Supermaxx

Superboy's Shitty Characters

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Op. No. KY-9914; Pvt. Malik Skaya
121st Battalion, Bravo Company, 1st Platoon, 1st Squad
Lothor Minor | In orbit aboard the Tempest
APPROX. 1200HRS; 5 BBY

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A burst of static covered the screen like a field of jagged, broken light. It's steady, stabbing rhythm lasted for no more than a second as it transitioned harshly into a black screen, the day's date marking the middle in large, blocky letters. The darkness receded slowly, revealing a poorly lit, tightly cramped room, and a man seated far too close to the camera.

"Shamech talcu."

Though spoken in little more than a gentle whisper, the voice seemed to rumble with the depth of an ocean trench and the barely constrained power of a thunderstorm. The audio cut, a burst of crumbled static cutting off the next few words he spoke before it came rumbling back in like a runaway starfreighter. It was exactly the sort of voice one would expect to come from the brawny behemoth with a rigid, aggressive jawline and shoulders broad enough to carry a Bantha on. Even underneath the plastoid white armor of a Stormtrooper, one could make out that he was a powerfully-built individual.

"I apologize for how long it's been since my last message, but things have been...chaotic, recently." Fat, tired bags hung underneath brilliant ruby eyes, emphasizing the exhaustion that permeated his words. He forced a smile, long lines stretching across his face as he glanced above the camera. His brow furrowed, a hand reaching up into frame. It fumbled with something, sending the screen into a violent, shaky mess. "Is this even on?" The voice growled, the rest of his mumbling cut off by the booming sound of his hand slapping against the side of the cam. After seemingly determining that it was, in fact on, he returned to his seat- which looked to be no more than an overturned container inside of a tightly packed sanitation closet.

"Right, where was I?" He sighed, rubbing a great, meaty fist in his eye. He was quiet for a few moments while he tried to remember what he was talking about before. "Why I haven't recorded anything. That's right." He nodded, pulling himself back on track. "I was transferred away from my previous team. It was a last minute decision; this squad needed a spot filled and I was the one they chose to do it. It's not ideal if I'm honest with you- I was only just adjusting to the last bunch, and now I've got to start all over again." He sighed again, his gaze sharpening for just a moment; he remained still for several seconds until his expression began to relax.

"Once I have their trust, I'll begin sending footage with them back to you, father. Hopefully, they'll provide a better example of the Empire's finest than the last bunch." There was a brief glimmer of hope in his gaze, but it was struggling not to be choked out by the frustration and exhaustion that fought to hover in those crimson eyes. "If not, well-"

The man in the video cut himself off, his eyes darting out of frame. He leaned down, retrieving a bucket-shaped helmet from the floor and placing it upon his lap. It was beeping softly, a red light flashing to alert him of an incoming message. "-Apologies, father, it seems duty calls. I'll speak to you again shortly." He brought a fist up, balling his gloved hand tight. "May peace follow you wherever you may wander." He reached up back in front up of the camera, flicking it off- causing the screen to go dark in an instant.

Malik Skaya flipped his helmet around, staring down inside its dark interior. He had to turn it sideways to slip it on without getting it snagged on his nose. A chiming click sounded, informing him that he'd secured it in place. His ears were immediately greeted by the sound of his new sergeant's voice as he ordered the squad to assemble in the hangar bay. He spun around inside the closet, his gaze searching for-

There it is.

The black, sleek rifle he'd carried since his academy days was resting up against a shelf, alongside several canisters of unknown chemicals. He snatched it up, sliding it into his armor's holster before making for the door. 'Alright. Hangar bay. Hangar bay.' He went through his mental map of the Tempest, trying to remember where everything was from memory rather than relying on his HUD. Ignoring the pair of officers giving him the side eyes for popping out of the janitor's closet, Malik made his way down the hall at a quick march, intent on reaching the destination on time. He didn't want to be the last one to arrive; he hated that. It always felt like everyone stared at him when he did.

He was halfway there by the time he remembered that he needed his medical kit- since he was, in fact, a medic. Quietly reprimanding himself for his forgetfulness, he rushed back in the other direction toward the medbay at doubletime, thankful that the order to deploy meant he wouldn't be reprimanded for making such a rush. Skaya filled his pack with the standard allowed supply, logged it with the attendant, and started back toward the hangar bay- after making a brief stop at the armory for extra energy cells and flares.

