Reyna Baker

“Boss Ass Bitch”, “Rain”, “Rey (or Ray)”, “Sweaty”

Female

20

5'6”

134 lbs.

From outta town

Natural red head

Gray-green.

Irish, French, Norwegian

The worst mistake you could ever make about Miss Baker is that she would fit the modern expectation of the “ladylike” stereotype. While she is still perfectly capable of working her “feminine wiles” (aka 28Fs), though it is not a side of her practiced often, or even so much as occasionally. On top of that, she hardly even looks the part. Reyna is athletic, and it shows in her body. Her arms and legs are toned well, and she's even got a trace of abs outlined on her torso. She isn't super tall, standing at the modest height of 5'6”, and she weighs in at just over 130 lbs. While she might be heavier than some girls her age, clearly it is attributed to her fit condition. Her body has little fat, and what she does have adds minimal padding over her body. She has a sturdy frame, just a few curves where it counts, but by no means should anybody see her feminine features and exclude the possibility of her punching you out. She packs a lot of strength in her figure, and you can see her confidence and pride in her poised posture.

If a person made the mistake in misjudging her, it was likely due in large part to her face. Button nose, thin eyebrows, and very faint hard-to-tell-they're-there freckles on top of her pale skin (a result of genetics as opposed to being sickly or house-locked), she has the typical media-blown cutesy feminine face. Her soft facial features are sometimes tarnished by a scowl – which is not her standard go-to disposition like her enthusiastic and full of life demeanor, but is often the product of circumstances which urban environments typically put her in. When you do get to see her when she is excited, you witness the emboldening her green eyes and the stretching of her lips to form a toothy grin that shows well taken care of teeth. Her natural bright red hair (or ginger, if you're that kind of twat) is fashioned into a pixie curly faux hawk, and is well groomed. There is little oil that naturally accumulates in her hair, so it often remains lightweight. She combs her fingers through when she is tired or stressed.

She has scars over her knuckles from the various fights she has gotten herself in, on her fingertips from climbing on rock, bricks, and concrete, but overall, doesn't have too many. She tends to recover well.

Most of her clothes look like they come from the boys' section. Her favorite set of apparel goes as such: she wears a slim-fit, red unisex tank top made from the same material used by thermal shirts, which goes down to her hips, where it meets her baggy camouflage pants (providing immense comfort and rustic charm), which is fastened by a black fabric belt to her hips. These pants seem rather faded from use, but is still strong and can withstand many more months of use. The ends of the pant legs are either lazily tucked in or lazily sleeved over (or often times just caught in, but always lazily) her black combat boots that crawl up over her ankles and up mid-shin. They are, of course, steel toed and she often times just kicks random structures (like brick buildings, big rocks, trees) just for the fun of it (and because she can). Naturally, not feeling the impact of such a kick is pretty neat. The shoe laces on her boots are always tied tight so that the boots are firm and comfy on her feet. Over her tank top is a black leather jacket. The bottom half of the torso appears to have been torn and goes down to just her waist, although the sleeves and rest of the jacket are fine. The apparent damage seems to be more for the style of it than some horrific scissor accident.

She has a couple of accessories, which compose mostly of piercings.. She has two piercings on her left outer brow (left brow, left side – further from the nose bridge), one tongue piercing, and half-ring nipple piercings, but nobody knows about them and nobody is ever going to have the opportunity to see them while she still draws breath. On her right shoulder blade is a simple tattoo of a compass, which she got without her mother's knowledge when she was 14 (she still does not know to this day). It's somewhat special for her. It has part to do with her love of adventure and part to do with, despite its simplicity, loving the design. She has a military-style backpack; good for hiking and carrying necessities and whatnot. She has stored quite a bit of dried fruit in it, and a number of other camping equipment in it, lugging stuff around with her that you would normally think is a bad idea (a gas lantern, hand axe, skinning knives, live .22 rounds and shotgun shells – the works). She has three hemp necklaces which are hopelessly tangled together, and on each one, is a thin silver-colored steel heart. On one, it says Merry, on another, it says Mia, and the third depicts a raised fist symbolizing empowerment.

She is as sharp and unwieldy as as you'd expect from a double-ended meat cleaver, and much like using one, will have as much of a detriment to herself as it can be to others. She doesn't really have a winning personality when it comes to handling other people; she doesn't really make friends easy. She's loud and boisterous to the extent it can simply repel others from wanting to be near her. She's snarky, sarcastic, abrasive, and at times, insensitive. On the contrary, she is nothing if not known for her virtues: naturally a determined, valiant woman, she has set her nose to the grindstone through all of her labors and has built herself a sturdy foundation on which she has built her character, and so her heart has been thusly hardened by various trials. Her standoffish disposition earns her enemies, and while carrying the appearance of being unapproachable, she also carries a curious energy: she naturally gives the impression of synchronous intimidation and reverence. She earns her intimidation through tongue and scowl, and her reverence through action and expression.

This is not to imply Reyna isn't a happy individual, but rather she finds her peace outside the contact of the common folk. This is also not to say she dislikes people as a whole. She is very confident in social situations, and her attitude stems mostly from her expectations of people and how their words or actions can easily rub her the wrong way or be taken as a slight, and at the same time, her boisterous disposition, bluntness, and view on others being too sensitive can similarly end conversations before they begin. Much of this stems from growing up in the city where being tough meant survival. When appealed to her interests however, she reacts in what many would consider almost an exaggeration of her excitement. For reference, she is an explorer at heart. She loves discovery and – surprisingly enough for a city girl – enjoys nature, especially at sites of caves or cliff faces or rivers and streams, or a remote location untouched by mankind.

There also exists a fascination for bugs, fossils, and bones. When these interests are appealed to, she shows a complete change in character: her eyes light up, a toothy grin from ear to ear, and her stern voice is replaced with what turns out to really be a talkative, excitable girl who has still looks to be a child. This child-like giddiness often offsets anyone who is not wholly familiar with her and has only met with her abrasive side. This trait is not often displayed in front of strangers.

Further, as one would expect from not just a young woman, but from also her personality, Reyna is very proud and competitive. She is proud of herself and of her accomplishments, and minimizing that, disregarding that, or invalidating that can wound that pride, and it also happens to be a one-way ticket to making her your enemy. Her pursuit in remedying that damage is unrelenting and unquenchable until she has reached an achievement or milestone that can satisfy that gap which often involves the conquering of her roadblock. This is not to say this is the end of her aggression, as a lasting disdain would lead her to brag over that victory in order to validate herself and her accomplishment. This often puts her at odds with her extended cousin, Mia.

As it may suggest, it takes a stubborn, tenacious, and headstrong personality in order to meet her goals. Repeated failure to meet them warrants breakdown and the destruction of her spirit... but instead of relenting or hesitating, she meets her fear of failure with determination as her method of avoidance, as opposed to passive idling. Unsurprisingly, the only celebrity of any kind whom she idealizes is the MMA fighter, Ronda Rousey, because of her fierce determination, take-no-prisoners attitude, and her ability to arm bar into submission every bitch who ever walked into the same octagon as her.

Taking all this into consideration, know still that Reyna does possess a soft spot for her family and for the vulnerable. While by no means a vigilante, seeing crime and strife as of no concern to her for the most part, she is very close to her relatives and and threatening them can bring out the nastiest possible side of her. In conjunction with this, while it may be hard to garner her sympathy, it is easier for her to freely lend it out to the weak and vulnerable on their last legs and without the means to defend themselves. This includes children, the sick elderly, the malnourished homeless – she might not actively search them out to help them, but if she does come across any of these folks during her travels, she finds it difficult to say no.

Adventures, exploring, nature, and competition are all things that Reyna finds interest in. Like mentioned previously, letting her loose in the wilds is the best way to see her in her best condition. A wide-eyed, child-like curiosity overtakes the reigns and shows you an entirely different girl than when you met her. It is also a reckless curiosity. Take that curiosity and combine it with her natural determination and athleticism, and you get a girl who would try to scale up a sheer twenty-five foot cliff face without rock-climbing gear or cables, or even a helmet (although that alone probably won't save her life if she were to fall). Most of the time though, she miraculously conquers such daunting tasks and relishes in the thrill of it.

Competition is another of Reyna's weaknesses. Everything is a race or contest, and it all gets her blood flowing when winning is on the line. In many circumstances, she can take a defeat in stride as long as she recognizes it was something she wasn't particular strong or talented in. However, in the subjects and areas she does excel in, she competes rigorously, and it is in those events that if she were to lose, she does not take the defeat well. A lot of it comes from pride in her talents.

Okay, so there are a couple of things that she is obviously good at, so let's get out of the way so I don't act like it is a big surprise later: Reyna brings on the pugilism. Much like her extended cousin, she does have martial training, but it is more western. She has a thing for boxing and kickboxing. As long as it has an octagon and she can wear big gloves and is allowed to punch people, she gets excited. This should not come as such a huge surprise; for an active and competitive girl like her, this comes natural. Fighting is essentially the epitome of competition, and whoever comes out on top is the true victor, standing over the defeated – the experience of such a defeat being inescapable – and proclaiming dominance. Western martial arts is obviously a much more aggressive style than eastern martial arts, which suits Reyna perfectly in contrast to her extended cousin. Over time, her style has come to more closely resemble MMA.

