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Simple Unicycle male Member

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STATUS: My source is I made it the fuck up. 6 mos ago
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6 mos ago
Current My source is I made it the fuck up.
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Bio

An absolute clown with a fascination for faceless men who punch criminals.

Guaranteed to flake out of RPs 100% of the time.

Most Recent Posts

In Variety Hour: An Absolute Comics Roleplay → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
So my question here is: Why did everyone (that isn't new/making someone new) decide to take a go at these characters again? Why bring them back?


Pretty much the same boat as everybody. My Punisher run in UOU was some of the most fun I've had with an RP and I really loved playing the character. It also helps that it was my most successful run with a character in one of these RPs. I decided to pick Chow Yun Castle up again in the hopes of reigniting that spark that UOU did and so far it's worked wonders.

As for picking up my interpretation of Vic Sage from Henry's run of Absolute Comics, I just really fucking liked that interpretation of the character and what I was doing with him. I want to continue telling that story and hopefully do it without flaking out. Plus, Question/Dogwelder crossver with @DocTachyon. I need it in my life.
In Variety Hour: An Absolute Comics Roleplay → 3 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
V I C S A G E

C H A R L E S V I C T O R S Z A S Z ♦ J O U R N A L I S T ♦ H U B C I T Y , I L L I N O I S ♦ W W N N ( H U B C I T Y B R A N C H )
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

"When other guys go on a quest to find their place in life, they get into something like meditation or yoga or designer drugs. Me? I move to a city I've never been to before and go around town kicking teeth in."

Vic Sage wasn't a nice man. Hotheaded, stubborn as hell, and with a tendency to ruffle the wrong people's feathers. His unbridled ambition managed to land him a job working at the Chicago branch of Worldwide News Network, a small news network (ironic, considering the name) that had slowly been opening new branches in major cities in the East Coast and Midwest since 1998. Over the course of a year, he managed to work his way up from penning articles for their website to achieving a position as one of their newscasters. His career as a newscaster was rather short-lived, however; on the night of his first broadcast, he went off script and began to slam various businesses that backed the network, accusing them of having ties to organized crime on live television.

His superiors had their sponsors breathing down their necks, but the general public had loved it. The video of Vic's live rant had gone semi-viral and he attained minor celebrity in his hometown. They couldn't just fire him, so the best course of action was to send him somewhere where he wouldn't be a problem. That place was Hub City, home to the oldest (and most underfunded) branch of Worldwide News Network with the lowest ratings. No one would care about his rantings and ravings because no one watched it there.

Vic, for his part, has managed to take the move in stride. Besides, Chicago had been a little too quiet for him lately. He needs a new stomping ground if he wants to get serious about this vigilante thing, and Hub City might be just the place to start. Maybe someday he can actually do something about those corrupt corporate mobsters.

C H A R A C T E R M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S:
I really like The Question. I also really suck at sticking with the character when I play him in one of these games. But this interpretation of Q was probably my best and I really, really want to pick it back up. Thankfully, this gives me a platform to do that. I'll be picking up where I left off and hopefully, just hopefully, I won't drop it again. But I have a feeling that with this format, I won't.

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

Vic's Mixtape

S A M P L E P O S T:

P O S T C A T A L O G:
Issue #1: Divide
Issue #2: Night Driving Avenger
Issue #3: Rust
In Variety Hour: An Absolute Comics Roleplay → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

The Punisher
In
Deja Vu

The first thought that crossed my mind when I pulled up to the Stardust was that I got the wrong address.

I was expecting a seedy strip club in the Bronx, a place where the drinks are cheap and the lap dances are cheaper. Crooks, degenerates, and scumbags gathering around to drool over girls half their age as they dance around a rusting pole with enough clothing to cover what's important and not much else. That seemed like the type of place that would be run by mobsters and where a no good sack of shit like Jimmy Rossi would frequent. But instead, I found myself standing outside a high end nightclub in Manhattan, bathing in the white light of the sign proclaiming "Stardust Lounge" as I looked through tinted black glass walls.

