Skelm

Seekers Beyond - a Multifandom Mystery Adventure!

Oooh... the premise sounds really interesting!

Keeping my eye on this one. I would love to participate!

Heroes Rise: Paragon City

D E T E C T I V E S T E V E D O N A H U E
D E T E C T I V E S T E V E D O N A H U E

Lucky Noodle, Little Asia

As the information began to roll in, Steve quickly realized that he had been correct about his intuition; there was definitely something amiss here. Something that went far beyond a routine public disturbance case. He felt vindicated for suppressing his irritation and agreeing to take the call. It bolstered his confidence as he accepted the goggles from Julia Kray and studied them with keen interest.

As he turned them over in his hands, he noticed the weathering around the seams, emphasizing their age. He wasn’t familiar with the tech itself, but it certainly wasn’t something you’d typically find in a local pawn shop. They almost looked custom-made. Had the young woman built them herself? But why would she require a tool that allowed her to capture images in real-time? Did she work in surveillance—or was it something more nefarious?

The questions continued to pervade Steve’s mind as he lifted his eyes to meet the woman’s gaze. "You’re a brave woman, Ms. Kray," he said evenly. "Not everyone would admit to owning something like this, much less offer it up as evidence. I appreciate your cooperation."

He rocked back on his heels and glanced at Donovan, silently confirming the exchange, before turning back to Julia.

"But you have my word," he continued with a small smile. "Once I’m through with my investigation, you’ll get these back. I’m not interested in dragging anyone through the mud for having a bad day. Especially not in a city like this."

A certain weariness then flashed across his features, though his expression remained kind. He had noted her earlier apprehension, as if something had been holding her back. As a recent transplant to the city, he wasn’t about to speculate about the source of her anxiety; some things were better left buried—at least, for now.

Nevertheless, he still felt obligated to reassure her.

"You’re not the only one with a past," Steve uttered more quietly, lowering his voice so that it wouldn’t carry to the others. "Whatever happened to you out there, I’m not here to judge… I’m just trying to make sure whatever’s coming doesn’t catch the rest of the city off guard."

Again, he offered her a gentle smile before slipping the goggles into an evidence bag he produced from his pocket. As Steve sealed it up and tucked it securely into the inner lining of his jacket, he turned serious once more. His demeanor was all business. "Once you’ve had a medic check you out, I’d like a full statement… preferably before you run out of here. Donovan will get your info, and we’ll follow up."

As he dismissed Julia with a slight wave, his gaze quickly shifted toward Shimazu and the girl. He noted the tension that seemed to exist between them, but to assume details about this strange partnership would be unprofessional, just as it had been uncouth for him to speculate about Julia’s past. It was best to stick with the facts.

And yet, his instincts told him the girl, Sarah, wanted out.

She appeared eager… agitated…

Shimazu suggested some fresh air to clear her mind…

Steve nodded once, acknowledging both the man’s courtesy and the weight behind his request. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be doing his job if he allowed the girl to walk, especially with her odd behavior. If she truly had nothing to hide, why was she so nervous?

"I won’t keep her long, Mr. Shimazu," Steve replied in a measured tone, his gaze never wavering from the other man’s face. "But considering someone just… portaled away with another person, plus there’s talk of the Blue Dragons being involved, and the occult… well, I’d like to get names straight before anyone takes off. If she’s a suspect," he paused to dispel any objections by raising a hand, "and I’m not saying she is one, but people don’t get to walk out of a crime scene without at least confirming who they are and what they saw. That includes your ‘patron’, too."

Steve inclined his chin and regarded Kenzo with a shrewd expression.

"This isn’t me being difficult, Mr. Shimazu. This is me keeping things from spiraling out of control. You understand."

The Dead Don't Die.

Jack Landry

Location: West Caldwell Streets
Skills: N/A

---

---

Jack exhaled, relief flooding his body at the sound of Claire’s voice. She was alive, and at that moment, it didn’t matter that the world was on the brink of collapse. The whole damn thing could come tumbling down, just as long as his daughter was safe. In truth, there hadn’t been time to consider the alternative in all the chaos. Maybe that was for the best. It kept him motivated… sane. He wouldn’t have made it this far without that spark of hope.