Now, more alarmingly, her other skills are a lot gentler. Aside from her knowledge of reading survival books as a kid, she is also an artist. At least, to some degree. She has talent in it, and she is confident, but not so confident that she'd consider herself as a professional or would be ready to make a career out of it. But her work is good, there's no doubt about it. She wants to be good enough so that she can give tattoos to people, and to be a reliable artist to do so. Though there is some hesitation in using her own body as a practice canvas, obviously. Otherwise, she can draw, paint, sketch, both traditionally and on a digital format. And, while not terribly gifted in the music and whimsy department, she does have a terrific singing voice from the years of practice of singing her sister to sleep – if only she could seriously partake in that activity in public and not shut down if put on the spotlight. This is the only area where she isn't confident and suffers from stage-fright, and she'll fake or pretend terrible singing otherwise as though it were a joke. If it is only her, her sister, and her cousin, then she feels comfortable to sing her heart out.

In order to purchase her motorcycle, she got a job back in Maine at a fireworks store. Long story short, she knows how to make a couple of different kinds of fireworks, knows some trivia about fireworks, she loves it, and she can easily tell what kind of explosion one is when she hears it. Reyna also had the bad habit of forgetting her keys, so she was forced into the position of learning how to lockpick her own front door way late at night.

She took a trip to Florida to one year and got three necklaces braided with cheap stainless steel hearts. She does recognize it is a pretty cheesy thing, but she does treasure its meaning. There was an impulse buy she did get, though: instead of a car, she got a stripped black Kraus motorcycle, which she thought would be way more fun, but instead became more of a bother when getting groceries.

“Come oonnn! You're such a slowpoke.”

Reyna was born to an unmarried family in Maine, a product of an accident to be honest, but they agree to birth her in the end. It was a typical babyhood at first, but with the dynamics in the family being rather conflicted, the relationship wasn't able to work and her mother left the house when she was young. Despite the disagreement between her parents, they never tried to separate her from either of them or alienate her. They mutually encouraged respect for both parents. Though being a single parent was a little rough on her father, they managed to truck right through the hardships, even though the father was never really certain on how to raise a girl the traditional way. So he rose her as he would any child, or what would be typically considered befitting of a boy. Being raised this way, she was never told to shy away from what was considered to be boys' toys or clothes or whatnot, and through all that, still maintained her “femininity” as typical people would call it.

During that time, her mother found another man, married, and had another child two years after her own birth. Her new half-sister was named Merry, and her surname, Bennet, took after her father's. Naturally, having already visited her mother every weekend, Reyna got to meet Merry at a very young age and got to spend much of her time growing up with her. Her young life went this pattern for a very long time. Every night she got to spend with her sister, she'd spend it singing lullabies until Merry fell asleep. It was a typical pattern. The next biggest change in her life was the year Reyna turned 13 years old and, when her powers developed. It was noticed when she was able to dog physical activities for a long period of time without wearing out, and that she'd easily dehydrate and performed greater feats of strength. She decided to take up boxing as a way to help cope with the energy she had and to better control herself and her power – though another large part of it was that Reyna thought it would be fun, which explains why she didn't choose any eastern martial arts which were less aggressive and would have made more sense.

That same year, Reyna's father introduced her to her extended cousin – their closest related family member being their great grand-mother – Mia, after convincing them to come into town. Her father knowing that Mia came from a town that was highly populated with meta-humans thought it would be good for his daughter to make friends with her. A crucial difference was that Mia came from Mendel, Lousiana, which meant a much dirtier and more crime-ridden city, which had an influence on Mia and her disposition, despite her kind demeanor. The relationship was a little tense at first due to their conflicting personalities, but they managed to befriend each other in due time. Mia made it a point to visit Maine often, for about a week or two every two or so months, even as cold as it was compared to the southern heat. She fortunately had the money to do so since both of her parents owned their respective tourist traps. They eventually grew to be inseparable. When all three could get together, they sung and played music together, fought together (or with each other), ate, slept, the works. When Mia missed one of her visits, and came by the next round blind in one eye, Reyna shared her rage – though it didn't seem to do much to hold Mia back when Reyna tries to instigate sparring matches with her.

With the coming summer season, all three decided to go on vacation via a cross-country road trip in Mia's pickup truck. Started taking I-95 down to New Jersey then riding on I-80 all the way to California. It was a crazy long trip with several mishaps, a couple break downs, dozens of near accidents, and many stories to tell. Now they've finally made it to Verthaven. Finally. Take some time to rest their, build up funds, and return home later this year.

Father: Connor Baker / Alive
Mother: Vivian Bennet / Alive
Half-sister: Merry Bennet / Alive
Extended cousin: Mia Jones / Alive

Mia Jones | Extended cousin | BFF | "She's a stick in the mud sometimes, but I wouldn't trade her for any other crazy bitch in the whole world!" |

Merry Bennet | Half-sister | Little cinnamon roll | “Eeeee! I love my baby sister to death! She's like an itsy bitsy cute wittle puppy I just wanna squeeze all the time! Ahh! ...Ahem. Umm, yeah. We're cool. Don't even think about fucking with her.” |

[Power Class:Super System

Reyna possesses minor enhancements to her physical performance, such as strength, endurance, speed and so forth – as expected from someone with a power under the super system power class. They are only minor, however, and these factors do not appear to affect her appearance as they exist in a supernatural medium as her metahuman energy. These are just simple modifications as a result of her energy and does not constitute as her power. They serve to supplement Reyna's actual strength.

Augmented Adrenal System (Passive): Reyna's adrenal glands are swollen to greater sizes than regular people. This means the glands are able to produce more adrenaline in a shorter amount of time. But the power is not so simplistic as this – the adrenaline itself is more potent than usual – by about five times. Regularly, adrenaline can increase an adult's strength by about 30%. This means that at Reyna's peak, she is 150% stronger than usual. Which means if she can bench 190 pounds under regular circumstances, she can bench 475 pounds at her peak. This doesn't necessarily put her on the same playing field as dedicated strength-based powers, but adrenaline serves to do more than simply make her stronger.

Adrenaline also allows Reyna to run faster, have sharper reaction times, ignore pain, and the ability to make split-second decisions in intense, high-pressure situations. This means she can race with a greyhound, shrug off an assailant stabbing her arm with a pocket knife, and keep her ground toe-to-toe with three different guys at a time provided that her glands keep pumping her with those delicious hormones. Adrenaline also helps to stave off other ailments that may effect your body, such as hunger or exhaustion. Summed up: her adrenal glands are turbo-charged and all bodily inhibitors are turned off.

Body Furnace (Passive): Adrenaline affects her body in many different ways, but there is one part of her system that seems particularly affected by it. When in an adrenaline rush, her body temperature spikes. The temperature doesn't seem to stop, though, and will keep on rising and rising until it begins to plateau at a certain point – 525 F, where her skin is as hot as a cast iron skillet kept on a gas stove set on high. At this point, she can deliver burns on touch, whether or not it was intentional. As one can discern, reaching this temperature requires Reyna to possess a good deal of heat resistance for her to even function properly. To her, it feels as though she's just working out on a hot summer's day.

This high body heat does mean that her body is going to try to cool itself down however it can. When her adrenaline rushes persist, she begins sweating like crazy. Drips of sweats beads all over her skin. And as hot as her skin gets, it is going to evaporate pretty quickly. So when she begins to peak, she is also surrounded by steam as a result of her own sweat being instantly vaporized. This sweats also soaks her clothes, which honestly is the only thing keeping them from going up in flames. Speaking of flames... it is best that you don't try to fight her in the forest or any dry area with foliage or combustible material. Her heat radiates off her body, and if around dry grass or dead leaves, she can actually begin to burn the ground around her.

Her high body heat also does wonders for killing off bacterial infections and viruses and whatnot. Her whole body is resistant to heat, but any alien that decides to trespass is in for a big surprise. What this does mean, however, is that her immune system is a little weaker than average given its lack of exercise. And any virus that can infiltrate her cells can cause damage.

Adrenaline can only do so much for the body. She won't be dead lifting any cars, she won't bend a steel construction beam – her power is not devoted to super strength. She cannot summon her extra strength on-demand and is limited to situations that excites her, warrants a flight or fight response, or anything else that allows for adrenaline responses or increased heart-rate. Her body heat also caps off at a certain point, like stated, and it takes a last stand-esque amount of pressure and exertion for her to push past that limit. As well, her heat resistance is not an immunity. She can stand the heat of hot metal, but she is not going to survive being through into a volcano or an incinerator. She might last a couple seconds inside an inferno, but nothing short of an immunity can keep a human from being burned at the stake forever.

Take a gander back up the sheet for a moment, right around the power section. Look for the part where it says she has super durability. Did you see it? Right, you didn't. And that's the big thing about adrenaline. You can go absolutely ape-shit crazy, tip over a car and not feel a thing, but you are going to feel it later. Adrenaline can numb you to pain, but does absolutely nothing to keep your body from getting damaged. The ever-present endurance from her meta-human energy does little more than mitigate what damage she can cause herself, but if she does something as foolish as punch a brick wall, the bones in her hand will shatter. The stab wound is still bleeding all over her good clothes. She still ripped a ligament pushing herself too hard.