A line stretched out half a block outside the door, with the diversity of a bowl of M&Ms: hipsters, businessmen, mobsters, college kids all standing in line trying to ignore each other. A man with the height of a basketball player and the build of a linebacker searched everyone before letting them through. With my low expectations of where Rossi would hang out, I hadn't even considered that there would be a bouncer. Instead of joining the ever growing line of clubgoers, I headed straight for the alley between the Stardust and a drug store.

A single guard stood outside a door leading inside, a greaseball in a suit with oiled hair, a pistol on his hip and a cigarette between his lips. He leans against the wall and flips through a superhero gossip magazine emblazoned with the words "BATMAN'S CONFESSIONS: WHO HE'S SLEPT WITH MAY BE SHOCKING!", occasionally humming in slight amusement. I stride up to him and he swivels his head at the sound of my footsteps, raising a brow at me as I draw closer to him. "Hey, no loitering bud. You want inside, stick in li-"

I reel back my fist and give him a hook straight to the nose, hearing a sharp crack as it crumbles under the pressure of my punch. He falls to the ground with a grunt of pain and I give a hiss and look at the fresh cut on my knuckles, droplets of blood leaking out and mingling with his own. I walk over to his head and raise my foot above it.

*CRACK!*

*CRACK!*

*CRA-gggshhh...*

His head caves under the third stomp, deflating like a popped tire. I pant slightly and lean against the wall, scraping the pulp and brain matter off my shoe and onto the asphalt. Bile rises in my stomach as I stare down at the clumps of hair, meat, and bone that used to be a man's head. A man with a family. A single eye lays amidst the mess, intact despite the brutal stomping. It stares up at me, as if asking me, "Why?"

Why?

Because I have a job to do.

I straighten my leather coat and open the door, walking through it and into the club proper. My welcoming committee is bright lights blinding me and blaring electronica deafening me. Sensory overload. As my eyes adjust to the lights, I see a crowd of the club's patrons dancing to the music, a swarm of sweaty bodies meshing together with fingers in hair and lips on skin. I circumvent the dance floor and head for the booths and tables. That seems more like Rossi's style than the quasi-orgy happening on the dance floor.

"... And that's when I says to him, 'hey, Paulie. You got them meatballs?!'" A nasally voice drenched in a comically thick Brooklyn accent pierces through the music and hits my ears, the roaring laughter afterwards like a blip on a sonar radar telling me where to go. I stalk closer to the source, the feeling of icy cold rage rushing through my entire body and just getting worse the closer I get.

Jimmy Rossi is lounging around in the middle of a circular booth with four of his friends, all mob types from the looks of it. A pyramid of shot glasses is in front of him, while from the looks of it his buddies are all still nursing their beers. Either Rossi's a hard drinker or these aren't even friends, just bodyguards who are doing the bare minimum to humor their boss. Doesn't matter. They're dying all the same.

I walk up to the table. "Jimmy Rossi?"

He turns to face me, quirking a brow while sneering. "Whaddya want, you fuckin' no good chink? I'm tellin' a fuckin' story here, huh!"

"I want you to pray to whatever God you believe in because you're about to go and meet him."

Rossi's buddies are staring at me warily, reaching for their pistols. Rossi laughs. "Is that a threat?"

"No." I pull out my twin Berettas and level one at his head. His eyes widen. "It's a promise."

The gunshot pierces through the music and screams break out. Rossi's brains don't have time to hit the wall before I'm leaping away from the booth and landing back first onto a drink cart, riding it away while firing at his friends. Their bodies shake as the bullets tear through them. The drink cart is stopped in its tracks by ramming into a pillar, sending me to the floor with a grunt. I look up and see the crowd that was on the dance floor pouring out of the club.

In the middle of the crowd is a group of men in black suits pushing against the tide while barking orders at each other: "Get that motherfucker!" and "Evacuate the fuckin' crowd!" are the only two orders I hear before the rest is drowned out by the music and screams. I pick myself up and run onto the dance floor, hopping over the DJ's turntable and taking cover behind it. I hear a click as the song ends and a small arm reaches out and replaces the record, a new one beginning.