"I’m… fine, honey," Jack relayed in a steadier tone, a hint of a smile evident on his features. "I was able to get across before the military took out the bridges. I found a small group of survivors, and we’ll be heading north."

He paused, inclining his head to regard the group gathered around the car that AJ’s parents had arrived in. They were still engaged in conversation, and he noted that Shin-ae had now joined them. For a moment, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Jack’s stomach, as if he were being isolated from the rest of the group and could potentially miss out on a crucial decision. It was a childish notion, and it probably shouldn’t bother him, especially since he was the newcomer to the group. Nevertheless, he found himself instinctively stepping forward to close the gap between them.

"You’re still in Boston, right?" Jack continued after clearing his throat. He noted the cacophony of voices in the background for the first time, prompting a frown. "And you’re… safe at this shelter? Do they have procedures in place in case those creatures show up? And to quarantine the sick? I just—" He scoffed and shook his head. "Sorry… It’s just good to hear your voice."

Heroes Rise: Paragon City

D E T E C T I V E S T E V E D O N A H U E
D E T E C T I V E S T E V E D O N A H U E

Lucky Noodle, Little Asia

The phone vibrated against the worn, lacquered surface of the desk, issuing a deep thrum that seemed to cut through the perpetual din of conversation within the PCPD’s main precinct office. With a weary sigh, Lt. Detective Steve Donahue forced himself to emerge from the dull haze of his late-morning coffee to check his messages. His desk wasn’t the most organized, and it took him a moment to locate the wayward device after shuffling aside a stack of papers and filing folders. A slight frown creased his features when he finally glanced at the text. It was from Officer Donovan, requesting his assistance with an incident at the Lucky Noodle.

The frown deepened, etching an array of fine lines across his forehead. The Lucky Noodle. The name didn’t ring any bells, but if he had to speculate, it was probably one of those fancy cafes located in the Little Asia District of downtown. Steve was still fairly new to Paragon City, having transferred over from Brooklyn several months ago. Although he had worked from one side of the city to the other on a variety of cases in his short time with the PCPD, he was still learning the lay of the land. Sure, he had heard whispers from his colleagues, but there was nothing concrete that he could recall to assist him in this instance. For the moment, it was another unfamiliar name on a growing list that he needed to memorize fast.

Despite his ignorance, Steve still felt a flare of irritation over the situation. He was a homicide detective, not some patrol grunt assigned to disperse petty fights out on the street. Why had Donovan contacted him? Part of him wondered if the Chief had suggested it. He had the impression that he was still serving a probationary period, even if he had proven himself on several occasions since his transfer. Was it simply that they didn’t like him? Or did they know more about his past? Specifically about his secret?

No. They couldn't know about that. It wasn’t possible. No one knew. He hadn’t told anyone.

That notion—that fear—allowed him to push aside his frustration and reassert his focus. Steve stood and pulled on his coat, patting down his pockets to secure his phone and keys, before stepping out into the late morning light.

The drive over to the Lucky Noodle was therapeutic in the sense that it afforded him time to reflect on the moment. While he initially expressed dismay over being asked to investigate this case, his gut now told a different story. Call it simple intuition, but Steve felt as if there was something more involved here than a simple disturbance. It needled at the back of his mind, like a persistent itch he could not reach. That sensation was compounded by the realization that trouble always seemed to find him, regardless of his efforts to avoid it.

Would this lead to more of the same?

When he arrived, the little bell above the door jangled as he crossed the threshold, announcing his entry. Steve immediately placed his hands on his hips and rocked back on his heels to survey the scene, his features adopting an impassive mask. The place had a distinct aesthetic, embracing tradition in a very tactful manner. It generated a pleasant atmosphere for patrons and passersby alike, though the tension that now hung in the shattered those sentiments. He quickly noted the mess that littered the floor: food debris, furniture, and blood, which indicated a clear sign of an altercation. A small group of people stood nearby, speaking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Steve surmised that they consisted of those present during the incident, including employees and patrons.

He exhaled softly as he absorbed this information, his eyes finally shifting to regard Officer Donovan. "Mike," Steve acknowledged the man with a curt nod, his voice steady but seeming to carry the weight of so many unasked questions. "Good call getting me out here. What do we have?"

