." Kane's grin shrank until it resembled a small 'o' while his eyebrows levitated up his forehead. He had so many questions but the words refused to leave his mind and venture out to his lips. Instead, he just sat there looking a bit dumb for a moment or two before finally saying...

"'Eyyy Rosaria!" followed by an exaggerated, and arguably frantic, wave of his hand. "Ah'm Madnot... Mad-... What am I trying to say?" The question seem more posed toward himself rather than anyone else in the room. "I'm Madnite? I'm... I'm MidKnight!" The discovery of the correct words sent a gleeful surge of energy through him as he revealed his moniker. He then looked back up at the IV drip. "Holy shit, they need to turn this stuff down," he huffed with a smirk.

Giving his fellow heroes his attention once more, he continued. "But I think I can trust you guys. Especially after all that!" He motioned with side nod toward the general direction of the Lafayette building that they had just left. "You can call me Kane. An' I uh... I'm not really sure what I do, per se, but it gets rainbowy as fuck whenever I do it!" The goofy grin returned as the gentle giant beamed with pride.

Location: Lobby > Adjacent Restroom

Connor began pulling his camera out of its case. It was one he invested an inordinate amount of money in. Crisp picture, built-in flashlight, night vision mode and the entire device was surprisingly light weight and portable. As he turned it on, a small electronic hiss escaped the machine.

"She's alive," he said, mostly to himself as the others were discussing something behind him. He then dug into the camera case and pulled out two battery packs, tossing them into his back pockets. He would surely need each of them for a full-night investigation. Especially if activity began to pickup. Otherworldly entities have been prone to, on occasion, sap the juice out of electronics in order to manifest. He wanted to be prepared in case that happened.

"Camera, check," he whispered. "Battery packs, check." He them began patting himself down. "Cell phone, check. Rosary..." He said as he pulled one out from his pocket. While he was not a practicing Catholic, he still harbored a bit of faith and the item just felt like an extra bit of protection, just in case. As he draped it around his neck, he took in a slow breath and exhaled. "...check. Alright, ladies and gents! I think I'm rea-"

As he turned around to address his fellow investigators, he found that he was left completely alone in the lobby.

"Oh, what the fuck!" he cried out. "The camera guy?! Y'all leave without one of the camera guys?" He then shook his head and huffed. "Screw it. I'll find a phantom on my own!" He then pulled out his cell phone and began typing with his thumb into the group message.

I see how it is. JERKS!

j/k luvyabaiii~

With that, he hit a button on the camera that toggled the frontside bulb, blasting a cone of bright light just ahead of him. He held the camera down at chest level, trusting his own eyes more than the display screen. As he scanned the doors, he saw a twin set with a diagram of a man on one and a woman on the other. Restrooms, he thought to himself. Don't mind if I do. He hadn't relieved himself since before he crashed on the couch. With the whisky and the energy drink teaming up, it was high time for a drain.

Cautiously, he opened the door and proceeded inside the Men's room. In an instant, he knew something had died in there. Or, at least, it smelled like it.

"Hooo-hoo that is rank!" he stammered, his face contorted. He tried his best not to breath, letting only little shallow exhales escape. "Quick... sweep... then... bail..." The tiled floor was splotchy with grime and other mysterious substances. The stalls were crooked, looking as if they could topple over at a moment's notice. Only one of the three even had a door still connected to it. The mirror above the sinks was cracked in the corner with smears upon it like someone took their muddy hand and just dragged it across. Oh wait... maybe that's not mud. The sudden realization made Connor double over and gag. After a bit of a fit, he spit out the accumulated saliva and stood up straight once more.

"Okay," he shouted. "Any ghost in here? I don't know why there would be. This would be the last freaking place I would choose to haunt! If there is anyone in here, now is your chance! Make yourself known!" He then held his breath and tried to be completely silent as he scanned the room, switching between his naked eyes and the display screen on the camera.


"Alright, sayonara, shit hole," he said before quickly ducking out. Once he was back in the lobby, he took in a huge breath, trying to flush out the polluted air that was now in his lungs. "Jeebus," he said finally. He slowly craned his head over until the sight of the Women's room enveloped his vision. He still had to pee.

As he took four more quick breaths, he pinched his nose, kicked the door in and proceeded inside.
Should we go through sagas like one ghost at a time? I think all of us taking turns as THE ghost could be cool, but I think each ghost should be able to take liberties with characters just to add consequences. Not something as harsh as death, but enough to be meaningful

"'Ay, Connor, you gonna come with me and map out camera, locations? We might even catch something cool just on an initial sweep"

"Oh captain, my captain," Connor responded with a salute and a subtle lift of the camera case he had in tow. Despite his rough exterior, he was ready to go to work.