Gunshots hit the turntable. I run out from behind it and fire at the group of security guards, taking two down before flattening myself behind a pillar. Shit, how many were left? Seven, eight? I can't fucking tell. All I can tell is more bullets hit the pillar that's acting as my cover. Over the music, I hear footsteps coming for me. I duck down, round my cover, and fire off two shots right into the running guard's stomach; he slips and onto the floor, a pool of blood seeping out from beneath him and staining the glass.

A storm of bullets rush towards me and I roll behind another pillar, feeling a sharp sting in my shoulder. I look and see a bullet hole leaking blood. Shit.

I peek my head out from the other side of the pillar and quickly count. Seven guards. One of them sees the top of my head and raises an SMG to fire at me. Quickly, I duck my head back behind the pillar just before a burst of rounds fly right by where my head just was. Grunting, I pull a flash grenade out from my inner jacket pocket, stolen from the SWAT armory. It's the only one I have, but it would have to count.

Inhale.

Pull the pin.

Exhale.

Throw.

The flash grenade clatters across the dance floor and rolls towards the guards. "BANG! COVER YOUR EY-" The flashbang goes off. My ears ring like I just had a Howitzer go off right in front of me, but my vision is crystal clear. I round the corner of the pillar and fire at the guards. One goes down with a bullet to the head, clean kill. Another takes four to the chest before dropping. The third takes a few to the chest and limbs before a shot to the head puts him down. Fourth man goes down with a shot right through the heart.

I don't hear a gunshot but I feel the sting of one hitting me right in the calf. I fall to the ground and look up to see that the last three actually covered their eyes and can see clearly. I roll on my side away from them and come to a stop against a set of stairs leading up to a second floor. I fire at one, putting him down with a kneecap, and scramble my way up the stairs, counting the steps as I go. Twenty steps.

I check my magazines. One is fresh out, the other has two shots left. I check for spare magazines and realize I forgot to bring any along. Shit. I holster my empty Beretta and grip my near empty one with both hands. There's two more guys. I'll have to make these two shots count.

I flatten myself against the wall and hear the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs.

Five steps.

Ten steps.

Fifteen steps.

Twenty.

I jump out at the guard that just climbed up the stairs and tackle him to the ground. He shouts in mingled pain and anger, flailing out wildly to hit me. I pistol whip him once, twice, and he stops fighting. I stick the barrel of the gun into his mouth and fire. One down. One shot left.

That now familiar sting of a bullet hitting me courses through my body again, originating from my thigh. I stumble backwards and roll down the stairs, banging my head against the steps. As I lay on the ground at the bottom of the steps, the last guard stands over me, pistol pointed at my head. "Any last words you fuckin' prick?"

"... Sorry about the knee." I raise my pistol and fire my last round into his knee. He screams and falls to the ground, dropping his pistol. The gun slides across the dance floor away from us. I stand up and loom over him, watching him writhe in pain for a bit. I put a stop to it with a few stomps to his head.

I lean against the wall and slump down, panting from exhaustion.

"... I'm done."
In Variety Hour: An Absolute Comics Roleplay → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Origin And Backstory:

Fang Chu was born in Gotham City to a pair of Chinese immigrants on February 16th, 1990. He lived in a rather destitute area during his childhood, where he frequently got into fights with delinquents around the neighborhood and was lucky to survive with his head still on his shoulders. He had hated the poverty and crime he was surrounded by, but nothing disgusted him moreso than his father, an abusive drunk who eventually drove Fang's mother to suicide.

When Fang became an adult, he moved to New York and joined the police force there. The first thing he did was save up enough cash to change his name to Frank Castle, in order to distance himself from his father. At the age of twenty-four he met Maria Conway, the woman who he'd eventually marry and have a pair of twins with. Up until two months ago, life was good, with Frank quickly rising through the ranks of the department and the family looking for a nice suburban home on the Jersey side of the city.