And as for her body heat, there is only so much water she can sweat. Pushing herself too hard for too long will lead to dehydration which causes dizziness and shortness of breath. She will be drinking a lot of water fairly regularly.

Intimacy can also be fairly awkward.

Foods that are very high in acids gives her some uncomfortable heartburn. Notoriously bad liar.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGGQRJkNutA

Mia Jones

Female

22

5'10”

145 lbs.

From outta town

Black

Brown

Sudanese, Egyptian, Arabian, and some French

Mia, as a 5'10” woman weighing 145 lbs, reasonably appears well built and physically toned. While not having a body builder form, her muscles and bones are thick enough to accentuate and tone her modest curvature. She isn't as lean or lithe in the way her extended cousin in, but she definitely has more meat on her bones and with just enough fat in his body that it keeps her condition from looking as toned – but all the strength is still there. As implied above, she is fairly tall for a woman – not terribly tall, though nor is she short enough to give the vibe that Mia is weak or vulnerable. Her skin is mostly clear of blemishes, save for the obvious scar on her face over her right eye - and speaking of her face, it is particularly pronounced and gives the impression of an independent woman. Her jawline is strong and symmetrical and meets up at a pointed, yet squared off chin. This feature is accentuated by thin cheeks and sharp cheek bones, and lips several shades lighter - a trait hidden by dark makeup that is applied to her lips, a gentle black that doesn't shine or gloss under light, nor sticks out like a sore thumb on her brown face. Her nose is also sharp. It's length isn't pronounced, and appears proportionate to her face and her bridge long and straight, though thin in width. Given these sharp features and fierce, striking appearance, her eyes are an alarming contrast. Her left eye is a deep brown that lets the white of her eyes stick out on her face. Her right eye is covered by an ugly scar that goes down to the top of her cheek. The same ugly scar rips through the center of her eye, making her blind in that eye as well. Her face alone is an unnerving combination of royalty and danger, despite her disability.

Her black hair is usually well-managed and clean (meaning very little oil, if any), kept in just a simple pixie cut, generally done with very little product. Given how it's easy to do, where the hair doesn't bother her face and isn't impractically long, Mia found it to be well suited for her. She has a soldierly posture: her head held high, firm soldiers, straight back, and a heavy footstep. It suggests she knows discipline, a factor that likely sculpted her in her early childhood. Her abdomen is strong, surmounted by 30Ds, and her legs are also strong with only a few scars from minor injuries such as scraping a shin or knee by accident every now and again. She has to her chagrin, as the kids back at school made fun of, man feet. They're pretty big. She has a couple of piercings on her body, where one is a half-ring septum piercing and an industrial bar on her left ear. They are both made of brass.

Mia has a pretty weak sense of fashion. At the bare minimum of clothes, she always wears a sports bra and men's boxer briefs, thinking they're more comfortable than other under garments. Over that, a plain white v-neck undershirt is worn over her torso, and she dons a pair of Lee's boot-cut jeans. Over her white shirt, she tends to wear a fleece flannel shirt due to the comfort and warmth it provides ( her favorite one having a yellow and black color scheme). Should the weather get any worse than that, she has an old brown denim jacket she got from her fiance when they were younger. She tends to wear this pair of light brown/mustard-colored unstylish work boots because they're comfy and firm and she has no clue how ugly they actually are.

Strangers often characterize her as enigmatic and scornful. She is quiet and somewhat somber; she reveals nothing and manages most people with apathy. This apathy, however, is mysteriously sourced and gives the impression it stands less as a disdain for mankind and instead as an aloof get-the-job-done attitude. Other times, she simply ignores them or gives them the silent treatment. On any other occasion, she simply shares short, brief words and returns to her thoughts. She lacks the arrogance or overconfidence some morons who share these particular traits with her may come to don, however, and rather has the tendency to peg others as fools – to lower others instead of elevating herself. She bides and listens, and she isn't one to put her trust into another very lightly. Moreover, Mia is an immovable force. She chooses to follow the flow as directed by her life, but is free to make her own decision and change that path should she decide it isn't the path she wishes to take.

She has a good deal of morals, and though her attitude and outlooks aren't immediately apparent, they still stick with her through her ups and downs. While not really interested in politics, she'd still be more prone to vote liberally given how they often coincide with her values. While not necessarily interested in most peoples' welfare, she'd lend a hand to who needs it should they cross her path – a nd while hurt feelings don't bother her, she does not go out of her way to offend or cross anyone, but neither does she bother to sugarcoat her words. What she has is a loose set of morals which are flexible in how they are applied to her environment. She thinks little of any of the factions or gangs in whatever city she may reside in. Back in Mendel, there are the the Skulls, who are too loud and too stupid. Then there is the Vanguard, who pretend they're more righteous but are in fact just one side of the same coin.

There aren't many people who Mia places her admiration in. She believes there isn't any bred obligation any individual has to their family – the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, and all that – or to any celebrity, and any shred of her devotion must be earned through the trials they share. That said, Mia's distant extended family are some of the closest people in her life. She butts heads with Reyna, her extended cousin, often enough, but acknowledges in the end that they are very similar to one another and share very similar values. Reyna's half-sister, Merry, who Mia has literally no blood connection to, is still treated as a little sister to Mia, who tries very hard to tap into whatever maternal instincts are hiding inside her in an effort to help take care of the little tyke.

Mia has been through her fair share of suffering over the years. She has proven to have quite a bit of willpower, and her experiences have granted her a cynical sort of wisdom, but still has been left somewhat bitter and resentful because of this. Mostly it is directed at the law enforcement after a particular incident, and at the NEST agency. Though like a cat, if you get her attention while she is in this mood, you may find it redirected at you.

There doesn't seem to be much to say – a look at Mia might prompt you to think that while she has an exciting life, she has a boring and less-than-stellar personality. She doesn't let on much to what she's enjoys. However, her family knows better. When she's not working the day away, she's reading a book. Sure, sometimes it might be fantasy, but it is usually something informative or a piece of writing that shares or explains ideologies and viewpoints or complex world views. She's got a love for learning, and a deck of trivia cards would be a suitable birthday present for her. Additionally, she likes learning about cultures, and enjoys travel, and would learn dozens of languages if she ever had the opportunity to do so.

First and foremost, Mia grew up with a family of mechanics and engineers. Growing up around it, she too has become interested in the art. Yes, art, she does her work with pride and is good at what she does despite lacking a formal education. Years of practice in the workshop on dingy old cars, luxury vehicles, and even helping the family perform modifications for competition-grade sports vehicles. Mia isn't just a mechanic though – she is an excellent driver and knows how to keep control of a vehicle and figure out their quirks. She is admittedly less adept at riding motorcycles, however.

She's got her share of whimsy, and so is well practiced in playing the acoustic guitar. She carries over her practice to the bass, and can play the two interchangeably. She has years of practice, so while she wouldn't be selling out on tickets, she can still hold a candle to most people who haven't made music their life. Our woman has even managed to teach herself some broken South American Spanish. She's good enough to hold a conversation, but still doesn't quite understand all the nuances of the language.

Mia has also taken self-defense courses in krav maga to help defend herself on the streets of Mendel. Krav maga is an Israeli self-defense course – self-defense cannot be stressed enough, as it the martial art isn't used in sports. There aren't any rules in its practice and is ruthlessly efficient and easy to learn, giving Mia time to make her body a dangerous weapon and still have time to pick up on some aikido, though she is less knowledgeable in all of its forms. It is mostly there to fill in the gaps left by her krav maga training. She is good enough that she is able to beat almost every time her super-system meta-human extended cousin who has taken up boxing, which says a lot for her proficiency.

She's got a drab-looking black 1991 Ford F-150. So yes, it is a pretty old truck. The nice thing about, though, is the fact that its old. It is all muscle, and therefore inexpensive to fix and easily fixable and easily modified. Naturally, there are some modifications on it that makes it run much better and much stronger than you'd expect it to. Unfortunately, the transmission acts a little funky sometimes, which puts the truck at risk of stalling out on the open road. Mia is good enough to get it running again for a little while, but the transmission is tricky business and you're usually better off replacing it. She also has a gold band on one of her ring fingers.

“If you two don't tone it down, I'm driving all of us off the cliff.”

The layout is simple: Mia had a pretty good life, early on. She was happy as a little girl. She got attention from her parents, and was pushed into more boyish activities by her father, who had wanted a boy. As naive as Mia was, this didn't really bother her very much and she led a pretty normal life. She had a fair amount of friends from elementary and throughout high, was adept at taking apart her dad's truck and putting it back together, was persuaded by her mother to take up guitar (and much to Mia's surprise, she enjoyed it). When she got into high school, Mia was fairly pretty enough to grab the attention of a couple boys and tough enough to keep them in line. It was that same year that she learned that her father came into contact with a very distant relative of Mia's mother, Connor. Connor had a daughter, which meant that Connor's daughter was a far extended cousin of Mia – related only by means of their great-grandmother. So over the Summer after school let out, she was flown all the way up to Maine to visit them and met Reyna. With Reyna was her half-sister, with whom Mia had no relations with at all. Reyna was far more rambunctious than Mia had anticipated, which lead to them bumping heads pretty often. But sooner or later, they began to grow very close. Since then, she made it a point to visit them when she could whenever she had vacation.