As he made his way into the place, there was a definitely density in the air. It was akin to a retirement home, in a way. It was like a humid feeling of old age that seemed almost palpable. There was no doubt that this institution was rich in history.

He then heard Dylan's suggestion about splitting up and slowly shook his head in utter disappointment.

"Bro, you're completely disregarding Rule Number 2," he explained in jest. "I'm fairly certain we've all lost our V card, so death is obviously imminent. Now you want us to split up in the haunted sanitarium OF HELL?!" He let the point sit for a beat or two before finally adding, "but, yeah, he's totally right. We should definitely split up if we're going to map out our stills." His crooked grin left no doubt that he was amused with himself. "Shotgun Baxy!" he exclaimed, claiming his initial partner. "We go left and you go right?" His question was posed to Dylan, his comrade in camerasmithing. This place was not small and running the layout was going to take a decent amount of time.

After hearing Nora's revelation about the EMF readings, Connor raised an inquisitive eyebrow. As his eyes darted around the dark and dank lobby, he silently questioned whether or not this would truly be it. Would this finally be the real deal? Only time, and camera footage, would tell.


Connor gave Dylan a playful wink when the latter commented on his punctuality. There was something really great about having the ol' Raccoon Rumbler as a buddy. Dylan never seemed like the type of guy that would judge you and was generally a lot of fun to rap with when it came to breaking down and analyzing flicks.

He then did his best yearbook pose, coupled with the cheesiest of grins, when Darcy commented on his presentability. He knew it came from a place of love and, subsequently, happily accepted the energy drink tossed his way. Even though this group was here tonight on 'business', there was definitely a familial bond to some degree. It always seemed like they were looking out for one another, without even having to ask. As Connor cracked open the container and raised the drink to his lips, he warmly reflected upon that notion...

...until a two-toned roar erupted from behind them! As Connor's nostrils erupted in twin sprays of mocha-frappe-snot, he gagged for a moment and bent over, allowing his facial orifices to drain onto the ground. As he looked up, he could see Nora and Jason seemingly all too proud of themselves for the fright.

"Jeebus, guys!" he managed between a couple of awkward burps and unwieldy laughter. As he tried to regain composure, he stood up straight and wiped his face with his sleeve before taking in a big sniff. "Coffee tastes weird when it's in your nose. Do. Not. Recommend." He then wiggled his nostrils nervously like a rabbit and looked on as Darcy headed toward the doors. This was it. Go time.

Connor gestured for the rest of the team to move on ahead of him into the big haunted building like a gentleman would. Or like a coward would. It was definitely one or the other...

"You have got to be kidding me!" He could hear a banshee scream in the distance, it's voice mottled and echoing in the void of space.

Connor's bloodshot eyes flew wide open. As they stared straight ahead, he looked on in a blurry haze at a ball of light that spread out like a snowflake, slowly spinning around and around. There was something beautiful about it, like a luminescent kaleidoscope.

He could feel his heartbeat in his temples. His mouth was dry and seemingly sticky. As he tried to mentally recalibrate, he couldn't help but wonder just where in the hell he actually was. The sight looked familiar and, yet, it seemed wrong somehow.

"Dude!" the banshee screeched again, only this time the word sounded clearer, closer... "Why are you naked?!" It wasn't but a second later that the silhouette of the monster eclipsed the light from above and looked down upon him in rage. "Connor, you drunk asshole!" This banshee was mean. As Connor's pupils began to retract, the face of this berating enigma slowly came into focus. "Get off the couch! I just bought this thing!" shouted Connor's very upset roommate.

"That's not a pretty snowflake..." Connor managed to mutter hoarsely as he looked passed his furious roomie. It was a ceiling fan. His livingroom ceiling fan. He was in his apartment, he realized. Slowly, he sat up. His laptop was open in his lap, but that was just about the only thing covering his otherwise entirely naked body. His stare craned over to observe a nearly empty bottle of whisky that was spilled over onto the ground which was sure to become a source of future scoldings as soon as his roommate took notice.

"Seriously, dude, did you just get drunk and beat off all day?! ON MY COUCH?!" his roommate asked incredulously, still in his Best Buy uniform, no doubt having just finished his shift.

"I-I was off today! And the couch is awesome!" Connor cried, trying to defend himself. Sobriety had mostly returned, but it came with an ever-growing headache. As he tried to plea his case, he noticed his phone on the coffee table blinking. He quickly snatched it up and let his thumbs dance upon the screen before opening an unread text message. "Oh shit, I've gotta go," he said finally before pushing the laptop aside, fully exposing himself. His roommate shielded his own eyes as if he had accidentally looked directly into the sun.