But one day, when the family had a picnic in a park, they witnessed a mob killing happening not too far away. Before Frank could react, gunfire was erupting, and his family was gunned down in front of him by the gangsters. Frank survived, and the assailants were caught not long after the shooting only to be let off due to the weight their boss held.

Frank, disgusted by the ineptitude of the judicial system, has decided to take matters into his own hands. Enlisting the help of a friend in the cyber crimes division, David Lieberman, Frank has taken it upon himself to track down the men who murdered his family and bring down their boss in addition to the two of them. Not to achieve some twisted sense of joy in taking his revenge. He was going to make sure they got punished.

Season One Recap:

Frank's path to damnation began with a shootout at a night club called the Stardust, where he eliminated one of the men who murdered his family. He followed that up with a raid on The Royal Palace hotel, owned by Silvio Manfredi, where he killed the other man responsible for his family's deaths along with dozens of mobsters who were staying and working there. This might've satisfied most, but Frank wasn't through: he was going to topple Silvio Manfredi's organization or die trying.

But things didn't go too smoothly. The police uncovered Frank's identity and raided his apartment. He managed to escape, but only after accidentally killing two cops. From there, he was attacked by Spider-Woman, and the two got into a fight that resulted in an abandoned apartment building coming down. From then on, Frank operated quietly and stealthily, taking out Manfredi members one at a time, until he finally hit Manfredi himself at his manor. There, Frank learned that his family's death wasn't an accident, but rather done in order to prevent Frank's wife from spilling secrets she had learned while working at the DA's office. Frank executed Manfredi, and decided it was time to move on with his life.

But he was in for a rude awakening a month later when he was trying to do laundry. A group of thugs began causing a ruckus outside of the laundromat he was at, and when he killed them he realized that he had the chance to do something more than just wait to die. He took on his alias of the Punisher once more, and began to travel the country, where he met the likes of Vigilante and (unknowingly) John Constantine. From there, he made his way back across the country and began to form a network of vigilantes in the cities that didn't have them, all going by his alias of the Punisher. His group began with Rachel Cole-Alves in Bludhaven, and he's returned to New York while he has Micro look over reports of similarly ruthless vigilantes in nearby cities to recruit.

Powers And Abilities:
('Powers', he says)

Living Weapon - Frank has trained himself in the use of firearms and has also developed a hand-to-hand combat style mixing elements of boxing with down and dirty street fighting. From a semi-automatic pistol to a pencil, he's able to kill with anything. Needless to say, he's a dangerous man that's fully capable of taking on most (non-powered) people who get in his way.

Unbreakable Will - He will stop at nothing (short of killing innocents) to complete his goal and punish those who make a living off of other people's pain. It doesn't matter if he's stabbed, poisoned, shot, he will keep going until he's dead as disco. Couple this with the fact that he has nothing to lose anyway and the skills he already possesses, and it just manages to multiply his potential for violence.

What Makes This Character 'Ultimate'?:
Aside from the race lift and change in background from Castle being a soldier to a police officer, this version of Frank Castle will be played in a style that's heavily influenced by the works of John Woo. A Better Tomorrow and Hard Boiled are the two biggest influences. Expect lots of flashy gunplay and body counts in the hundreds by the time he punishes those responsible for his family's death.

Where Do You Plan To Take The Character This Season?:
It should be noted that I'm only planning on playing Frank for one crossover with DocTachyon. From there on, I'll retire him. However, it should also be noted that he's set up a few other Punishers in nearby cities, and plans on expanding his vigilante network. Potential storylines for people if they want them.

Ignore that, that's for shit that happened two years ago. Punisher. DocTachyon's Vigilante. Building full of demon mobsters. Let's do it.

Supporting Characters:
David Lieberman/Microchip - A friend of Frank's since his days in the academy, Lieberman is a rather portly white man a year older than Frank who was assigned to the cyber crimes division due to his proficiency in technology. He helped Frank uncover the names of the men who killed his family, as well as the man they work for. He has stuck around as Frank's source for whenever he needs information.