As he spoke, Steve caught a flurry of movement out of the corner of his eye. He shifted then, noticing a young woman with a thin trail of blood seeping from an open wound. She uttered something about the Delgatos… and the occult, which prompted him to narrow his eyes. It was the end of a previous conversation, but it still sent a chill down the length of his spine, causing him to shudder involuntarily.

For the past several months, he had conducted his own research into the occult—ever since he had discovered that damned book. Was it truly a coincidence that he had been called here to investigate the very thing that could potentially help him unlock the mystery about his… condition?

Probably not.

Suddenly, being here made even more sense.

Clearing his throat, Steve stepped forward to address Julia. "I’m sorry, Miss. I’m Lt. Detective Steve Donahue." He pushed back his coat to reveal the badge on his belt. "I’m trying to piece together what happened here, and I’m curious… the occult? That seems… a little far-fetched, doesn’t it? Why would you assume something like that?"

The Dead Don't Die.

Jack Landry

Location: West Caldwell Streets
Skills: N/A

---

---

Again, a pang of remorse clenched his chest in response to Kaitlyn’s recommendation to abandon the car, though Jack nodded all the same. While he still hated to discard his last link to Ben, it almost felt like a betrayal to the young man, it made the most practical sense. The car was a liability, and he didn’t want to become responsible for any additional deaths. In that regard, he appreciated Kaitlyn’s ability to stay rational in the face of chaos.

Nevertheless, he had to be sure. Call it stubborn pride, but Jack wasn’t about to throw in the towel just yet.

And so, as Kaitlyn handed over her car keys to Shin-ae and strode over to greet AJ’s parents, Jack bent down and popped the hood of the Impala, the metal groaning in protest as he lifted it. He immediately felt the heat rising from the engine block, accompanied by a burst of steam that wafted into his face. As if that wasn’t enough to raise concern, the thick, pungent fumes of rancid oil clung to the air and burned his nose as it worked its way through his sinuses. That certainly wasn’t a good sign.

Jack stood back and took a moment to breathe the fresh air. "Of course," he muttered under his breath. "The one time I need a reliable car…"

Under normal circumstances, he likely could’ve eventually identified the problem and devised a way to patch it back together, but he did not have the luxury of time or resources. It was a fruitless gesture when he had nothing else to go on except the smell of burning oil. He was no mechanic, but he still understood how that particular symptom could indicate a variety of problems. At this point, he had to admit that Kaitlyn was right. It was probably best to abandon it.

With a sigh, Jack slammed the hood back down and instinctively fingered the phone in his pocket. Despite everything that had transpired over the last 24 hours, it provided an odd sort of comfort, especially since it was the last thing linking him to Claire. It was only then that he remembered Kaitlyn’s earlier suggestion to contact her—or at least, to give it another try.

He stared at the screen for a long moment before unlocking it, thumbing down to his daughter’s name in his contacts. The photo attached to the profile was taken a few years ago, with her hair tangled in the wind and her eyes closed with laughter. It was the face of a child with her whole life ahead of her. The realization that she may never fulfill her dreams felt like a punch to the gut.
Jack hastily hit the “call” button before he could talk himself out of it again.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Still no answer.

He was about to hang up when the line clicked, and a familiar voice filled his ear.

"... Dad?"

"C-Claire?" His breath caught in his throat. "Is… is that you?"