At sixteen, she met a boy named Roy and started off as friends before she discovered she liked him halfway through the year. A lot. Taking him to meet the folks was a bit odd, since interracial relationships were a bit iffy to her parents, but she went ahead and scoffed at their conservative ideologies. It turns out that the two fit together like puzzle pieces. The two crucial pieces of a complex jigsaw where each individual piece of the map had to be worked around the two.

There was little to stop the two young and starstruck lovers from planning out their future. As fate would have it though, the explosion of gang fights irreparably damaged a section of City and harmful radiation – a by-product of one meta's power, flooded her and her parents' townhouse in uptown Mendel. Roy was "lucky" enough to live in the downtown section, further away from the blast. Mia's parents worked nearby, leaving Mia alone when she had to be rushed to a hospital. When Roy checked on her, there it was discovered that while she didn't suffer immediate damage from the firefight, the radiation had brought damage to her ovaries and one of her kidneys.

She would be able to live happily with only one kidney as long as she didn't drink, but any chance of bearing a child was gone. Having kids was never really something they thought about anyways, and that news wouldn't bother them until their later years when they realized what it actually meant. Her parents, who worked right next to where the fight broke out were permanently hospitalized - her father was put into a coma, and her mother suffered so much radiation she was forced to stay on life support to survive. Roy and his family offered to help Mia and by allowing her to live with them downtown. She let his folks know about her family in Maine and that she made it a personal tradition to visit them when she could.

It was only when Mia and Roy were nineteen did they decide to move out. They were done with school and they rented out a small apartment in the residential district just off Watson road for just the two of them. Mia worked at a garage and Roy worked kitchen jobs. Even with their small incomes together, they couldn't afford college for even one of them, but they decided to just save their money and be happy with what they had. They finally engaged that year.

The following year were fine. They excelled at their jobs, they got hobbies, they biked around town (Mia always being a couple lengths in front of Roy), and all seemed fine. At some point during the next year though, when Mia was 21, normal life seemed to fall apart. There had been increased gang activity further down town, and Mia must have made a wrong stop or bought groceries at the wrong store - something must have been a front or connection that made a branch of the MCPD who worked in unison with NEXT crack down and target Mia, who believed her to have ties with the Skulls - she figured they either had to have been pretty scared or itching to exercise their authority to target someone without any solid ground (she always said it was because she was WWB; walking while black).

Regardless of their reasons, they interrogated Mia. They asked her all sorts of questions - about the Skulls, about her ties - having no connection with the Skulls, she denied any knowledge of them or their intents. They didn't believe her. They suspected her of lying and deceit and was promptly subjected her to torture. Most of their methods had brought no scarring, but another over-enthusiastic cop brought up a method of scare tactics. An accident had occurred – a knife slipping or something that caused it to cut into her eye and down her cheek. Mia doesn't really remember if it was an accident or not, she was too busy crying in pain and freaking out.

Roy finally discovered she had been arrested due to allegations of association with the Skulls. Along with vouching for her, he provided her medical records and legal records where there were no signs or ties with the local Skulls. She was released, and at the sight of half her face being bandaged up, he flew into a rage. While the police did promise insurance benefits in the form of large sums of monthly payments as long as she remained quiet about the misunderstanding, they also warned Roy to calm down and accept the apology lest he was charged with the assault of an officer.

Mia was by no means willing to satisfy the police department, and neither was Roy. However, they decided that they were best off to accept the compensation and avoid further trouble with the department, despite the couple's seething rage for the local police force, they also needed the money. The next four years went somewhat smoothly, despite the burning hot bouts of rage she felt each time she looked in the mirror and saw her blind eye. She was forced to keep a cap on it lest she do something stupid and create more problems for herself and the MCPD.

Everything after that was smooth, though. The MCPD never made contact with her again, and even the people on the street didn't seem to mess with her. Word of what happened must have gone around and they felt sympathy for her. She learned how to move around and grab things without her right eye, she became a little more reliant on other senses - most notably her hearing - and she found an outlet for her aggression in a martial arts class. Her and her husband both that that signing up for a krav maga course was a good idea, but that she should be careful with letting off too much steam. Mia agreed and so the twenty-one year old went on to visit the dojo whenever she was off work.

Now 22, the couple decided it was best that Mia escaped Mendel for the time being to go on vacation. So she contacted her family up in Maine and collaborated with their families for a cross-country road trip. Being naturally articulate and famously responsible, she got them to agree. Mia made a joke when she got there about how she got a head-start on the trip by driving from Louisiana to Maine. With a bunch of packing being done, they threw it all in her truck and even got a bunch of buckled straps and a stand to set Reyna's motorcycle into the bed of the truck. After a long, eventful trip, now they're just minutes away from rolling into Verthaven!

Father: Dataj Joyce / Alive (comatose)
Mother: Sasha Joyce / Alive (on life support)
Fiance: Roy Jones / Alive
Extended cousin: Reyna Baker / Alive
Adopted sister: Merry Bennet / Alive

Reyna Baker | Extended cousin | Practically sisters | “I've been an only child my whole life by the time I met her. I thought I'd never know what sisterhood was like before then. This is nice." |

Merry Bennet | Adopted sister | Almost makes me feel like a mom | “I trust that Reyna is good to her own little sister, but I still get concerned that she might not be the best role model. I do what I can to help take care of Merry.” |

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Baron Moreau

Barry, Zombie, Skinwalker, etc.

Male

32

6'3”

144 lbs

From out of town.

Black

Green

Canadian; has English, Welsh, and French blood.

Barry looks rather unorthodox among his crowd, appearing somewhat of an aristocrat. He is tall and slender, specifically standing at 6'3", and weighs in at 144 lbs. This said, he isn't a strong fighter and his body is fairly skinny and not as muscular as much of his other... “associates”, although he does abide by the standard requirement of fitness in his organization that is befitting of him, though this is usually in the form of physical therapy (he has a strong, mechanical brace reinforcing his left leg). His skin is fairly pail and unblemished by anything other than the scars littered over his body. On his back, torso, legs, and so on - the damage on his left leg in particular being rather severe and is bestrewn with scar tissue. His pale skin is in dramatic contrast with his black hair, which comes down at a widow's peak, and is neatly swept backwards with a comb and then kept in place a small dab of hair gel. He appears on missions almost as though he were going out on a date, but forgot the proper attire. He has piercing green eyes that are, at just the right angle, appearing somewhat hollow, if words were to do any justice. It is as if he stared into hell and hell stared back, but even then, they appear no less brilliant, cunning, deceptive, or even deadly. Thick lashes and sharp eyebrows simply sharpen his piercing gaze. His true expressions always seem somewhat hidden, as though his face were hidden by a million and one masks, each with their own different story. Even his walk, it seems, where his apparent full-of-himself strut appears to be well-disguised pacing. This brings along with him an air of mystery. Given his pampered features and esoteric air, along with a charming and clever disposition, he's quite the heart-breaker. His hands are covered in calluses and his fingers usually look a little cut up, but is generally well taken care of.

If he had a choice in his uniform, he'd be dressed nicely and perhaps come in a nice suit with a boutonnière. However, glamor and sophistication has no place in his line of work or among suburbs (unless the objective specifically calls for good appearances). He often visits areas in South America, so the humidity doesn't help much to bolster his preferred fashion. Baron does not often appear anywhere close to the front lines, so heavy equipment is never really necessary - which is a plus, given how it would add unnecessary stress on his brace and left leg. So he usually does his job in waist-high black dress pants that rides up to his naval and are tucked into thick black boots, causing some bagginess around the lower calves. His pants are accessorized with button suspenders crossing over each other on his back and then meeting parallel down his front. These suspenders are usually strapped over a greatly faded light grey t-shirt. The collar has three buttons going down the center, making it able to change from a round neck to a v-neck. He usually leaves them unbuttoned give the hot air or humidity of the environment he often enters, which in turn tends to reveal just a little bit of his chest and collarbone. The subtle fact that there are very faint hints of blood stains on his shirt that looks as though someone had tried to bleach the stains off the shirt - this in conjunction with the lack of any holes - might appear disturbing to anyone who just happens to notice it. Otherwise, his wardobe is dynamic, so describing his outfits during casual or formal ventures would do little to express his appearance, and would do no more justice than stating simply: he dresses very nicely as if he looks to impress. Underneath Barry's right arm is a tattoo in Arabic, a memento from a particular expedition that required him to infiltrate an organization of radicals. It reads "وعاء الله", which means "Allah's vessel", or "God's pot".

Barry appears as a cheerful fellow, but somehow balancing his grating optimism with stern realism. He wears a smile on his face most of the time, one that appears almost naive, but also inquisitive. His eyes always appear to be trailing somebody, or analyzing something, and very few details escape him. In fact, were it not for his charming demeanor, he might even be marked as the group's creep who watches everybody simultaneously. He assures this as nothing more than simple curiosity of studying human behavior and overseeing group cohesiveness. As such, he is quite adept when it comes to deductive reasoning and breaking down a person's behaviorisms that might tie in to other areas of that person's life as well. In fact, he is quite possibly more aware and knowledgeable of his comrades than they are aware of (but he is also rather fond at looking through personnel files). Otherwise, he may just be an incredibly elaborate liar. But there's little doubt in any one of his seasoned associates' mind that the man is brilliant. It is even said by his comrades: mad, but brilliant. But mad, per se, was of course the perspectives of another individual who was ignorant of Barry's reasoning and his intents. 