Rachel Cole-Alves/The Punisher - The Punisher of Bludhaven and an ally of Frank's. An ex-marine whose husband was murdered in a botched robbery, Rachel fell into depression and didn't know what to do with herself... That was when Frank came along and gave her a reason to keep on living by punishing the type of people that killed her husband.


In Variety Hour: An Absolute Comics Roleplay → 3 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
In ①⑨⑥⑧ — a DC/Marvel Pitch → 3 yrs ago Forum: General Interest Checks
In One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Location and Time: New York City; Mr. Greene's Goods - 8:56 PM
Issue #2: Charles Forte Rides, Again?
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Routine

I had been on shift for about twelve hours. The guy on next shift, Ron, called in sick today. I didn't have much better to do and Mr. Greene knew that, so I had to cover for him. I wasn't complaining. What else am I gonna do on a Friday night? I'm not one of those middle-aged guys that goes out to the bar to play pool and hit on girls half their age. Unlike them, I still have some modicum of self respect left; I'd just be there for the drinks.

My boss, Matthew Greene, walks out of his office. He's an older guy, late 60s, with horn-rimmed glasses resting on a friendly round face. A smile forms beneath his bushy gray mustache as he makes his way behind the counter to talk to me. "Thanks for working double shift, Charlie," he says, patting me on the shoulder. "I'm gonna be closing up now. Feel free to grab a six-pack or something for yourself before you go, on the house." He heads back around the counter and towards the door.

Guess I wasn't hitting the bar tonight. I give him a thumbs up and b-line for the beers. While browsing the cold beverages and trying to make my selection, I hear Mr. Greene start talking to somebody. "Hey, sorry, but we're closing up. You can't come in." Must be a customer trying to come into the shop too late.

"Sorry old man," the person outside the shop says, "But we're not here to buy." I hear a shout from Mr. Greene followed by a dull thud. Turning around, I see about half a dozen thugs walking into the store. Mr. Greene is on the floor with a bloody nose, clutching his face. The leader of the thugs, a well-built man with slicked back black hair and a leather jacket, grabs Mr. Greene by the collar and lifts him up. "Look at you. Who did that to you? Your poor face. We think you might need some protection."

He drops Mr. Greene back to the floor and moves over to a magazine rack, spinning it slowly and examining the books on display. "Lucky for you, we're just the guys you're looking for. You're gonna start paying us five hundred a week. If we don't get our money?" He nods at one of his boys. The thug he nodded to stalks over to Mr. Greene, then stomps on his knee. I hear a sick crack and a howl of pain from the old man. "You'll start having 'accidents'."

I had been hiding behind one of the shelves, watching the whole ordeal go on. I know it would be stupid to intervene. I should just head out back and go home, get drunk, try to forget about this. But that phantom calling out to me tells me otherwise. I need to do something about this. Leaving would be the smart thing to do. Unfortunately, I'm not too smart.

I step out from behind the shelf. "Hey," I call out. The thugs all turn to look at me. Mr. Greene is breathing heavily on the ground, his eyes clenched shut. "You leave him alone." The leader of the thugs looks at me with a bemused expression. He and his boys turn and walk towards me slowly, trying to be intimidating. I stand my ground.

"And who the fuck are you?" he asks. I can see the pistol stirring in his coat. He's looking for an excuse to pull it out. I need to give him one so I can get a hold of it.

"I'm someone punks like you used to fear." I take a step forward.

He turns to his boys and laughs. They join in, like a pack of rabid hyenas. "Oh, this is fuckin' precious! Looks like we got a wannabe hero in our midst fellas! Who do you think you are? Spider-Man? Moon Knight? Oh no, wait, I know. You're some Punisher fanboy, aren't you? Think you can shoot up all the big bad guys don't you?" Like I expected, he pulls a Beretta out of his coat and levels it at my head. He's leaving himself wide open. He's even holding the gun sideways. Bad move. "Tell me, shit for brains. You think you're Frank Castle?"