Heroes Rise: Paragon City

Steven “Steve” Donahue

S T E V E D O N A H U E
S T E V E D O N A H U E

^{"I can’t change what’s inside of me, but I can decide what I do with it."}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Lt. Detective Steven “Steve” Donahue / Hollow Sun _________________________________________________________ 43 | Male _________________________________________________________ Paragon City Police Department (PCPD) | Brooklyn, NY United States N O T A B L E P O W E R S & A B I L I T I E S N O T A B L E P O W E R S & A B I L T I I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O W E R S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Solar-Core Anomaly (the Hollow Sun) - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Temporal Intuition - Steve can predict and perceive possible near-futures up to 5-10 seconds ahead of time. This works to his advantage in various facets of his job, including investigations, negotiations, and combat. It augments his reflexes and makes him eerily accurate during shootouts. His fellow officers merely chalk it up to experience… and luck. ◼ Entropic Influence - As a result of his exposure to the solar-core energy, Steve can subtly manipulate entropy, causing objects to decay or metal to rust. He has also demonstrated an ability to slow cell activity in organic beings, halting the flow of blood in the wounded or causing extreme fatigue by exhausting an individual’s stamina. However, this ability comes with a price: it requires intense concentration, which often results in migraines, nosebleeds, or blackouts. It’s also important to note that he cannot heal; it only delays or accelerates the natural deterioration of things. ◼ The Hollow Sun Eruption (Suppressed) - In moments of extreme trauma or desperation, Steve involuntarily becomes the Hollow Sun. This dormant anomaly is buried deep within his soul, a cosmic energy source that harkens back to an event he barely remembers. When unleashed, it generates a vast amount of energy in the form of light, heat, or force, transforming Steve into a living, breathing weapon of destruction. In this augmented state, it also grants him the ability to fly. However, he is unable to control it; his actions are instinctual, driven by raw emotion. That’s why he is so dangerous. The more he fights the transformation, the more it strains his body and mind. - O T H E R I N F O R M A T I O N _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Veteran detective with nearly twenty years in homicide ◼ Skilled marksman and tactician ◼ Expert in interrogation, profiling, and deductive reasoning ◼ Code writing and occult symbols (learned in secret through studying the journal) - W E A K N E S S E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Mental Fractures - The Hollow Sun’s presence inside of him is debilitating, causing him to experience frequent blackouts and memory gaps, as well as dissociative episodes. He sometimes wakes up from these incidents to discover damage he doesn’t remember causing. ◼ Human Constraints - Despite his powers, Steve is as vulnerable as any man. Bullets hurt. Bones break. ◼ Self-Hatred/Guilt - Steve is not proud of his powers. They are unnatural, and he views them as a curse. As a result, he refuses to use them unless absolutely necessary. He also actively hides his powers from everyone around him, including his colleagues in the police force and his family. Despite these precautions, he still carries deep guilt about what he might be capable of if he loses control. He’s terrified that he may harm innocent people. - T H E M E S O N G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Hurt - Johnny Cash -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ It was a wonder that he made it as far as he did. Growing up in an impoverished neighborhood on the east side of Brooklyn, Steve was often a witness to the more inane and dangerous side of human existence. Crime was rampant in this industrialized area, and despite a valiant effort by city officials to revitalize the public housing situation, it remained a difficult place for families struggling to survive on scraps and minimum wage. It was a tough way for a child to live, but despite the hardships, these circumstances instilled in him many of the moral, philosophical, and ethical values that would eventually lead him down the path toward law enforcement. He felt compelled to give back by serving his community and preventing others from experiencing the same kind of adversity that had plagued his own childhood. Perhaps he could promote change, make the streets a safer place, and ease some of the unnecessary suffering. It was a lofty goal bolstered by idealistic youth, and yet Steve pursued it with a passion. His determination eventually landed him a position with the New York Police Department (NYPD), where he steadily rose through the ranks over the years to become a homicide detective. In time, he met Kate, a clinical psychologist working with victims of violent trauma. She was a brilliant mind and could read him like no one else ever had. They would eventually marry and forge a life together that felt almost normal. When their daughter, Chloe, was born, she only reinforced those sentiments. She instilled in them a sense of hope that perhaps the world could be a better place. Unfortunately, all of that changed with Steve’s next case. It involved a linguist named Elias Murn, who the building admin found dead in his apartment after a wellness check. There was no blood; no signs of struggle. However, it was clear the professor hadn’t died from natural causes. His body lay on the wooden floor, his arms and legs spread-eagled with ritual markings and other strange sigils arranged around the corpse in random patterns. There was also an antique trunk in one corner of the room, which contained a journal written in a language no one could translate. Steve should’ve waited for forensics to arrive to inventory the evidence, but there had been something about that journal. It seemed to echo in the darkest recesses of his mind, whispering to him in such a way that compelled him to inspect it… almost as if it were alive. As soon as he reached out and took the book into his hand, he convulsed and collapsed, slipping into a coma. When he awoke in the hospital three weeks later, the doctors found nothing; his condition had baffled them. However, Steve knew better. Something had awakened inside of him. This became apparent when he returned to active duty; everything felt different. The world seemed to grow louder, as if the universe itself was thrumming with energy and anticipation. It was a constant cacophony that he could not switch off. And yet, it provided focus. He began to solve cases that had no evidence, predicting actions before they happened, all while his arrest record skyrocketed. Among his peers, his intuition became legendary. But from within, there was something else stirring, a great pressure that seemed to surge whenever he found himself emotionally compromised. He felt it as a radiant force, an intense heat that rose from the pit of his stomach and spread as if trying to emerge through his skin. Light and flashes of strength he couldn’t explain seemed to accompany these occurrences. On one occasion, while cornered in a dark alley of the city, he remembers how the world had turned into a golden blur, the shimmering veil obscuring his vision before he had blacked out. When he came to, he discovered the wall to an adjacent building had crumbled and all three suspects were strewn about the area, unconscious and injured. Steve kept the incident a secret. He buried it, locked it down. He did not tell the precinct, his therapist… or Kate. Nevertheless, secrets tended to erode a person’s life, particularly as time went on. This is exactly what happened to Steve’s family. They grew more distant over the following months. As Kate became increasingly frustrated with his moods, she withdrew, gaining the support of a teenage Chloe in the process. Their marriage, already strained by years of police work, began to fracture. Steve started sleeping in the guest room, then his office, as things continued to spiral. He ended up transferring to Paragon City shortly after. It was a quiet reassignment following a departmental review Steve maintains was anything but routine, though he decided not to dispute it. A change of scenery could prove beneficial for his mental health. It was also a chance for a fresh start. Now, Steve works homicide cases by day, chasing the worst of humanity, while trying to keep something far worse from erupting inside him. At night, he pores over the journal that started it all, searching for a cure—or a way to contain it. Steve’s not a hero, nor a villain. He’s just a man trying to hold himself together long enough to keep the city from burning. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Steve intends to carry on as a homicide detective within the PCPD, solving cases while keeping his powers hidden from his colleagues and the Department of Superhuman Affairs. If he succeeds, all they will see is a brilliant, though haunted, cop with an almost preternatural gift for solving the unsolvable. He also hopes to uncover the origin of the anomaly through analysis of the strange journal that always seems to end up in his possession. He fears what would happen if he lost control and unleashed his powers on the innocent… or what would become of him if some government entity discovered the truth and tried to weaponize him. To prevent that from happening, he aspires to find a way to separate the anomaly from himself—or, with some convincing, obtain the proper training to control his power and use it as a force for good. At some point, he may try to seek out the Mystic’s Sanctum to recruit their help in uncovering the truth. He also hopes to mend his marriage with Kate and his relationship with Chloe. (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