By the time he'd arrived in the hangar, he was sure he'd be one of the last to arrive. It was some wonder, then, that he was only able to spot a single other member of first squad in the entire hangar. He pushed his way through the crowds of troopers, engineers and technicians that flooded the cavernous chamber, jogging up toward the armored Stormtrooper his HUD marked as 'SN-7739.'

"Uhm, hello-" Malik nodded, intent on introducing himself to his new squadmate. He had seen him around the bunks, and perhaps even spoke a few words to him, but he had yet to properly introduce himself to anyone except his ranking officer. Though he'd spoken the tongue for years now, basic was still difficult for Malik; it was so impossibly different from the native tongue of his people that he still had trouble coming off as stunted and overly formal at times. "Orson, right? My name is Malik. It is good to meet you."

Star Wars: The Beat (closed)

Malik Skaya

Malik Skaya

"I'm tempted to let you meet the gods rather than waste more of my supplies on a runt that can't aim."

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Identification/Serial Number:

KY-9914

Sex:

Male

Age:

23

Homeworld:

Aquella

Rank:

Private

Role:

Stormsurgeon

Callsign:

Patches

Appearance:

Malik Skaya is smaller than the average Aquellan, standing at a mere six feet in height and having a chest only as wide as a barrel rather than a barn like many of his larger, bulkier cousins. Powerful, coiled muscles stretch across a wide and towering frame, forged like wrought metal in the fires of a crucible. A sheet of tanned, oily flesh sits atop that bulging brawn, marred by numerous scars, piercings, and tribal tattoos alike. Swirling ink of a deep, royal purple traces it's way from the bottom of his feet up to the back of his neck in a brilliant display of grandiose color. Each individual branch of the tattoo links to the primary 'trunk' painted upon his torso; every branch representing one of the five principle gods of the Aquellan pantheon. For example, he bears the god of the ocean upon his right arm, with images of tidal waves and gargantuan leviathans from his homeworld melded seamlessly into the primary branch. The other marked gods include the god of the sky, the god of stone and the twin goddesses of the living and the dead.

Another important facet of Aquellan culture is the five rings pierced within every adult's skin. Four of these rings are placed into a single ear (the right ear for men and the left for women, though homosexual members of either sex have started doing the reverse in recent years) while the fifth is driven through the nose. Each of these rings represents a single principle deity and is forged from the metal that represents each god or goddess. The sky god is represented by Osmium, the stone god by Duralium, the ocean god by Brass, the life goddess by Iron and finally Obsidian, representing the death goddess. The nose ring is chosen based upon which god the wearer feels the closest connection to.

The thick, manicured beard resting on his chin is- like much of Malik's appearance- based on customs and tradition. Warriors from Aquella are expected to remove all of the hair from their bodies save for that which lies on their faces; it is believed that the minor God of Battle looks more favorably on bearded men due to the fact that he's most often depicted with facial hair himself. Normally Malik would be expected to allow it- and his hair- to grow out wild and untamed, but Imperial regulations require him to keep it controlled and well cut. Unwilling to shame himself by allowing another to shave his head, Malik carries a crude hand razor and does the work himself. He's gotten good enough at it that it isn't uncommon for others in his unit to ask that he acts as their barber as well.

Equipment:

Standard E-11 Blaster Rifle
Standard Plastoid Armor w/ Bronze Identification Pauldron
Backpack
Additional E-11 Energy Cells
Ion Flares
Bacta Patches, Salves, Bactade, and Bio-Bacta Tank
Additional Medical Supplies
A Single Thermal Detonator

Psychological Analysis:

Malik Skaya is trapped between two worlds that don't accept him. He's small, weak and a borderline traitor by the harsh standards of his homeworld's culture. Yet many Imperial citizens look down their noses at him as if he's nothing more than a disgusting, vile wretch, no more than a degree away from the aliens they treat as second class citizens. One side calls him a savage; the other believes him cowed and domesticated. He is called soft and weak in one breath and gruff and violent in the other. No matter what he does to try and appease his peers, Malik finds that it is never enough. There's always some failing that needs to be fixed. Some hole in his character that requires patching. It's a never-ending cycle to reach some unattainable perfection that Malik's too blind to see doesn't truly exist.