He is a mixed bag in terms of morality. He is sympathetic to the wounded and the soldiers that do the fighting, and while he would much rather prefer a calm and relaxing time working with his "clients" to get what he needs, he doesn't flinch at the prospect of turning an interrogation session on its heels to either scare or torture the information out of a target. Jobs such as that, and jobs such as infiltration, allow him to disconnect himself from others to a degree that is almost inhuman. He also is not above manipulating or lying to either foes or allies, provided that the outcome is decisive in his favor. However, he remains an egalitarian at heart and is uncharacteristically loyal to his primary employer. He doesn't quite let on at to his purpose in being there - whether its money or excitement or so on, but he definitely does enjoy the perks out of being in his line of work. He doesn't think about religion and gods a whole lot, but he has forsaken God when he was treated in kind when imprisoned in South America.

Cigarettes, chess, prose, cold coffee, cheeses, wines, olives, corned beef, psychology and sociology, vintage, music (classical, jazz, swing, blues), musicals, linguistics, foreign culture, etc. Baron is a man of many interests and enjoys simple indulgences, and prefers the rich taste of life's fruits. He pursues not the things that makes life work but the things that makes life worth living. That's a Robin Williams quote, everybody.

Despite the oddities that he may be accused of, he isn't as emotionally distant as some people who "know" him may think. He can break up a fight between soldiers and other personnel, or at least ease the tension between the two or few. Even though whoever has heard of him among the ranks is well aware of his occupation, not many actually grasp how much Barry is truly a psychological genius. If he so wished it, he could play games with a person's head at a whim. He has knowledge of the correlation between body movements/functions, and between that and undercover experience, a degree of body control that allows him to expertly craft lies, or even see right through the lies of others. Through his years of training, he can work enough of the right charm to work the truth out of a person. Or alternatively, he can work his otherwise charming charisma into more devious matters such as intimidation or interrogation.

True, while his physical form isn't too intimidating, he is cunning and intelligent enough to pick just the right words to get under your skin and play off your worst fears. That is his job in his business – he works with a mercenary group – but he isn't just some simple hired gun. There are plenty of those. When it comes to gathering information on somebody, he can hand you all you need to know just by spending some time with them alone. Having experience inserting himself into different places, he's somewhat of an amateur linguist. He learns enough of a bunch of different languages, but usually forgets how to speak them afterward when they're no longer relevant. He also enjoys chess and poetry in the form of prose. Nobody lets him play card games anymore. He has some cooking ability.

He isn't very sentimental with a lot of things. Naturally, he's attached to the tools of his trade. He has a brand of handgun (that he is allowed to carry due to a gun permit) called a Caracal CP. He also possesses an early 1900s French-made Apache revolver, and is his favorite of the two. He has a modern black vehicle that's been outfitted so that the body resembles a 1940s Bentley. He also has a dog back at home. He's a Great Dane named Pavlov.

“I'm always looking for a theory good and complex enough to stamp my name onto it. The Moreau Theory – that has a nice ring to it, am I right? I've no intention on wasting that!”

"We're victims of circumstance, it is an unfortunate part of life. You and I are limited by the situations provided to us. All great people throughout time earned themselves a place in the history books, and that is because they pushed. They struggled and they suffered through all of their circumstances - and through it all, have gone out and looked, and provided themselves with the situations they needed. Are you ready to do that? Are you ready to make history?"

"I honestly don't understand everyone's obsession with Sigmund Freud. His theories, while laid the groundwork, are mostly wrong and he wasn't even that good of a doctor. Emma Eckstein, anybody?"

Baron was born into a middle class family in Canada and went to a wonderfully reviewed school. His last name came from his father's line - he was, in fact, only about 10% French. But that was the family line that gave him a French last name. Since his youth, psychology and the inner workings of the brain fascinated him, so he took the electives and courses as they were available to him. It was a bit challenging trying to choose between neuroscience, psychiatry, and psychology, but the idea of understanding people appealed to him more. So he pursued the psychological path. He started at the age of 18, straight out of high-school and enjoyed his classes and found great interest in them. In fact, while he initially wanted to get his Psy.D. in psychology, he continued school for another year or two just so he could say he has a Ph.D. He got out of school in a very busy six years of nearly non-stop study, earning himself an Associate's degree in neuroscience, a Master's in psychiatry, and a Doctorate's degree in psychology, and at 24, was in the workforce as a neuropsychologist after receiving additional specialized training. At first, he worked in counseling, whether it be with children, adults, or even marriages. That sort of thing. It was nice of course - helping people - it was heartwarming, but also a little depressing. He also found it less of understanding people and more of letting his clients talk everything out, and while he asked questions about what he thought that meant, he let them come to their own conclusions. It was primarily about asking them simple questions and, occasionally, a lot of lying.

So he left that job and tried his hand in criminal psychology, which he turned out to be very good at and later opened up other pathways in which he would try his hand in. He worked as a part-time detective, however, still in the psychological field where he helped figure out where the person may go given their circumstances and he was also interrogating during that time via verbal means. He attempted actual detective-work, which was mostly paperwork, and then private investigating when he learned he liked working by his own rules instead. He had many different jobs throughout the psychological and investigative fields, and some of his favorite jobs was in criminal psychology, undercover work, and investigative psychology where he was pitted against the suspect in an interrogation room.

Later, a business called the Dreadnaughts, a mercenary group, found him at the age of 27 and he found the thrill he was looking for. As it turns out, Baron was the only psychologist they found good enough or honest enough to work with them. Good enough where he even survived long enough to last three years, taking part in their hilarious antics (such as the time where he infiltrated a terrorist group holed up in Saudi Arabia, and was payed by the Arabian government itself). He went missing for nearly a year after a mission with them, where was kidnapped by some guerrilla group in South America. 

He was interrogated and tortured, where he tried his hardest to hold himself out through the agony. He was a pretty valuable prisoner to them, as he was held in their custody for ten months. Baron told them next to nothing about the Dreadnaughts during that time, but he did feel his willpower giving out and his constitution would not allow him much more punishment. Fortunately, during a feeding hour, they forgot to secure his manacles. He worked himself out of the cage, and before slipping away, he silently killed almost half of their men with a sharp piece of scrap metal, all the while with a cartilage-worn and broken left leg. He was spared the wrath of the jungle and eventually found a civilization of a small town and secured a trip with the locals to the nearest hospital. At the hospital, he rested for a couple of days and got back in contact with the Dreadnaughts. He was back in the game with some physical rehabilitation, and that experience in South America taught him plenty. While he knew the tricks of keeping yourself from being manipulated, never was that knowledge tested as much as it was during that time. The other thing he learned? No mercy on the battlefield. It was starting then he stopped allowing other members to visit him while he's interrogating. Things may get messy if his "client" is stubborn enough. It's safe to say that his methods has gotten slightly more unorthodox since his escape two years ago.

Altogether, Baron has four years of service under his belt, although he considers himself to be a Dreadnaught for a total five years (counting even his time whilst imprisoned - a lot of time there were questions about them). To avoid another event like that, he has a number of code names which he alternates through depending on the sort of mission he's on and he's built up a reputation with each of them, fooling his enemies into thinking there are three different dangerous people without letting on he could be any of them. "Skinwalker" for infiltration missions, "Devil" for interrogation and diplomacy missions, and "Zombie", which was a nickname he earned from the rest of the crew because of how he "came back from the dead" (plus his limp). This came to be another code name that he takes on in every other operation.

Lately, he has been assigned a mission with a small operations team as requested by the organization NEST to help with the situation in Verthaven. With Caesar, tactical mastermind Isaiah Washe, and Grit, the talking cross-hair Danny Grit, he is to gather tactical information to be used by Isaiah Washe and eliminate their targets and maintain stability in the city. As well as gathering information on NEST while he's there. However, Baron is also excited to be there for his own reasons. Looking into the mind of a super-human? Not an easy opportunity to pass up!

Sylvester Moreau, Father (deceased)
Bernadette Moreau, Mother (alive)

| Isaiah Washe | Colleague | Rivalry | “Calling it a rivalry would be flattering him, but the both of us are both brains in a fraternity of brawns, and that makes our friend here awfully competitive. I entertain him, but I also respect him. He's a very smart man – and a good man, though you wouldn't think so to look at him.” |

| Daniel G.W. | Colleague | Strictly professional | “Grit is an entertaining young man to say the least. Our paths do not coincide very often, but when they do, I, ah, try to maintain some distance, lest he becomes... well, friendlier than usual. Simply not the type of man I care to invite into my home, honestly, but he's a good kid. I know a fair bit more about his situation than anyone, being a counselor. The dramatic irony is intense.” |

Power

Power Immunity (Passive): Superpowers are charged by meta-human energy that can be harnessed and utilized. Baron is unique in that he is more like a faux meta-human,, as his meta-human energy is negatively charged as opposed to a positive charge, opposing everything that anyone knows about meta energy. This negative charge acts like an aura and cannot be traditionally utilized or harnessed and therefore Baron doesn't have any real superpower. However, this energy does interact with the energy of other meta-humans in an intriguing way. It negates it effects and renders it inert. This means that anything imbued with a positively charged meta-human energy has zero effect on Baron's person.