Heroes Rise: Paragon City

Steven “Steve” Donahue

S T E V E D O N A H U E
S T E V E D O N A H U E

^{"I can’t change what’s inside of me, but I can decide what I do with it."}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y _________________________________________________________ Lt. Detective Steven “Steve” Donahue / Hollow Sun _________________________________________________________ 43 | Male _________________________________________________________ Paragon City Police Department (PCPD) | Brooklyn, NY United States N O T A B L E P O W E R S & A B I L I T I E S N O T A B L E P O W E R S & A B I L T I I E S _________________________________________________________ [+] - P O W E R S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Solar-Core Anomaly (the Hollow Sun) - A B I L I T I E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Temporal Intuition - Steve can predict and perceive possible near-futures up to 5-10 seconds ahead of time. This works to his advantage in various facets of his job, including investigations, negotiations, and combat. It augments his reflexes and makes him eerily accurate during shootouts. His fellow officers merely chalk it up to experience… and luck. ◼ Entropic Influence - As a result of his exposure to the solar-core energy, Steve can subtly manipulate entropy, causing objects to decay or metal to rust. He has also demonstrated an ability to slow cell activity in organic beings, halting the flow of blood in the wounded or causing extreme fatigue by exhausting an individual’s stamina. However, this ability comes with a price: it requires intense concentration, which often results in migraines, nosebleeds, or blackouts. It’s also important to note that he cannot heal; it only delays or accelerates the natural deterioration of things. ◼ The Hollow Sun Eruption (Suppressed) - In moments of extreme trauma or desperation, Steve involuntarily becomes the Hollow Sun. This dormant anomaly is buried deep within his soul, a cosmic energy source that harkens back to an event he barely remembers. When unleashed, it generates a vast amount of energy in the form of light, heat, or force, transforming Steve into a living, breathing weapon of destruction. In this augmented state, it also grants him the ability to fly. However, he is unable to control it; his actions are instinctual, driven by raw emotion. That’s why he is so dangerous. The more he fights the transformation, the more it strains his body and mind. - O T H E R I N F O R M A T I O N _________________________________________________________ [+] - S K I L L (S) ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Veteran detective with nearly twenty years in homicide ◼ Skilled marksman and tactician ◼ Expert in interrogation, profiling, and deductive reasoning ◼ Code writing and occult symbols (learned in secret through studying the journal) - W E A K N E S S E S ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Mental Fractures - The Hollow Sun’s presence inside of him is debilitating, causing him to experience frequent blackouts and memory gaps, as well as dissociative episodes. He sometimes wakes up from these incidents to discover damage he doesn’t remember causing. ◼ Human Constraints - Despite his powers, Steve is as vulnerable as any man. Bullets hurt. Bones break. ◼ Self-Hatred/Guilt - Steve is not proud of his powers. They are unnatural, and he views them as a curse. As a result, he refuses to use them unless absolutely necessary. He also actively hides his powers from everyone around him, including his colleagues in the police force and his family. Despite these precautions, he still carries deep guilt about what he might be capable of if he loses control. He’s terrified that he may harm innocent people. - T H E M E S O N G ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Hurt - Johnny Cash -