Growing up on Aquella for the first eight years of his life, Malik learned the hardships of life had to be faced head-on. He grew up in a very traditionalist tribe that- while knowing the secrets to space travel- still followed the 'old ways' in many respects. Farming was considered beneath any proper man, left only to slaves and droids. Disputes were handled not in courts of law but rather in fighting pits with wooden weapons, and 'honor duels' to the death were frightfully common despite, technically, being outlawed. Even as a boy, Malik participated in several of these events. His life was spent stooped in violence; to survive and thrive meant growing hard of heart and facing each problem that arose with his fists rather than his head.

These ideas on what life was meant to be like led to his downfall when his father brought him across the galaxy to Coruscant, where the people were practically aliens to someone like Malik. He was reprimanded fiercely for 'acting out' several times; he never knew what the 'appropriate' action was, and often found himself facing consequences for things he didn't even know were 'wrong.' Malik was nearly arrested on several occasions, though thanks to his father's influence those altercations were scrubbed from the record completely. As time went on and he adjusted his behaviors and thought processes to fit in, he found himself constantly and consistently rebuked by everyone he approached. He made few friends as a boy, either frightening away other children or being the target of relentless bullying for his awkward demeanor; it was easy to make the boy angry, especially since he was no longer allowed to fight his abusers without risking the wrath of his parents.

Somewhat surprisingly, Malik's life improved significantly when he arrived at the academy- once he had endured and overturned the initial preconceptions of his peers. He was no longer surrounded by the prissy, arrogant children of senators and politicians; they were farm hands, warriors and the children of soldiers. He fell easily into the routine of army life, proving himself surprisingly intelligent on top of impressive physical capabilities. He had a particular fascination for Imperial medicine, as things like bacta and other modern amenities weren't readily available in his sector. His philosophies on life were considered rather odd, to say the least, by the other medic trainees; on Aquella, death was considered a good thing by most, as it allowed them to overcome their mortal coils and ascend to, essentially, godhood. Many considered it callous and strange that he refused to mourn the fallen, though his beliefs proved useful on the battlefield as he could continue to operate on the wounded with little regard for their ultimate fate.

As he has grown older, Malik has turned to humor to combat feelings of inadequacy and anxiety. He'll bury his true fears underneath a mountain of mocking jokes and gruff jests, using his tongue as a weapon in times of doubt. He often worries about maintaining an image of strength around his fellow squadmates and soldiers, going out of his way to 'prove' himself in ways that are occasionally detrimental to himself. Hiding his true thoughts has become second nature as he seeks to create an image of himself that he hopes lives up to the standards of both the Empire and his home, though rarely can he ever live up to those high standards that he sets up for himself.

Backstory:

Senator Daros Skaya, the democratically elected representative of planet Aquella, was not a popular man on either his homeworld or Coruscant. At home, he was often referred to as a traitor to his culture and a dog of the Empire; in Coruscant, they thought of him as a savage stuck in his ancient, outdated ways, barely better than an alien. In an effort to bridge the two clashing cultures, Daros and his wife, Sara, brought their child to Coruscant. He was named Malik after his grandfather and was to be raised as they hoped all future sons of Aquella would be raised- with their culture intact, yet modernized to conform to Imperial law.

As a boy, Malik found himself enthralled by the pomp and circumstance of life in the Empire's capital city. He was more than attuned to the fanciful parties, strange costumes, and plentiful festivities. One of the things he enjoyed most was waking up early to watch the Stormtroopers in their bright, heroic armor drill in the Imperial Plaza every morning. Though he didn't know it at the time, that impressive sight would be burned into the forefront of his mind for the rest of his life.

Though life as the son of a senator proved hectic and enjoyable, his father, Daros, was bending under the weight. His superiors in the Senate were pressuring him to tame the wild nature of his home system, pressing hard for the eradication of slavery in particular. The Aquellans were far from accepting, as the enslavement of debtors and the children of whores had been a facet of their religion and culture for thousands of years; it was a common punishment for petty crimes since it was said that imprisonment made men lazy and worthless. Their vitriolic refusal had brought the veritable hammer down on their heads when a Stormtrooper battalion arrived and forcibly freed every man, woman, and child enchained on Aquella. Many believed that it would be impossible to reconcile Imperial rule with the ferociously independent Aquellan culture. Even Daros's own family and sponsors doubted him, often pleading with him to return home so that Malik might grow up a proper man.