To clarify further, an individual with pyrokinesis ignites an artificial flame. That flame is made by the power and is imbued with some of the essence of its creator. That essence is broken down when it comes into contact with Baron and he receives no harm from it. It doesn't matter if you bathe him in an endless stream of fire, he'll suffer no foul. This goes for even ingesting poisons generated from powers. The toxins are imbued with meta-human energy and are broken down the moment it touches him. Powers that cloak its user, such as invisibility, are negated on contact with Baron allowing him to see the person invisible. Even powers that don't make any form of contact – as long as they're directed at him – are rendered inert, such as telepathy or telekinesis. The negative energy blocks them out like an impenetrable wall.

This energy only negates powers directed at him or powers that come into contact with him. He cannot “turn off” an individual's power at will, for instance. Also, the energy doesn't protect him from the consequences of powers. Someone with super-strength can throw objects at him and he'll still be in severe danger. A pyrokinetic can set the forest on fire – the original flames, he will be immune to, but the other trees that catch fire from the heat generated from the first will be dangerous to him. If a terrakinetic splits the earth, there's still a gaping hole in the ground he can fall down. Invisibility doesn't target Baron, so while contact with an invisible target will render them visible as his energy eats theirs, he can't see them if they're away. Their energy will also soon replenish itself and they can turn invisible again after contact.

Genetic powers – powers that effect the body on a cellular level – are trickier. Titus MacArthur can swing a punch at Baron. Baron won't receive the full force of his wrathful barrage, but that doesn't change the fact that somebody is punching him in the face. The effect received depends on how strong they would be based upon their body type, or what their body type would be if they didn't have their power. People don't have tails either, unlike Henry, so if our lizard friend were to smash his fifth appendage against his chest, it would feel as though he received a blow from one of Henry's limbs back in his original form, at the same muscle density ratio of Henry's tail to his body.

This energy cannot be turned off. While this might seem inconsequential, beneficial superpowers do no affect him either. Transferring invisibility or healing him does nothing. So any supernatural means of helping him is out of the question.

Isaiah Washe

Caesar

Male

54

5'10”

168

From out of town.

Dyed black

Steel gray

What do you mean “Texas” isn't an ethnicity?

A rough and tumble man that was seemingly born out of the brush in a Texas desert, Isaiah is a stocky and somewhat intimidating man. He's isn't two-hundred pounds of bulging swole or made up of scar tissue. He's 5'10 and weighs nearly170 lbs, and has the build of a wrestler, which means he packs muscle, but lacks the toning due to the healthy-sized meals he packs on. That said, he's a mean-looking bastard. His face is twisted into what looks to be a permanent scowl and a flushed skin color as though Grit had been talking for an hour straight. He's got a squared face, a cleft chin, pronounced jawline, nose and brow ridge, a pronounced Adam's apple, and the posture of a seasoned military soldier – along with the power to knock you off your feet with his deep, booming voice alone. As his age and stature may suggest, he isn't spectacularly graceful, fast, or agile as he may have been years ago, but his gray eyes suggest that the years has done little to dull his sharpness or clever wit. His experience has left him seasoned and grizzled, and you can see it in him when he looks down at your miserable pit of an existence that is your combat career.

He has short, thick black hair in a comb-over on his head and to pair, a thick but well-trimmed set of mutton-chops on his face, which meets together with a mustache on his upper lip and works in neat symmetry. A soul patch sits on his chin to fill in the empty space. He lacks any sort of piercings and the only tattoo he has is the phrase “Semper Fi” from his youth, where half of the phrase being labeled over each pec (“Semper” “Fi”, to clarify). He's got pearly whites, though you'd never know it, for whenever he opens his mouth, you can only focus on how to best escape his raging wrath and projected voice that follows you around every back-alley nook. His bulky hands and feet are the perfect size for throttling you or shoving up your ass, respectively.

He sports a wardrobe that seems to only reassure you that he might be the Boogeyman in disguise, lurking about the modern world. He often wears a black denim jacket over a white muscle shirt, over which is a pair of dog tags. His sleeveless shirt is also often tucked into a pair of fatigues with a belt donning a large buckle. These fatigues are equipped with two holsters and are tucked into black combat boots, which are buckled tightly an has a hidden knife sheath inside. He also wears a pair of black Ray-Ban sunglasses, model RB4115 and a cowboy-looking hat on his head. Usually the first warning sign of your ass being put in risk of being ripped in twain is when Isaiah raises his glasses and stares at your from the side with widened eyes.

On duty, his attire changes with the importance of the mission. On lighter, more insignificant missions, all he'll change is to wear a black kevlar vest over his shirt and under his jacket with a black beret on his head. On big, highly-important and high-priority missions, his gear will change into something resembling that of a marine in the Dreadnaught colors – blacks, greys, whites, et cetera. A very greyscale uniform. Considering how he still doesn't see the front line as much as the infantry, he doesn't necessarily have to wear a helmet. Besides... if Isaiah's on the front line, he's saving the asses of the team that managed to fuck everything up. By that point, he's pissed as hell and is ready to carry the mission by himself.

He has the personality of nuclear fission: a relatively stable guy, but will fuck up your shit if you mess with him. He's straight-forward, honest, and on the outside, pretty simple. He has an easy-to-understand code of conduct and work ethic. If you play along, do your job right, have a good head on shoulders and aren't an outright dumbass, you'll get along with him pretty well. He has a head where nobody else is and is aware that he often times thinks outside the box – in addition to this, he also prefer to own control, so he would like to have it that nobody argues with his decisions and plans and that nobody tries to cut him off while he is talking, because usually nobody is really aware what his plans are until the final steps come to fruition. As long as you listen to him and his wise words, don't question him, you should never enter a yelling match with him.

If you do, God help you.

Isaiah has a hair-trigger temper and is prone to loud, boisterous bouts of shit-inducing rage. He is a notable, nearly famous icon among the Dreadnaughts for this trait. He will sling to you every slur, insult, and derogatory language ever uttered in American history as drops of spittle comes flying out his mouth, landing on your clothes, as his red face and bulging veins seethes with scorching fire that can only be found in Hell or in Isaiah. Surely, if you get on his bad side, the words he made you swallow will come back as a shat-out diamond of unadulterated fear. He isn't massive like Mr. Olympia, but what Isaiah has over him is that his flesh is made up of pure, condensed hatred for your pitiful existence, you miserable waste of carbon. There is something infinitely more terrifying about someone (who eerily reminds you of your dad) who is eternally angry and hates every fiber of your being than any soldier.

Despite his almost comical temper, he is universally respected among even his peers and those who dislike him. He is a remarkably intelligent man with a love for trivia. His experience in the field as a marine has taught him a lot about warfare, and on top of his previous intellectual pursuits, is a superb tactician and strategist. He takes practical experience and meshes it with his knowledge of history and his problem-solving mind to create complex strategies and commands the tactics to be made to complete that strategy. However, those who are not familiar with him may call into question his decisions. He has outside-the-box methods and often does not reveal the full strategy to those outside the strategist circle (often, he doesn't even let the circle in on his full plan, and when he does, usually informs only Belroth most of his strategy). This has to do with not wanting to waste his time with the infantry, a way to keep himself clean of their stupid suggestions, and of course, allows him to contemplate the plan in full in peace. To work the ins and outs, so that he can perfect it. Perhaps there is a bit of cocky pride in there too, so that he can have an “A-ha!” moment when it works.

Coffee, moonshine, dominance, meat n' potatoes, chess, the smell of gunpowder, success, et cetera.

Isaiah is a seasoned veteran and has extensive training in ground combat from the marines, as well as possessing tactical expertise. His years has allowed him to train his marksmanship to prodigal levels, he possessed Olympian athletic abilities after extensive exercise, and one time dragged two downed soldiers to safety under heavy fire. Nowadays, he's a little more out of shape. He has comparatively average strength and constitution, and that little crick in his back keeps him from sprinting across fields. He's a little slower, so it's not like he can take his gun and aim it at your face in a hair of a second anymore. What he makes up for in an aging body, though, is the experience and wisdom from all his years. He can shoot a target in its center simply because he knows how to work his guns, and how to aim. His wisdom in the flesh allows him to extend his experience into what would normally be physical feats and perform them anyway. He has a lot of experience driving and operating vehicles, from his years of positioning units in key locations and leading them from there. It is also lent to him so that he may remain level-headed in even high stress situations.

Most notably, however, is his ability to construct complex strategies and to apply the tactics necessary to meet those ends. These strategies are often worked over and over again in his head before he works it out on paper. The strategies are meticulous and difficult to follow unless you're being led along the way step by step. For his plots, he takes from his experiences and from history itself. He is very well versed in military history and takes the best ideas from it and works to remove their flaws. Easily, one of his most dangerous traits is that he learns from his mistakes. He is adaptive. If you foil him, you just made him stronger. Clearly, this ability extends also to chess, of which he is the undisputed champion.