The irony almost makes me laugh. I merely shake my head and smile at him. "Yeah. I think I am." I grab his wrist with my left hand and jam my right palm into his nose as hard as I can, a wet cracking sound telling me that I broke it. Blood streams from his nostrils and he starts to fall to the ground. I grab the pistol from his hand just a second before he hits the ground. I plug two rounds into his chest before he even has time to process what happened.

The thugs stand there and watch me for a second, processing what just happened. "Oh. Shit," one of them whispers. Then they scatter, taking cover throughout the store as they shout and curse up a storm. I duck behind the shelf I was hiding behind and check the magazine of the gun. Thirteen shots. Should be more than enough.

A few bullets hit the shelf. Still in a crouch, I turn and start walking the opposite way around the shelf to flank them. As I round the corner, I see one of the thugs had the same idea. He looks into my eyes for a moment and starts raising his gun. I've already shot him in the throat. Unfortunately, now the others know just where I am.

Before they get a chance to act on their newly found knowledge, I throw myself through the doorway of Mr. Greene's office and lay on my back with gun trained on the doorway. Thug #3 walks in, I fire once into his thigh and he drops to the ground while screaming bloody murder. His pistol falls out of his hand and scatters towards me. I sit up, grab his gun with my off-hand, and shoot him in the head. Three left.

I stand and flatten myself against the doorway. I hear the footsteps of the fourth man heading towards the office. Right as he's about to walk in, I step forward and start blasting him. One, two, three, four, five rounds to the chest. I step through the doorway of the office with pistols at the ready.

It almost feels like time has slowed exponentially. I haven't felt like this in years. "The Zone", I used to call it. That place you go when you're stacking bodies. You don't think. You act. Focus. Guy a few feet ahead. I could just shoot him now but where's the fun in that? Let's see if I still got it.

With a grunt, I throw myself forward in a dolphin dive, firing all the while at the thug in front of me. His body shakes violently as each bullet pierces his flesh, rocking him to the core. I hit the floor and he falls to the ground. Still got it.

I push myself up and start scanning the room for the last thug. I don't see him anywhere. As if on cue, I hear the distinctive jingle of the front door opening. I peer over the shelves at the front door and see the last man running away. I fire at him once, twice. I hear him shout in pain, but he doesn't slow down. Shit. Probably just grazed him. I'm gonna have to find him so he can't warn any other friends he may have.

I stick the two pistols I have into my waistband and pick up two of the guns the other thugs dropped. Tucking one pistol under my arm, I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone while heading to the front door. Mr. Greene is there, injured but still breathing. I dial 911 and hand him the phone. "Call for help. I won't be back again. Thank you for everything you did for me while I worked here."

He nods shakily, then hits the call button. I'm out the door before he even starts talking.

Dumb move. I should've just left while I had the chance. Would've still had a job at least. But then, wasn't this what I wanted? To go back to the old days? This is my chance. I might as well take it while I still can. If I didn't, what kind of man would I be? A fool trying to outrun his past instead of embracing that part of himself. You can try all you want, but in the end, all it does is hold you back.

I look down and see drops of blood on the sidewalk, trailing after him. From the looks of it, he's already covered quite the distance. Guess the fear of getting shot in the head will let you outrun any sports car on the road. Enough chit-chat. I've got a two-bit thug to track down. I set off into the night, intent on finishing this.
In One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Location and Time: New York City; Mr. Greene's Goods - 1:31 PM
Issue #1: Routine
Interaction(s): None
Previously: Exhale

"No miss, we don't sell diapers, I'm sorry." I reply to the customer.

Behind her amber-tinted shades encrusted with plastic gems, I can see her eyes narrow. "I come here all the time and the first time I ask for a specific product, you don't have it?"

I've never seen this woman come to this store in my past ten years of working here. "We just don't carry them. There's a Walgreens a few blocks away. They should have some."

She scowls at me. Her expression would belong better on the face of a hotshot young socialite that's never worked a day in her life, not the poverty-stricken single mother working two jobs she probably is. "Well good then. I guess I'll take my business there from now on."