Infuriated by their derision and unwilling to break, Daros spoke frankly to his son about the situation they were in. He convinced his child that the only way to solve the issues they faced would be to prove that Aquellan culture could be integrated with Imperial rule; he needed to prove that a child could grow up under the Emperor's banner yet continue to live free and serve his gods with the same fervency and reverence as ever. Malik would be that proof. He would be the living embodiment of everything that Daros had preached. Malik would be lauded as an icon of his people, and a model of Imperial service and citizenship. Eager to make his father proud, he accepted, and the course of his life was altered forever.

Since the dawn of their culture, Aquellans had imprinted upon themselves a tapestry of the heavens in a ceremony that represented their passage into adulthood under the watchful care of the gods. To have that ink flow through one's flesh was to be accepted as a fully-fledged member of the clan. An Aquellan without tattoos was seen as an outcast; one cursed to wander alone until they earned the right to bear those marks that they all wore. It was considered the greatest shame to be denied the right to wear those tattoos. Malik refused to leave for the Academy until he had undergone the ceremony, all but begging his father to take them home to Aquella- just for the celebration. Just so that he might stand as an equal among his brothers for at least a few, precious days.

But he was set to leave for the training facility in but three days; there was no time to get to Aquella, led alone go through the nearly week-long celebration ceremony. The only way Malik could feasibly do both was if he waited until the next cycle to join, yet that, too, was painful for the boy. He'd been dreaming of leaving the senate's pampered halls since practically the day he got there. Now that the opportunity presented itself to leave, he couldn't bear to pass it up. So, reluctantly, he chose to have his tattoos applied by a droid, far away from the boisterous festivities of hundreds of relatives that he might've expected if he returned to Aquella.

Then he was off to the academy, where he immediately met rather fierce opposition from his new peers. Now that he wore his alienness so openly upon his flesh, Malik had painted a large, purple target right on his back; he was mocked, bullied and ostracized as if the paint in his skin made him any less human than the rest of them. The first few weeks were...discouraging, to say the least. In the quiet of the night, he often contemplated dropping out and flying back to Coruscant with his tail between his legs. He feared that it would never get any easier, and that the torment of those around him would remain a constant battle. It was only the thought of disappointing his family that kept him to the faith; he could not live with himself if he returned home a failure.

As time went on, however, things began to change. His fellow recruits warmed to him over time. Some had seen the error in judging him after spending such a great deal of time at his side; others had seen the fierceness with which Malik competed and thought better of antagonizing him further. He was still seen with a degree of 'otherness' by his superiors and peers, but once that initial hurdle was jumped, Skaya found himself enjoying military life a good deal more than the civilian one he had once led.

Malik had a natural athletic ability that, when coupled with his pre-training from age eleven, made him a top student in his class of cadets at the academy. He had a sharp, inquisitive mind coupled with a dedication and discipline one could not expect. Every course, every drill and every little scrap of instruction was approached with the fullest eagerness; there was almost a palpable desperation in the way Malik leaped at each opportunity presented to him as if he was so terrified of failure that he could not help but succeed. He proved particularly interested in the field of field medicine, showing a natural talent for healing that brought him into the Medical Corps for further specialized training.

He eventually graduated in the top percentile of his class, earning the right to wear that shining white armor that he had once ogled at from a distance. Though he has only served for a handful of years, he's already adjusted well to the soldiering life; admittedly he does miss the luxury he once lived in, but his surroundings are more than tolerable. One of his primary duties given to him by his father was to document his time in the army well, sending back plenty of material for Daros to use as Imperial propaganda to show Aquella the Emperor's light; it was one of a dozen other tactics Daros and his allies were using to fight against the resent created by the Imperial occupation of their homeworld. The whole world's eyes now lie on Malik as he begins his slow, perilous climb up the Imperial ladder to prove himself- and by extension, Aquella- as an equal to the rest of the Empire.

'Imperius Unitada ober Totallex'

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

@Master Bruce Baby don't hurt me.

@Lord Wraith

He can definitely hurt me if he wants.

_{hurt me bad bat daddy}

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

post related shitpost

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Silent Night, Holy Night #1

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Metropolis, Delware - Suicide Slum

It was a cold and lonely Christmas night. There was naught a carol in the air, nor a cheer of a child born; the few that roamed those dark, freezing streets had no home to return to and no hearth to sit beside. The destitute, the homeless and the unwanted wandered between those looming projects and those rundown apartments with dark circles under their eyes and solemn looks plastered on their weary faces.