A seasoned old marine soldier from Texas knows his guns, and he knows what he likes. While he is experienced with automatics and handguns, his favorite guns are shotguns and revolvers, and that is what he carries – he doesn't have to be the one at the front lines after all. In fact, he has a custom made shotgun: it is a 12 gauge sawed-off triple-barrel shotgun. It was based off the Chiappa Triple Threat and was modified to become a short-barreled shotgun. There is a strap on the side of his thigh that allows him to sheathe it there for easy access.

In addition, a .45 Colt revolver is holstered on the side of his hip. As you can tell, Isaiah isn't one for subtlety when it comes to his gun use. In fact, deriving from his experience and pessimistic outlook, many people would assume that he hides a lot of knives on his body for those “just in case” scenarios.

He also loves his son very much.

“I've got two hands, and that's enough to shove you back down whatever filthy pit the devil evicted your dumb ass from.”

“How’s about I wire C4 to your dick and blow it off even harder than your boyfriend does?”

“Why the fuck would I go out there and put a bunch of fucking face paint on like some thousand year old pissant tribal? You tell those fuckers I’m coming, and they will know right where I am when I get there.”

“How does that fuckin’ curb taste?”

“Instead of saying pretty please how about I take these revolvers and teach your dick how to count to twelve, huh?”

He was born out of Texas to a fairly conservative family, over by Houston. He came from a strict and military-supporting family, with a rather long line of veterans, and, of course, this carried on to Isaiah since it was expected of him. He was disciplined at a young age and was encouraged to engage in sports while he maintained a high grade average in school. By the time he entered college, he enlisted in the Marine Corps and received training at a boot camp, as well as education benefits that'd help carry him through his college education. Given how his education was an investment in his military career, they allowed him to finish his education before he was shipped off overseas. His education turned out remarkably successful. He got out of Virginia Tech with a Master's in History along with an Associate's in Philosophy, an Associate's in Government and International Affairs, and another in Sociology, along with an Army ROTC. His dedication to his studies and his life at boot camp earned him the rank of warrant officer, and after deployment with some practical experience, quickly became the infantry officer of his platoon.

As an infantry officer, he trained his Marines for every variety of ground combat mission, as well as gathering and evaluating intelligence on enemy forces, developing battle plans and commanding his units use of weapons and equipment. He himself often drove the trucks and transport vehicles to get his unit into position, as he was a quick and adaptable thinker, it made him adept at operating transport. Over the years, he made out to be an exceptional soldier. He was fast, strong, clever, and adaptive, and despite his temper, he knew what he was doing. He sought to receive training as a MAGTF officer, and he managed to get it. Halfway through his training, he already had the experience to warrant him a position as a Ground Intelligence Officer where he commanded operating forces and analyzed intelligence and planning, deployment and tactical employment of ground surveillance and reconnaissance units. He was honored for his tactical prowess and his ability to guide missions to completion efficiently.

As he aged and became less reactionary, his superior officers found him new positions where they can capitalize on his abilities. He became Logistics Officer and coordinated every major unit in the operating forces, and planning strategies for them. His position also allowed him to develop long-range projects and managing supply chains and analyzing data and performance. He also coordinated from supply, to transportation, maintenance, general engineering, and to health services. He was a Logistics officer for five years, right up to when he was 40.

However, between deployments in his early years, he did find a woman whom he married and started a family with. He also visited his family between deployments, occasionally not being able to return for as long as two or three years, but he always did. So one day, he came to realize that he was missing out on his son's life. He received training to be a Human Source Intelligence Officer, putting him in counterintelligence billets and duties such as platoon commanding. It only lasted two years. After his first tour, he was primarily given recruiting and instructing duty. It allowed him to spend more time with his family during his son's adolescent years. However, instructing became too much of a burden to Isaiah, and after one bundle of particularly rowdy and stupid recruits, he decided that it was too much and said “fuck it”. He retired from duty and returned home.

He tried to help out his son, who was already a teenager, about 15 or so. He gave him hand-me-downs, old guns and stuff, but also encouraged him to pursue his education and pushed him very hard. Unfortunately, for that year, he wasn't adapting to civilian life very well. The Marine Corp was putting him in a place where he got all of the annoying or boring jobs. He was pretty pissed about how quickly he seems to have aged, and whether it was in a fit of angst or mid-life crisis, he applied to the Dreadnaughts, hearing they weren't pushovers. They found his credentials suitable and immediately put him in a role where he'd be acting as operations officer working on logistics and ground intelligence, and as the acting tactician and strategist.

Needless to say, it was the perfect position for him.

There wasn't any Marine Corp-style bureaucracy for him, he strictly made plans for units and squads and platoons, and occasionally was out in the field if the situation was dire enough to call for it. He has been a part of the Dreadnaughts for a whopping eleven years and has led the charge on multitudes of missions. He's a rather well known face – and not just for his outside of the box strategies and forecasts, he's probably even more known for his temper and loud, angry voice.

He has lately been assigned a wetworks mission with Zombie, spy and neuropsychologist Baron Moreau, and Grit, Danny Grit, the most talkative sniper in the world. The organization NEST has hired the likes of the Dreadnaughts to pacify the tension in Verthaven by dismantling key threats to the city's peace and security. Being a specialist in operations, Washe's role is organize his unit and to establish a strategy best suited for eliminating their targets. In addition, the unit has agreed to obtain as much internal data on NEST as possible, to determine how large of a threat the organization can be and to determine what their goals or motives are.

| Baron Moreau | Colleague | Rival | “If I can tell you one thing about my company, is that we've got too much cannon fodder and not enough heads screwed on the right way. And when we do get one of them, we get the fucking likes of this guy. Reliable, a completely different discipline of education from mine, but the man's fucking clever in all the wrong ways and I just can't get myself to trust a guy like that. Ah've been here years longer and already has he gotten closer to boss-man than anyone else. God damn creep.” |

| Daniel G.W. | Colleague | Bothersome kid | “God DAMN the earth if I can't get one single peaceful night of sleep without wondering if that dumbass broke or fucked something up AGAIN! His old man might'a shown him how to shoot good, but none of that is gonna matter if the kid doesn't use his fucking brain to stop pestering me!” |

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Practically the loudest and angriest person in the world. If tribes threw virgins into volcanoes to appease them, they'd throw Isaiah angels.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQa6Z1xFq4E

Daniel G.W.

Danny or Grit would do nicely. Danny Grit would do superbly. Danny Wonder is just ridiculous though. Don't do that.

Male

23

5'11”

155

From out of town.

Brown

Blue

Grit is a pretty tall young man, though standing and weighing in at 5'11” and 155 lbs respectively, so he doesn't stand heads and shoulders above the rest of his comrades, and his physique is somewhat built. Grit doesn't tote the impressive strength some of the other Dreadnaught men may possess, but he does boast an athletic and cardio-focused build that gives him his willowy stature. Much of this build is focused in the shoulders and legs; as his shoulders must bear the recoil of his guns, and trekking through the wilderness allows him to run and escape from danger quickly. A stringy boy, to say the least. There are few actual scars adorning his body, often being out of the way of immediate danger, and instead has a number of scratches that comes from crawling through the rough brush of the outdoors, or camping out in a dingy little building for a number of hours. He's got a gangly posture, often slouching, which can be quickly whipped into a head-held-high form with the proper “motivation”.

He's got a smile that can light up a room with white, taken-care of teeth. Grit's face is fairly angular and is accentuating by many sharp features. Between a pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, high cheekbones, a bird-like nose, and high-sloping forehead, his face is a long, diamond shape. His sharply curved eyebrows border along his curious blue eyes, blending against his fair skin. His brown hair goes down just an inch or two below his shoulders and is always tied up in a tight ponytail, often slicked back with the assistance of a light dab of hair gel to keep it nice and smooth and out of Grit's face.

Grit is the kind of boy that'd put together a wardrobe conjoining both fashionableness and functionality. On account of the Dreadnaught's HQ being based out of Finland, he now tends to wear a gray sweat shirt that has been rolled to his elbows. However, if, say, the heating breaks, he'll roll them back down and don a brown leather jacket that looks to have been worn over a course of years judging from the frayed seams and worn-out elbows. A black leather belt with a steel buckle holders up grey-blue designer jeans. He wears brown punk-esque boots; it lacks any spikes of course, the laces just go from the top of the foot and up the ankles, which is crossed over with two straps and buckles. He also has a hemp, multi-shark tooth necklace that he got on a vacation to Ft. Lauderdale one time.

On the job, he has a pretty light-weight setup. A kevlar vest is layered over a variable textured long-sleeve shirt with hoods, the color and design of which is dependent on the environment he is in. If it is in a very cold area, he would wear a color-matching coat instead, which would also allow him the means of wearing the vest beneath his attire. All these outfits have in common, though, is a ski mask, which is similar in the idea of matching the colors of the environment, and earpieces that attach to the radio on his belt. He packs a backpack full of extra ammunition, but primarily things that allow him to survive, such as MRE's and survival equipment and guides. He also packs IFAKs, because crawling around in backwater areas might lead to cuts and infections and stuff. The bag sports other items, such as spare scopes or other replacement parts for his guns.

