Player Name: The New Yorker
Character Name: Matthew Miyahara
Moral Alignment: Walking the Line
Affiliation: NYPD (briefly with IA during recruitment), Columbia Law School, Lehman University
Character Origin & BackstoryMatthew Miyahara was born to a brilliant scientist and a former Japanese Special Forces Commander, Beth and Hideo respectively. The married couple moved to the United States after a frightful encounter with Yakuza members in their home. In reality, Hideo was forced to move, for the sake of his family and his honor on the force, it was an order. When they came to America they did not have a child. In 1989 Hideo was 37 and Beth was 31. As soon as they hit the rainy shores of Seattle they conceived Matthew, So they hit the road and headed east. Beth already had a job lined up at the blooming Fisk Industries*, and Hideo had family in New York anyway. They moved into a quiet brownstone in Riverdale and began creating a home for a toddler. Matthew was born in 1990 May, 27th in that brownstone’s living-room surrounded by family. And so he was raised in this family of three in the Bronx and so he was nurtured by his brilliant mother and strict father. Hideo was stern, certainly, but also very loving of his family. He thought of them, almost, as art, something he helped create with his blood, sweat, tears. And it was in his blood, sweat, and tears that he was forever snuffed from this world, taking with him a portion of the art that was his family. He was followed shortly after by his wife, some suggest she killed herself, Matthew holds that it was foul play, though no body has ever been found. By ’98 Matthew was orphaned and his grandfather and mother became his legal guardians, they were his father’s parents.
Matts Grandfather Daisuke, known locally as Stick, was one of the first and only heroes operating in the Bronx in the ‘60’s and ‘70’s. He prowled the rooftops in light armor refitted with armor plating from a Samurai suit. The history of Daisuke is long and fantastic but very few know of it, and Daisuke never speaks of it. Matthew only learned of his grandfather’s alter ego through researching into the most obscure newspaper articles and tabloid headlines in order to barely scratch the surface. After understanding the greatness of the man he called “pop-pop” at the age of 13 Matthew was proud, he reeled, asked his Grandfather to teach him the intricacies of the Japanese martial arts. Matt was never old enough for his father to teach him anything and he was, shamefully, disinterested at the time. Matt felt like this would help him better remember his father, by consuming something his father held so dear. And so Daisuke taught his grandson the art of Jujutsu, Kenjutsu, Ninjutsu, and Aikido.
By 14 Matt is enrolled in Bronx Science, one of the best High schools in the Bronx. By 16 Matthew graduates Bronx Science. Matthew was home schooled by his mother while she was alive, she imparted great wisdom onto him and fostered a feverish interest in knowledge in the young man. That most likely led to his successful academic career. At 16 Matt wants to enter the police academy, he is turned down and is told to go to college instead, he does so. A full scholarship sweeps 16 year old Matthew Miyahara out of the Bronx and into Columbia Law School under incredibly special circumstances, he is to take supplementary classes at Lehman, near where he lived. For 4 whole years Matt devotes himself to his simultaneous BA in Political science, and Doctorate in Criminal pathology. At 20 years old Matthew Miyahara is a well-trained, Pathologist with the skills of a samurai. He gets a fast-track through the NYPD and passes through the academy with flying colors. During his internship in the Academy he works with Internal Affairs in order to help take down two crooked instructors, they ran a drug scam with some of the students. At 21 Matt is on the force and is not too well liked, he finds a dead rat in his locker at the end of his first month. Matt is enjoying his time on the force, on the beat, despite his co-workers attempt at the opposite. Matthew responds to a call of shots fired at the midtown docks, a call that will change the rest of his life.
Powers and Abilities-Genius level intellect: Matthew is incredibly perceptive, and not just in a strictly sensory way. He knows when things don’t fit, he can tell when something doesn’t make sense, and how the dots connect. He also has a huge wealth of information and knowledge regarding legal, political, and scientific matters.
-Acrobatic dexterity: Matthew’s training with his grandfather has made him lithe and agile. He is able to make huge leaps, climb over vertical surfaces with ease, and perform acrobatic tricks.
-Martial arts: Matthew is skilled in joint-locking, “soft skill” force indirection, stealth, swordsmanship, and all the other, tiny skills involved therein.
-Radar senses: Once Matthew is blind he gains the ability to perceive things around him by the use of an electromagnetic pulse radar which mutated in his brain. He isn’t seeing anything, just receiving feedback from this mutated electromagnetic pulse mechanism in his brain.
Sample PostThe muffled, tinny voice from the radio crackles the atmosphere of the interior of the Police car Matthew drives down 53rd and 6th. The crimson light from the taillight speeds along the black road behind the white and blue steel beauty as it hovers past closed restaurants, and a doctor’s office, and a Starbucks. Matt’s bony hands clutch the steering wheel until his knuckles are white and his fingers are red. He quickly lifts the radio receiver to his mouth and clicks the button on the side.