She pivots to the door and walks away. "Please come again."

The line of customers she was holding up moves forward, the first of them casting me a sympathetic glance as he places his six-pack of beer on the counter. I scan the item, swipe his card, and accept the payment on the register screen. "Have a good day," I say to him as he leaves.

Next customer. Scan the item. Take their cash. Put it in the register. "Have a good day."

Next. Scan the item. Swipe their card. Accept the payment. "Have a good day."

Next. Scan. Swipe. Ching. "Have a good day."

Next. Scan. Take. Ching. "Have a good day."

Next. Scan. Swipe. Ching. "Have a good day."

Before I know it, I'm on break halfway through my shift, smoking a cigar out front next to the ash tray. I've done this whole song and dance too many times to count over the last decade. This routine has become my entire life and my entire life has become routine. Why am I even doing this? I don't have much going for me in life. All I do besides work is wait to go to work. Is there something that I'm waiting for? Is there something I should go looking for?

I snuff out the cigar and walk back inside. Break's over. I'll save the existential ramblings for later.

Scan. Swipe. Ching. "Have a good day."

Scan. Take. Ching. "Have a good day."

Scan. Swipe. Ching. "Have a good day."

I repeat that routine for four more hours, and then it's over. I walk out of the store and start heading back to my apartment. Back to regularly scheduled brooding: what can I do to shake up this routine? I've done everything I can to leave my old life behind me, but everyday it seems to be calling back to me. It's a specter looming over me, howling my name. I've done my best to ignore its cries, but how long can I keep that up?

A scream in the alley across the road. There it is again, crying out to me. I glance over, see two men standing over another man, sobbing and shouting as he lays bleeding on the ground. I've managed to walk away so many times before. "It doesn't involve you", "they probably picked that fight", all sorts of placating excuses running through my mind. They used to help. Lately, they haven't been. And they sure as hell aren't right now.

I make a beeline right for the alleyway. The perps are two guys, both around half my age and around the same size as me. One has a baseball bat soaked in blood. The other? He's on the ground with a broken nose before he even has a chance to see me coming. Out of the fight before it even begins.

Slugger backs away from me and raises his baseball bat. He swings, I duck while raising a hand to catch the bat. The hit stings as it connects, the nerves in my fingers and palm screeching out, but I power through. I slap my other hand on the bat and pull. He jerks towards me and I bring a knee up into his crotch. The bat is in my hands now. I flip it around and grip the handle tightly.

Reel back.

Inhale.

Swing.

Exhale.

I don't give him time to get up. I bring the bat down on his head, then I do it again, and again, again, again, again, again. If his head was a watermelon, I think Gallagher would be proud. I give it one final swing. He won't be hurting anyone ever again.

I turn to his friend. He's backed up against a wall, blood streaming out of his twisted nose as he watches on in horror. I walk up to him, kneel down to be at eye level with him. "You see your friend over there?"

He jerks his head up and down.

"Do you want that to happen to you?"

He rapidly shakes his head no.

"Then get out of my sight."

He pulls himself up and sprints out of the alley. I don't think I've ever seen anyone run that fast outside of Olympic races. I turn back to the young man they were beating on. He looks up at me with a mixed expression of reverence and fear. I offer him a hand up and he takes it. "T-thank you," he says, his voice shaking.

"Don't thank me. Just get yourself to a hospital and try to steer clear of this part of town." He nods, then limps out of the alley. I look over at the corpse of the assaulter and sigh. Hopefully no one saw that. I tuck the bat under my arm and pluck a cigar into my mouth, lighting it. Inhale. Exhale. I leave it in my lips, keeping it held in place with my teeth, and start the walk back to my apartment. The streets are dead right now and I can't even begin to express how thankful I am of that.

It's only when I've stepped into my apartment and closed the door that the reality of the situation dawned on me. I killed a man for the first time in ten years. The mingled catharsis, regret, and disappointment is a strange feeling. I swore I wouldn't do this again. There was no reason to. Especially these days with all the heroes running around in tights. There's no need for a person like me anymore, if there ever was any need.