Jaime Reyes was among their number. A child driven from his home three months prior, with nary a clean blanket or a working heater to call his own. A numbness etched itself into his marrow as the wind beat into his thin coat. There was a sharp pain in his cheeks like needles in his flesh as each frozen gust rolled by. He tried to ignore it as he thrust his shovel into the snow, lifting it up with all the strength his arms could muster and throw it back into the grass.

Though the snow still fell from the grey clouds that loomed overhead, he'd been tasked with clearing a path to the apartment complex towering over him. It was one of many odd jobs he'd been forced to take on after their last care package ran dry; it was the only way he might afford a more adequate coat. Shivering and fumbling to keep his fingers from falling off, he continued his work, diligent and desperate to finish that uncomfortable work.

"You look like you're about to pass out." A voice called from down the sidewalk. Brenda was approaching through the snow, her own shovel hanging over her shoulder and a much larger, firmer coat wrapped about her form. She, at least, was bundled up properly. "You can borrow my coat if-"

Jaime cut her off with a firm shake of his head. "No, no. I'm fine," he lied. "The Scarab keeps me warm. Let's just hurry up so we can get back to the van." This wasn't the first time she'd offered, and it wasn't the first time he had to use that excuse. Reyes knew she did worse with the cold than him. Even with how she was dressed up, she still looked frozen to the bone. Reyes could take it. They were nearly finished anyway. He just had to ignore it for a little longer.

It wasn't the only thing he was trying to ignore.

_{"-can't do anything right, you god damn bitch-"}

The Scarab was the only reason Jaime was still alive. It had saved him several times over, and for that he was nothing but thankful. He appreciated all it could do- all of the power it allowed him to wield. It let him do a lot of good.

_{"-please, Henry, not in front of Mary-"}

But there were some things Jaime wished it couldn't do.

_{"-don't you tell me what not to fucking do!"}

Some things he wished he couldn't hear.

_{"I'm sorry! Please, just-"}

Jaime had been so enthralled in the whispers carried to his ear by the Scarab that he hadn't noticed just how hard he was digging with the shovel until he heard a sharp snap like a whip. He blinked, staring down at the handle- he'd broken it straight in half on the concrete, the head of the tool sent clattering against the pavement. His hands were shaking, but not from the cold.

'Just ignore it.' He told himself.

"Jaime?" Brenda called again, dragging his gaze away from that broken mess of a tool. He'd have to pay to replace it- less money to go toward food and new clothes. Typical. "They're at it again, aren't they?" She sighed, her voice solemn and quiet.

He nodded without saying a word, unwilling to meet her sympathetic gaze.

This wasn't the first time he'd heard it. They spent a great deal of time in this neighborhood the last few months as they chased ghosts and leads that never went anywhere. In fact, they used to park their van in an alley just around the corner- it didn't last long, though. Jaime couldn't sleep with all the screaming in his ears.

She sighed. "I'll go tell Larry. We can get the cops down here again, and-"

"-And what?" Jaime suddenly let out a violent, angry snarl, his eyes darting up from the snow to meet her gaze. There was a fire burning behind his pupils that had rarely lived there. "And what, Brenda?" He repeated with equal, furious emphasis. "Nothing, that's what. Nothing's going to happen. Nothing happened the first time we called, nothing happened the seventh time we called, nothing's going to happen this time either." He protested, tossing down the broken remains of his shovel as he threw his hands up into the air in a sudden start. "The cops don't care. They've never cared. I...I should-"

It was Brenda's turn to cut him off. "You should what, Jaime?" She took his own words, twisting them against him as she crossed her arms over her chest. "Throw on your armor and go kick Henry's ass? Is that what you want to do?" She accused, taking several steps toward him.

Jaime didn't back down, meeting her iron gaze with one of equal strength. "Maybe- maybe, yeah! Maybe I will!"

_{He was supposed to be a hero now. He had to do something.}

That set her off even worse as she continued to press him, moving even closer. "Brilliant, Reyes, fucking brilliant." Brenda praised, her words oozing with joyless sarcasm. "Do you have the memory of a goldfish? Because the last time you brought the Scarab out, SHIELD spent three weeks chasing us across the country! How much sleep did we get then, Jaime, huh? How close did they get to catching us?"