Grit talks too much. He's annoying. He's over-confident. He's one hell of a shot.

That's what it boils down to. Otherwise known as “the crosshair with a mouth”, the world is a platform to Grit, and is an eccentric personality in the Dreadnaughts. Unlike one would expect from a sniper, he is an incredibly talkative guy, is egocentric, and overwhelmingly optimistic. His seemingly limitless energy is appalling, and he always has some clever or snarky quip to say in retaliation. He has a joke or story for everything. He's the sort of guy that doesn't quite know when to stop, and why should he? What right has he to take the greatness that is Danny Grit away from the world? That said, he is very confident in his own abilities, and rightfully so. If he were to take a moment's break from the talking, flirting, joking, and story-telling that might have been tailored and tweaked a bit to satisfy his vision, you can see how he can go from zero to top gear and concentrate all of his focus on that one, perfect shot.

Granted, as soon as the job is done – and it always is (and done fast, he often only needs one bullet) – that appeasing moment of silence is broken, and prepare your ears for the run-on gloating and bragging about how amazing that shot was. His ego is built off acknowledgment of his own ability with a gun, but more so on where he is in life. He sees himself as being part of the best, most dangerous mercenary teams in the world – and he is correct in that judgment. As a result, he does take pride in himself, and also the team, even as little as his pride in the latter is expressed; because even though Grit is very prideful and sees himself as a top-notch shot, he does seek to impress all the members of his team. After all, he is still a young man and seeks the approval of his comrades.

Despite his grating disposition, Grit is genuinely a well-meaning young man. He's an entertainer at heart and is very social. He doesn't discriminate between friends, which may be hard to see since he doesn't refrain from making jokes about stereotypes, and he's a little naïve about the kind of harm it can bring. Although a relentless flirt, it is done for the smile that comes after. He actually has little desire for romantic or sexual relationships, but he finds the smiles that he can bring out in people is heartwarming. His aptitude in marksmanship is unquestionable, but he's still a little green on the battlefield and face-up confrontation can greatly off-set his battle prowess. Even though he is a sniper, he prefers to eliminate his targets either through the heart or the back or sides of their heads. Seeing the enemy's face close-up through the scope can bring on some hesitation and would require him to steel himself for the shot.

Girls, Cuban food, music, himself, guns, his image, humor, conversation, rollerblades, cars, races, sports, et cetera. He's a young American man, use your imagination.

Grit is, without argument, an excellent shot. There's a reason why Belroth keeps a young man like him around even with all the incessant talking. He like the prodigal son of William Tell – more likely though, he's just one hell of a shot with one hell of a lucky streak. He's got a reputation for things just going his way, even when things are just looking down for him. He good at making conversation and he'll never struggle to find a topic to have a conversation over, but that doesn't make him adept at diplomacy, since he's pretty arrogant and just likes to hear himself talk. He is decent enough at camouflaging himself, even if it's only minor. He doesn't paint, so that does hamper his ability somewhat. He has decent enough outdoor survival experience, and he can climb a tree as though he were a monkey. He's pretty good at video games, and if the 'Naughts ever decided to hold a contest, Grit would likely come up on top, given how most of the others are a bit older and hasn't quite grown up with video games as much. His ma also taught him how to make country fried chickens and steaks, but that is about the extent of his cooking ability: bread it up and throw that sucker in a pan o' butter.

The CheyTac Intervention M200, firing $7 dollar rounds of .408 Chey Tac ammunition. Aside from having one of the longest-ranges of all modern-day sniper rifles? It's totally badass. This anti-personnel war machine is equipped with adjustable scopes and a silencer to mitigate the noise it makes, so that Grit does not give away his position when he turns the heads of his enemies into scarlet confetti bombs.

Howe'er, he does have backup weapons should he ever find himself in the position of being closed in on by the enemy, he has a special gun that was given to him by his father as a gift: the Magnum Research BFR, the Big Frame Revolver, otherwise known as the “Big, Fine Revolver” or the “Big Fucking Revolver”. This beast of a handgun has a 5-round cylinder that has been customized to fire .500 S&W Magnum rounds, ensuring that Grit blows a hole in whatever he's pointing the gun at. The grip is black, and the chamber and barrel have a fine chrome finish. Sure, while it is heavy, he probably only needs to fire it once and send the assailant running – if their head hasn't exploded, that is.

“Oh yeah! That's awesome! You know what? That reminds me of another story...”

Let's make this one quick: Grit is the only son of a family in Alabama whose father was often deployed overseas, and therefore was unable to see him very often. So he spent a lot of time at home with his mother, playing with airsoft guns, BB guns, and even paintball guns, playing war in the back yard. Whether this was a projection of his admiration or longing to be with his father is still all up in the air, but being in a veteran's family surely made a large impact on his life. However, without any father figures in the house to help raise the boy, a young man can wear a woman's patience thin. This allowed less time for discipline, which meant that he spent his time in school as a social activity, and didn't pay the education much heed unless he was on the verge of failing – at which event, he'd bust his ass getting himself back up to speed and passing tests, and then the cycle would repeat itself.

When he was 18, he got the BFR as a gift from his father. Which in itself was an odd coincidence when you consider his disappointment in his son, as he wished the boy wouldn't waste his education and go to college. Instead, Grit, who didn't seem to hear or understand his words was eager to impress his father and enlisted in the National Guard. There he received much training and became one of the top shots in the group of recruits they had. He hasn't been deployed once for a year since he was recruited, but during that year, he managed to stuff a lot of practice into shooting and did participate in local rescue operations and disaster relief. He particularly loved doing disaster relief missions, even though they were fairly severe situations, because he got to help out people in their dire times of need.

It wasn't enough hustle though, and Grit never thought it would be. The National Guard was just his training grounds. His true aspirations were the Dreadnaughts. They were the biggest, baddest mercenaries in the world and they were the best of the best. Grit loved the idea of becoming one of them, one of the legends. He had to have sent seven applications or so, and the first six were turned down under the belief he was just some riled child without enough discipline or skill. This was half true. The last time he sent an application, he attached a video recording, a compilation of his marksmanship skills. There had to have been a dozen different instances where the shots he made had the odds akin to that of striking the ball end of a pin needle. They finally accepted him and scheduled him a ride to Finland, where he would then receive further training.

For the four years he's been there, he built up a reputation not with just his marksmanship, but mostly because of his incredible, uncanny luck. While his ability to aim and fire a rifle is nothing to laugh at – he's one of the best – it has just been overshadowed by how many lucky breaks he managed to get away with. In fact, in a ratio of time since he's joined to how many scars he has, his has to be the absolute lowest of anybody's. He also holds the Dreadnaught's record of “most near-death situations survived”. One of his best shots on one of these missions is when he had to assassinate a general in Latin America. It was during El Niño, Grit was soaking wet and on top of a Cuban pine tree, which was swaying back and forth in the wind. Among all that, he had to account for the wind affecting his bullet projectory. Somehow, for some reason (people often supect that God is rooting for the wrong guy), and against all odds, he made that shot. After which, the army the general led was alerted to his location and sprayed the tree with turret fire. Damn near pissing his pants, Grit [strike]fell[/strike] climbed down as fast as he could, hearing and feeling elephant-killing bullets whizzing past his head.

Grit never did stop telling that story. Sometimes he even adds parts to it that didn't actually happen. People still call him out on account of him being lucky, and that he should have died. Their denial feeds his ego.

Now, his latest adventure brings him to the city of Verthaven with his colleagues: the Zombie, Baron Moreau, neuropsychologist and spy! Then the old man, Caesar, or Isaiah Washe, who was in charge of the wetwork operation. Zombie and Caesar made their own plans to look into NEST a little more. Grit, though, is more excited about the mission he has come here to do. Also – superpowers! So cool! He's never seen one of these metas up close before, and wants to check out all that Verthaven has to offer.

| Baron Moreau | Colleague | What's up, doc? | "Ol' Barry is my counselor! Well, not MY counselor, he has other clients too. But I'm one of 'em, and let me tell ya: he's kind of a weird man at first, but you'll see he's one of the most interesting guys in the world! Second to me, of course! Ha! He's the only one who seems to listen to my awesome stories. I can't BELIEVE he's one of those meta-people! He says he's isn't, but that isn't what the doctor guy said! I think." |

| Isaiah Washe | Colleague | Obstacle | “Ha! Who doesn't love ol' Caesar? The man's a riot. Ha, yeah. The old man sure is... uh, impressive. I just wish he would listen to me once in a while... but I ain't gonna let that get me down! I'm gonna show him how good I am, and one of these days, I'm finally gonna earn his respect.” |

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Grit must have an angel or something watching over him – and there are a lot of jokes about how God must have him confused for somebody else. His luck is uncanny and unpredictably unpredictable. That is to say that he somehow is placed in absurd situations that nobody should expect him – or any other person – to succeed. This is to say that Belroth may place him in an important position to do an important job, and fate just makes it so that it appears next to impossible to complete, such as the incident where he had to carry out an assassination, and El Niño swooped in at the last second. And yet, at the same time, it is also his luck that allows him to succeed in these missions. Grit's life is always exciting, and you can always expect some sort of fascinating tale from him – though you can never tell if his tales are true or not.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kAzp8FXA-FQ