T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... T H E S T O R Y S O F A R... ________________________________________________________________________________________ It was a wonder that he made it as far as he did. Growing up in an impoverished neighborhood on the east side of Brooklyn, Steve was often a witness to the more inane and dangerous side of human existence. Crime was rampant in this industrialized area, and despite a valiant effort by city officials to revitalize the public housing situation, it remained a difficult place for families struggling to survive on scraps and minimum wage. It was a tough way for a child to live, but despite the hardships, these circumstances instilled in him many of the moral, philosophical, and ethical values that would eventually lead him down the path toward law enforcement. He felt compelled to give back by serving his community and preventing others from experiencing the same kind of adversity that had plagued his own childhood. Perhaps he could promote change, make the streets a safer place, and ease some of the unnecessary suffering. It was a lofty goal bolstered by idealistic youth, and yet Steve pursued it with a passion. His determination eventually landed him a position with the New York Police Department (NYPD), where he steadily rose through the ranks over the years to become a homicide detective. In time, he met Kate, a clinical psychologist working with victims of violent trauma. She was a brilliant mind and could read him like no one else ever had. They would eventually marry and forge a life together that felt almost normal. When their daughter, Chloe, was born, she only reinforced those sentiments. She instilled in them a sense of hope that perhaps the world could be a better place. Unfortunately, all of that changed with Steve’s next case. It involved a linguist named Elias Murn, who the building admin found dead in his apartment after a wellness check. There was no blood; no signs of struggle. However, it was clear the professor hadn’t died from natural causes. His body lay on the wooden floor, his arms and legs spread-eagled with ritual markings and other strange sigils arranged around the corpse in random patterns. There was also an antique trunk in one corner of the room, which contained a journal written in a language no one could translate. Steve should’ve waited for forensics to arrive to inventory the evidence, but there had been something about that journal. It seemed to echo in the darkest recesses of his mind, whispering to him in such a way that compelled him to inspect it… almost as if it were alive. As soon as he reached out and took the book into his hand, he convulsed and collapsed, slipping into a coma. When he awoke in the hospital three weeks later, the doctors found nothing; his condition had baffled them. However, Steve knew better. Something had awakened inside of him. This became apparent when he returned to active duty; everything felt different. The world seemed to grow louder, as if the universe itself was thrumming with energy and anticipation. It was a constant cacophony that he could not switch off. And yet, it provided focus. He began to solve cases that had no evidence, predicting actions before they happened, all while his arrest record skyrocketed. Among his peers, his intuition became legendary. But from within, there was something else stirring, a great pressure that seemed to surge whenever he found himself emotionally compromised. He felt it as a radiant force, an intense heat that rose from the pit of his stomach and spread as if trying to emerge through his skin. Light and flashes of strength he couldn’t explain seemed to accompany these occurrences. On one occasion, while cornered in a dark alley of the city, he remembers how the world had turned into a golden blur, the shimmering veil obscuring his vision before he had blacked out. When he came to, he discovered the wall to an adjacent building had crumbled and all three suspects were strewn about the area, unconscious and injured. Steve kept the incident a secret. He buried it, locked it down. He did not tell the precinct, his therapist… or Kate. Nevertheless, secrets tended to erode a person’s life, particularly as time went on. This is exactly what happened to Steve’s family. They grew more distant over the following months. As Kate became increasingly frustrated with his moods, she withdrew, gaining the support of a teenage Chloe in the process. Their marriage, already strained by years of police work, began to fracture. Steve started sleeping in the guest room, then his office, as things continued to spiral. He ended up transferring to Paragon City shortly after. It was a quiet reassignment following a departmental review Steve maintains was anything but routine, though he decided not to dispute it. A change of scenery could prove beneficial for his mental health. It was also a chance for a fresh start. Now, Steve works homicide cases by day, chasing the worst of humanity, while trying to keep something far worse from erupting inside him. At night, he pores over the journal that started it all, searching for a cure—or a way to contain it. Steve’s not a hero, nor a villain. He’s just a man trying to hold himself together long enough to keep the city from burning. P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S ) ________________________________________________________________________________________ Steve intends to carry on as a homicide detective within the PCPD, solving cases while keeping his powers hidden from his colleagues and the Department of Superhuman Affairs. If he succeeds, all they will see is a brilliant, though haunted, cop with an almost preternatural gift for solving the unsolvable. He also hopes to uncover the origin of the anomaly through analysis of the strange journal that always seems to end up in his possession. He fears what would happen if he lost control and unleashed his powers on the innocent… or what would become of him if some government entity discovered the truth and tried to weaponize him. To prevent that from happening, he aspires to find a way to separate the anomaly from himself—or, with some convincing, obtain the proper training to control his power and use it as a force for good. At some point, he may try to seek out the Mystic’s Sanctum to recruit their help in uncovering the truth. He also hopes to mend his marriage with Kate and his relationship with Chloe. (Marvel Cinematic Universe)