_{He fought the Silver Surfer. He helped save the world.}

Jaime took a step backward, his hands moving up to run through his hair. He could feel his heart pounding through the front of his chest. There was a pressure in his skull as he felt an unrelenting desire to drive his fist through something. He was angry. So, so angry. But he felt a snaking pit of doubt forming in his stomach. He remembered those first nights all too well- he remembered how palpable his fear was back then- he was sure they were going to be caught. He didn't want to go back to those days. Yet...at the same time... "Am I supposed to do nothing?" He asked, his voice broken and pleading. "Is that it? You want me to just sit here and listen like I couldn't stop it whenever I wanted?"

_{But now...}

"Yes!" She affirmed without skipping a beat. She was equally distraught, if not more so. She felt like a monster for trying to convince Jaime not to help someone in need. It made her soul ache with a painful sort of spite; she hated having to be on this side of the argument. But she knew he had to hear this. She knew from the very depth of her marrow that Jaime needed to be reminded of the consequences his actions would wrought. "It's not worth the risk. If you get caught, we're done. Do you understand that? We're done. They're going to lock you up and throw away the key. Every night we spent in the back of that stupid...stupid van? It'll- it'll be wasted. You'll be blamed for everything that happened and, and we- I- won't get to see you again."

_{...Now he couldn't save just one little girl?}

Those words cut deep, and they gave Jaime pause. He retreated another step, his eyes falling to his feet as he was overcome by shame and guilt. Conflicted, weary and cold, the only thing he wanted to do now was to shut out all of the noise and leave. He stood in silence for several minutes, the sound of that vitriolic arguing like the constant, mocking whispers of his inner demons. His shoulders sunk when he finally spoke, his voice naught by a broken mutter. "Alright. Let's tell Larry." The landlord could handle it. He'd tell the police, and...and they'd come down and talk to Henry again...Maybe this time it'd change. Maybe this time it'd be better.

And if not?

'Just ignore it, Jaime.' He was forced to tell himself.

_{Some hero he turned out to be.}

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

You know, Sony has gotten a lot of shit for milking the franchise cow so dry that its udders are bleeding, but -- to their very microscopic credit -- at least their Aunt May solo film rumors were only ever rumors, and not... this...

forbes.com/sites/robsalkowitz/2018/10…

@Eddie Brock

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

I never even finished Knight because it ran like ass on my computer. It's not like I have a bad PC either, the game just feels terribly optimized. I definitely had more fun playing through Origins, which is criminally underrated imho.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Realistic second character idea? Had plans for Green Arrow when I thought I was done with Cap, so that seems the clearest choice. Or, as I said to @AndyC in a PM, I think the sidekick characters make good second character types. Batgirl, Supergirl, or -- if this game was farther along timeline-wise -- my main man, Superboy.

@Eddie Brock

Star Wars: The Beat (closed)

a) It's kinda cool that you took a small outer-rim world and gave it more culture. Damn you for finding a way to make something exactly like what you want. Though that said, while your image clearly states it no-where in the sheet do you address the tattoos that all Aquellans boast. I feel like they'd be important, especially in Imperial culture of "Closer to the Core, the better you are" where Outer Rim worlds are frowned upon because when in the Academy and such, even in deployment he can't hide who he is or where he's from.

@Sep

Hrm. I'll take that into consideration, and perhaps add a small amendment to Malik's history to reflect the difficulties he faced when initially joining the academy. A bit about when he got his tattoos wouldn't hurt either.

c)

Their vitriolic refusal had brought the veritable hammer down on their heads when a Stormtrooper battalion arrived and forcibly freed every man, woman, and child enchained.

Those meddling Senators! I imagine these Stormtroopers just so happened to then be stationed on Aquella to 'keep the peace'?

@Sep

Yup, that's how I imagined it went. Occupation by a foreign military would be bad enough, but the fact that they arrived with the express purpose of 'destroying' Aquellan culture would only further the divide between them and the Empire. I'd imagine a great deal of their vitriol would be turned toward the Stormtrooper Corps in particular, since they're the most visible form of Imperial oppression; so having one of their own in Malik be a Stormtrooper would be a massive betrayal.

Ultimate One Universe: Season Two

Bit of an odd post. I considered attaching it to my first Blue Beetle post, buuut I thought I'd wager the reaction to something like that being a stand-alone. Is it too weird? Does the formatting hurt your eyes? Lemme know!