I clean the bat off with an old rag, then toss the bloody rag and my clothes into a garbage bag. They're ruined now. The bat finds a place in my closet and I find a place in my shower, rinsing off the excess blood. I watch the pinkish mixture of blood and water wash down the drain. Used to have to clean blood off myself every night. Some nights I just didn't. I'd like to say it was for a scare tactic, but in reality it was because my hygiene wasn't even existent anymore. I was a machine with one purpose: killing.

Would I really want to go back to those days?

Later on, I lay awake in bed pondering that question.

Do I really want to go back to those days?

Of course I don't. I left them behind me ten years ago.

Do I really want to go back to those days?

Maybe. Evil is like a plague. You wipe out all the rats and it's gone, right? But you're forgetting about the fleas, tiny, innumerous, too small for the folks in the big leagues. There has to be someone wiping out the fleas.

Do I really want to go back to those days?

... No. It's a fool's dream to go back to that life. To go back to the killing. I'm past my prime, if I went for the stunts I pulled in my youth I'd get wiped out before I could even tell what happened. I don't want to die. And that's the end of that.

I close my eyes, fall asleep, and dream of drowning in an ocean of blood.
In One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG → 4 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 P U N I S H E R

F R A N K C A S T L E ♦ C A S H I E R / R E T I R E D V I G I L A N T E ♦ N E W Y O R K C I T Y ♦ I N D E P E N D E N T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:

"I'm just an old killer looking for an excuse. But I guess it's better than not needing one."

You know the basics already. Ten years ago, Frank Castle's family was murdered. He gave up his career as a detective to become the Punisher and take his revenge on the people who murdered his family. After killing those responsible, Frank continued his crusade on crime, waging a one-man war on the criminal underworld of New York City.

Except that's not what happened.

After killing the men responsible for his family's deaths and taking down an entire crime syndicate in the process, Frank called it quits. He got what he wanted. His short-lived career as the Punisher was over before it truly began. For the past decade, he's been Charles Forte, a middle-aged divorcee working as a convenience store cashier and living in a rundown apartment in the Bronx. Keeping a low profile and holding back that part of himself that wants to go back to vigilantism. But with a new gang moving in on his neighborhood, the Punisher might need to come out of retirement.

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:
Ah shit, here we go again.

To start off, I'll discuss my reasons for playing the character. It seems like every character I've tried since Punisher has flopped horrifically in some way or another. My attempt at Blade was half-baked and every time I tried to play the Question, I realized I had no idea how to write solo adventures with him. With that in mind, I decided to look back to my first character in one of these Hype style comic games: Frank Castle. Writing him was fun because I had an idea of where I wanted the story to go and I could write some cool ass action scenes along the way. It's pretty hard to mess up "angry man shoots bad guys". Since then, I've always wanted to return to the character. So, I figured "what the hell? I'll shoot my shot." And so once again I am asking to play the Punisher.

My story's gonna be simple and straightforward. Frank's retired, a new gang moves in on his neighborhood and starts trying to extort his employer, he decides to return as the Punisher to take them down. Pretty basic. Once that initial arc is finished, I'll probably focus on doing crossovers and maybe take a page from past me and have Frank go on a cross-country road trip like he did in Ultimate One Universe. The sky's the limit.

In terms of inspirations (because I always have those), first and foremost I'm trying to recapture the spirit of my original Punisher run. So as it was there, John Woo's heroic bloodshed films are the primary inspiration. Beyond that, there's also Max Payne 3, Logan, and The Dark Knight Returns, all of which feature that archetypal "old man returns to being a badass" storyline that I'm doing with this run. As usual, you can expect some recommended listening tracks with my posts every once in a while.

So yeah, that's that. I'll try not to flake out again, folks.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:
Supporting characters list TBA.

S A M P L E P O S T:

P O S T C A T A L O G:
In One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
You know, I'm feeling in the zone so I may regret this, but I think I'm gonna try a second character.



You actually went and did it, you mad fuckin lad.
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