"DUDE! Who's going to clean this up," he cried. Connor quickly ran into his room and grabbed whatever clothes he could get his hands on quickly - a pair of blue jeans, a black shirt with a cartoon penguin, a baseball cap and some well worn gray Vans - and stumbled toward the door of the apartment.

"Sorry, man, I'll take care of it when I get back," he quickly sputtered as he dove toward his camera case, snatching it up by the handle. He dashed out of the door and swung it shut behind him. As he began running down the corridor toward his truck, he could hear his roommate shouting obscenities in the background. Connor couldn't help but grin.

Sorry, was asleep - OMW

Connor's thumb pressed the SEND button on his phone as his truck barreled through the rain. Not the safest driving habit, but he was trying to make up time as best he could. He opened up the console and popped open a tin of Altoids before shoving half of them in his mouth in a poor attempt to drown out the stench of whisky. As soon as he got the information about the asylum, he quickly plugged it into his GPS and followed the directions of the kind robot lady who spoke to him through his phone's speaker.

It wasn't too long before he saw the opened gates and, in the distance, the majority of the crew. He pulled his truck off to the side to park, grabbed his camera case, and pulled himself out before slamming his door shut. Despite having driven, he was somehow slightly out of breath as he trotted up to Darcy, Baxtor and Dylan.

"So sorry, guys. Roomie got this new couch and I fell asleep on it and it's this whole thing," he huffed, looking exasperated. His eyes then trailed off to the asylum itself and he couldn't help his mouth from dropping open in awe. "Holy crap, this is the real deal, huh?" The place already looked creepy as hell.

Age: 22
Birthplace: San Antonio, Texas
Zodiac Sign: Aries
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Relationship: Single

Bio: Connor is first and foremost a cinephile. He was always a bit of an odd duck, but his love of horror movies was the catalyst for the bond he quickly made with Darcy, Baxter and the rag tag crew of fantastic misfits. If there was a party, you could bet he was the first one rushing to the DVD player to put on Nightmare on Elm Street as background entertainment. During classes, he loved sketching out movie poster ideas and tossing it toward Darcy with an inquisitive and eager shrug.

Eventually he would even begin directing his own indy flicks, often offering his friends roles within the cast. It wasn't until Darcy proposed a horror project of her own that Connor became slightly obsessed with the possibility of actual ghosts existing. When the concept of P.I.C.S. came up, Connor was quick to volunteer himself and his electric eye for the cause. Finally, they could all make a horror film together but, instead of a work of fiction, this would be real!

From a personal standpoint, Connor Grayson is very laid back, 420 friendly, enjoys a beer or five when he isn't working and is always so eager no matter what project it is that he finds himself involved in. He's not a very religious person and some could even describe him as a sceptic, but like Agent Mulder from the X-Files, he wants to believe.

Likes: Movies, comics, pranks, goofiness
Dislikes: Excessive seriousness, lying, mouth noises while eating
Position: Camera Person
Updated with changes highlighted

Lafayette Financial Tower - Lobby

The adrenaline vanished. The shock wore off. It was over.

Kane's knees buckled as he stumbled toward a nearby pillar and slowly allowed his body to drag itself to ground level. He eventually found himself sitting on the floor, the pillar to his back and his legs splayed outward. The nerves in his body screamed, pushing the pain passed the fog of shock and straight into Kane's parietal lobe. His eyes shut tight and his teeth began to grind as the agony descended upon him like a tsunami.

Composure must be maintained, he thought to himself. Breathe through it. Calm down. The worst is over.

Once the screeching pain died down to an annoying, torturous hum, Kane opened his eyes again to survey the rest of the lobby. Bodies were being bagged. The injured were being lifted onto stretchers. It was picturesque of a nightmare come to life.

The images of the other empowered fighters soon came into view as well. The corner of Kane's mouth twitched upward in an attempt to smirk. He wasn't alone in the trauma. They all gave it their everything to end this horror. For some reason, he took comfort in that. It just felt like they had given birth to a sense of comradery through torment, a bond through bloodshed. They made it and they couldn't have done so without eachother.

"-Ey!" Kane managed to blurt out loudly toward the battered, but victorious heroes. "Any of yous got a Tylenol? Or like 100 of them?" He let out a humorous wheeze before coughing at his own attempt at laughter. "Or..." he started again. "...can any of you give me a lift to Jefferson Hospital? Apparently they'll treat us like royalty if we say the magic words."
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