The Dead Don't Die.

Jack Landry

Location: West Caldwell Streets
Skills: N/A

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Jack supposed he couldn’t blame Shin-ae for declining his offer to ride along with him. Despite their situation, he was still a stranger. Their meeting was the result of a random circumstance, which certainly wasn’t enough for him to earn her trust. That would come in time. For the moment, he would respect her boundaries.

Nevertheless, Jack had felt a little wounded when Kaitlyn questioned the versatility of the car itself, something that had likely also crossed Shin-ae’s mind. He would be the first to admit that it was far from dependable, nor did it hold any sentimental value. It wasn’t even his car! However, it was his last connection to Ben’s memory. The young man had sacrificed himself to allow Jack to retrieve his car. That had to count for something.

But there was also the question of practicality, especially in terms of their safety. In that sense, perhaps Kaitlyn had a point.

With a quiet sigh, Jack ran his hand along the dashboard and frowned. "There is a chance it could slow us down. I did notice a slight uptick on the temperature gauge on my way out of the city. There was no time to stop and diagnose the problem, but the best-case scenario? It simply needs an oil change." He angled his chin to meet Kaitlyn’s gaze. "I could take a look now and go from there? An extra set of wheels wouldn’t be such a bad idea—"

A revving engine announced the arrival of another car, a lavish BMW, which halted Jack’s thoughts. As he opened the door and rose to his feet, he watched the scene unfold with narrowed eyes, his frown deepening. A woman with fair skin and equally blonde hair emerged from the passenger side of the car, ran across the asphalt, and flung herself against AJ. The two embraced, the woman sobbing inconsolably. The driver, who remained in the car, was difficult to see through the tinted glass, though Jack could only deduce that they were the girl’s parents.

Good for her.

He allowed himself a small smile at the reunion, though it soon faded, quickly replaced with a pang of anxiety for his own daughter. Claire was still out there. Only then did he acknowledge Kaitlyn’s inquiry about whether he had tried to contact her.