“10-4, I’ve got that, Stace”
Matt turned into 47th and let the car glide down the little road without any extra speed. Matthews’s partner held onto the dashboard like he was afraid he might go crashing through the window pane. He was a portly man who looked to still be capable in a fight. His white mustache crossed his upper lip like a badge itself.
“Ease up there, cowboy.” Terry McGillan said quietly, not wanting to instigate.
“It’s an emergency, Terry.” Matt said, smile on his face. He turned up into 8th and around anther corner toward the docks.
The two boys in blue exited the vehicle in proper police protocol when dealing with a shooting call, guns drawn. They eased up to the chain-link gate and tested it, it didn’t open.
“Ah, damnit, don’t tell me I gotta hop this goddamn fence.” Terry blurted, holding his gun to his side like some kind of play thing.
Matt holstered his gun, and without saying a word, mounted the fence. He flopped onto the other side unscathed and went to retrieve the keys that were likely in the guard house a few feet away. He wasn’t even near it before he heard a single gun-shot, then another. A white flash illuminated the far off dock and Matt could see some standing figures etched in the distance. He sprinted down the concrete road to the dock and the gunshots.
“Hey! Hey, hold it! Son of a bitch—“ Terry huffed and sped to the radio in the car, he called in back-up.
Matthew’s sprint was even and fast as all hell. His pistol was in his hand, his index finger readily extended near the trigger. Now that he was closer Matt could see two standing figures drenched in the shadows of the sepia colored lamplight. One tossed a body into the river and the other held what looked to be a bat. On the ground were three bodies, laid out like dolls, a woman kneeled like an angel under the bat-wielders shadow. Matt quickly stopped in place, no more than 25 feet from the scene and pointed his gun forward. He was sweating a little and his vision shook but his hand was gratefully steady. The barrel lined up with the chest of the man holding the bat. The man lifted the bat behind his head and twisted his body.
“Freeze! Right now! Police!” Matt’s voice was load, clear, commanding. He felt a little good about himself.
The man with the bat let his bodyweight take over then, the bat swung around his body like a comet to a planet and crashed into the head of the woman kneeling. Her body slumped to the floor and Matt was certain he saw a piece of her skull skitter across the concrete.
The man who was previously dumping a body wheeled around and his hand lifted from his coat. Matt shifted his weight and brought the pistol’s barrel to the left, his hand went a little too far and so he brought it back and fired. The man to the left twitched and almost fell to the ground, his gun hand dropped to his side and he fell to one knee. The man to the right, holding the bat, sprinted off down the dock lane. Matt fell to one knee and took better aim, just as the man with the gun, who remained near the bodies, tried to do. Matt fired two more shots, the second capped the man. Matt rose and sprinted toward the bodies.
What he found there was a heart-splitting disaster. Two men and two women dead, all beaten and shot. Matt looked at the latest victim, most of her head was leaking onto the floor, she had familiar almond eyes. Matt searched her nametag only to be struck with utter shock. Miyahara was her last name, Janice Miyahara. Matt stood, he was wrapped in his blues, the badge on his chest gleamed dangerously in the lamplight. Two more cop cars wailed at the entrance, the red and blue lights breaching the darkness.
Matt sprinted down the dock lane like he’d never sprinted before, he was propelled by the thirst for knowledge, just as he’d always been. This time is was deep, it was emotional, and it was for his family. A figure just disappeared behind a truck, seemingly a gas truck, it’s metal cylindrical train shining. Matt approached it quietly, yet quickly. He turned the corner that was the truck only to receive a personal greeting from a bat. It swung in the air trying to hit is head, instead it knocked the gun from his hands as he recoiled backwards. The bat swung into the trucks train instead. A big dent formed around where it was struck. Matt drew his billie club and blocked another attack. The man wore a leather jacket, corduroy pants. Matt smacked the guy in the stomach with his club and tried for the head, the man ducked and hit Matt in the rips, he grabbed the cop by his collar and threw him into the back of the truck, knocking the air out of his lungs.
Matt thought about his grandfather’s training, it was always about presence. About maintaining a consciousness even when you should not have one, a presence. Matt maintained consciousness and so blocked the incoming, lethal bat attack. He lifted his club over his head and knocked the bat into the train once more, this time directly at the point where it’d already been hit. A small rupture expelled gas and then whatever incredibly dangerous toxic waste the train was housing. The waste completely covered Matt’s assailant, knocking him to the ground and drowning him in the stuff. Matt was able to get away with only a spray on his face. However, when he got the goop from his eyes, and it wasn’t painful to open his eyelids any longer, he did so, only to find darkness.
“I’m… oh, hrmm… I’m blind.” Matthew sobbed as Terry ran up to him, crouched on the floor.
“You’re going to be alright, kid.”
“No, no, no, no, no! Fuck, Terry!” He screamed loud enough for every cop and pedestrian in the area to hear him. He yelled and no tears streamed from his white eyes though he felt like crying until he was dead. Spittle fell to the floor as he writhed in Terry’s grasp as he knew right then that he’d never see again. Terry felt like he’d lost his son all over again, and so he cried when the boy could not.
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