"She called me when everything went to hell," Jack explained solemnly, his blue eyes turning distant. "The line cut off shortly after I answered, and I haven’t been able to get a hold of her since. It could be as simple as her phone dying, or—well, I’d rather not consider the alternatives. Not yet, anyway. I’d rather maintain hope." He shook his head and scoffed at his own expense. "But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try again. You never know."

With another wary sigh, Jack pulled the phone from his pants pocket and retrieved Claire’s information through his contacts.

The Dead Don't Die.

Jack Landry

Location: West Caldwell Streets
Skills: N/A

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Jack slowly nodded, following Kaitlyn’s gaze toward the teenager, AJ. The girl looked distraught. While her words were not apparent from this distance, her body language was a testament to her emotional state, particularly the way she clutched the phone as if it were her lifeline. A pang of empathy clutched his chest at the sight. He felt sorry for the girl, though he wisely kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place to further inquire about her situation. Kaitlyn already mentioned her goal was to find her parents; he’ll leave it at that for now.

“I hope to make it to Boston,” Jack replied after a moment, returning his gaze to Kaitlyn. “My daughter… Claire lives up that way with her husband. I haven’t heard from her since everything went to hell, but—”

He trailed off with a rueful smile, his words hanging heavy with implication. He didn’t want to elaborate, especially when he considered the alternatives.

To suppress those thoughts, he quickly changed the subject, retaining hope in the process. His expression softened as he sought Shin-ae’s attention, once again noting the woman’s apparent injury. “It looks like you could use another set of wheels,” Jack said with some levity, keeping his tone light so he wouldn’t startle her. “You can ride along with me, if you want. I should have plenty of room in the trunk for your bike.”

He then turned to the others, his brow furrowing slightly. “Speaking of which, if you’re all heading north, then maybe we shouldn’t go alone. Strength in numbers, and all that.” He hesitated, some of the light seeming to fade from his eyes as the carnage of the last several days came surging back. When he spoke again, his voice was more subdued… haunted. “We’ve lost so much already.”

Snapping out of it, Jack pursed his lips and nodded toward Kaitlyn once more. “Uh, and thank you… for offering the supplies. I appreciate that. I only wish I had some to spare to show my gratitude in return. The best I can do right now is a ride. How about we start there? That’s still on the table.”

He reached over and popped open the passenger-side door with a metallic clack.

The Dead Don't Die.

Jack Landry

Location: West Caldwell Streets
Skills: N/A

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Relief flooded Jack’s mind as Kaitlyn introduced herself and her companions, AJ and Shin-ae. At least he hadn’t made another mistake by stumbling across a group of hostiles. They seemed innocent enough… but perhaps that was the problem. Two women, one of whom appeared injured, and a teenager, wandering around in this dangerous environment by themselves, was an inherent risk. They were more susceptible to attacks, particularly from the ruffians and thugs who were undoubtedly eager to capitalize on the chaos.

Or was that an antiquated concept that would likely offend them?

Despite the annoyance, he wished he still had his PR team at his disposal to analyze these awkward social interactions and ensure that he didn’t say the wrong thing. However, there were also times when being true to himself was the best course of action. It was a lesson he had gained over decades of public service.

And in this case, he felt compelled to assist and protect them…

… if they would have him.

It wasn’t at all surprising when Shin-ae regarded him warily and asked whether he had been injured while fleeing the city. Jack couldn’t blame her, not really. Not after the things he had witnessed: the ambush on the public services building, his companions succumbing to the creatures one by one, Ben’s sacrifice—

The destruction of the bridges and tunnels was new information to him, though his expression remained unchanged. Deep down, he surmised something terrible had happened. He recalled how he had felt the distant rumblings, like thunder rolling through the streets. He now had context for the strange occurrence. It had been the detonations.

“No, no injuries,” Jack finally replied, his tone somber. “At least, not the type you’re referring to. I’ve… seen things. The group I was with before leaving the city… they all succumbed to those creatures, and… let's just say I have a pretty good idea of what to look for.”

He pursed his lips and diverted his gaze, no doubt recollecting himself after the harrowing experience. After a moment, he turned back and extended a hand, all too eager to change the subject.

“I’m Jack, by the way.” He nodded to Kaitlyn and Shin-ae. “It looks like you could use some help. I’m heading north, but I’m more than willing to take you as far as you need.”