AGE: 47 GENDER: female FORMER OCCUPATION: Mayor of Rittendale HEIGHT: 5’6 WEIGHT: 118 lbs SCARS/TATTOOS/OTHER: in a small, square-lettered font on her left wrist, Annette has a tattoo of the birth date of her son, Sebastian.
PAST AFFILIATES:
Jason “Jay” Danes: Annette’s forty-eight-year-old husband;
Gregory Mackey: Annette’s seventy-two-year-old uncle and former close friend;
CURRENT AFFILIATES:
Amina Ali: resident of The Towers, close friend/emotional support;
Alexander J. McMurray: resident of the towers, close friend, second-in-command;
all other residents of The Towers;
STRENGTHS: If anything, Annette Danes is known for her ability to appeal to the masses. Her charismatic skills kept her afloat during her term as Rittendale’s mayor; even if she never wholly believed the words she let rocket off her tongue, she knew when to let them go and how much force should be put into each syllable. When her back isn’t making friends with a corner, she’s personable, attentive and understanding. She has a sharp tongue and quick wit – a million different retorts or statements will sprout in her mind before her opponent had the chance to attempt to voice their way out of an instant verbal KO.
Likewise, Annette was never blessed with the ability to read a textbook and memorize every fibre of those words, but she does possess adequate “street smarts”. She thinks quickly and clearly, always on the ball. Rarely does Annette slip up or not immediately grasp a concept.
WEAKNESSES: Annette always had been a workaholic, ever since she was first employed as a fast food chain cashier and felt that gritty texture of a crisp paycheque between her fingertips. That thrive to constantly work and do better leaves her exhausted. Annette is unwilling to give up, even when success has long since left her reach. She’s critical of herself, constantly blaming and berating herself for not doing better, not putting more effort into things. This puts her under constant stress, making her agitated and restless, unable to eat or sleep comfortably and always anxious. She’s aware the migraines, heartburn and stomach pains she experiences may be caused from it, but Annette refuses to worry about those.
In the same vein, Annette cares too deeply about what others think of her. There’s a façade she held for years that she was a confident, well-put-together political warrior who always knew the answer. The end of the world didn’t change her need to be that hero; it only made it more needed. In reality, Annette doesn’t believe she’s nearly as strong as she’s made out to be. Inside, she’s an anxious bundle bound to unravel and never stop crying or shaking once every knot comes undone. People look to Annette, and she hungers for their willingness to. It started when Annette first became mayor, how she craved being the good guy, the one with all the answers and solutions. Annette needs to be their saving grace, and then some. It’s the only way she can feel validated.
At her age, and with her health, Annette is not a physically adept person. Her knees crack when she crouches and more often than not she awakes with new pains in her back and shoulders. A bad right knee makes it difficult to run before the pain begins, and truth be told, Annette can’t do a single push-up to save her life.
HISTORY:
In the year of 2007, Annette Danes became a household name in the city of Rittendale; she was a mayoral candidate known for her sharp mouth, unwillingness to bite her tongue, and ambitious plans to better Rittendale. With the promise of more bike lanes, greenspace, pedestrian-only streets, free public transit and to fight for taxpayers, Annette’s platform was also well-received, though many had doubts she would accomplish everything she promised.
Steadily, Annette’s popularity grew. From enthusiastically appearing in the city’s Pride Parade to supporting and promoting small businesses, Annette made a face for herself as someone who genuinely cared about others. As she once joked in an interview, it was why she always excelled in customer service.
As of 2008, Annette Danes won the election. She went on to lead a full term, managing to reduce crime rates to an all-time low as well as fulfill each promise she made. Though she may have earned the title of “The Green Giant” from her often spoken about drive to make the city as eco-friendly as possible, Annette was renown for her motivation to improve the environment.
In the end, however, Annette was not voted back into office for a second term. She lost to her former competitor, Michael Mann. Though it was a tough blow, it was not all in vain. Annette had been looking forward to an early retirement for a while.
With her husband and son, Annette lived in a well-off condo near the beaches area. They had a pitbull named Sandy and an overweight housecat named Danny.
When the virus hit, Annette’s son Sebastian passed away first. Jay, her husband, collapsed onto the floor just as Annette scrambled to pull Sebastian into her arms. For several hours Annette had attempted CPR on both to no avail. It had not surprised her when no emergency response team answered her calls.
Eventually, when the sun came up and both were pale, cold and unresponsive, and when Annette finally felt the bitter sting of an early winter wafting in through the windows, she sat down on the floor next to both her son and husband and stared off at the dawning sky.
Johnathan Coxwell: Francine’s husband and close family friend;
Chelsea Coxwell: Francine's and Johanthan’s twelve-year-old daughter;
Marshall White: one of the survivors Hannah lived with up until The Towers until Marshall ultimately took his own life. Hannah hadn't been very close to him but still thinks of him from time-to-time;
CURRENT AFFILIATES:
Mary-Ellen Cooper: a fifty-two-year-old woman and part of Hannah's original group;
Elliot Rice: a twenty-eight-year-old man, from Hannah’s original group, and close friend to Francine;
Charles Okeke: a nineteen-year-old boy, previous neighbor of Hannah’s, close friend, and from Hannah’s original group. Hannah exudes a protective, sisterly nature over Charles;
Gerry Tran: a forty-five-year-old man whose English is fairly limited, from Hannah’s original group
;
SKILLS: When the upcycling craze bloomed on Pinterest long ago, Hannah became wrapped up in it. That, paired with her intelligence and creativity, makes Hannah a resourceful ally. She’s also got problem-solving skills down a T, able to work her way out of any situation or find a solution. Even when it’s on a topic she doesn’t yet know, Hannah’s mind will work overtime and pitch plausible ideas (or at least she thinks they are) based off what little understanding she has of it.
It doesn’t come naturally, but having studied psychology and reading articles about body language, Hannah feels as though her ability to read others is one to not be taken too lightly. When dealing with unknown people, Hannah likes to imagine herself as a social chameleon; she gets others and, through their motives, gets a better understanding of how to act and react in certain circumstances.
In her relationship with Marcus, Hannah was, without a doubt, the handyman of the household. She knows the difference between a Phillips head, slot head and a Robertson screwdriver, or how to hold a handsaw. Maybe she can’t build a whole house, but she does now how to repair a leaky sink.
And, Hannah doesn’t like to brag, but even after the apocalypse, she can make a mean Americano.
STRENGTHS: From all the years spent studying, switching majors and always needing answers to trivial questions that keep her awake at night, Hannah is fairly intelligent and studious, having often been on the honor roll or Dean’s List. All throughout school she had been dubbed a nerd or a bookworm; she had an affinity for reading, and not the sappy YA romance novels, either. The hard sci-fi novels, space opera, thriller/mysteries, all the way up to historical non-fiction and textbooks on religion. Likewise, Hannah always has an urge to learn what she sees others doing, wanting to know how things are done or made. Easily Hannah will get the hang of something; she’s a quick learner with a refusal to stop wanting to learn everything.
Throughout her life many people have said Hannah’s empathic nature is a valued one. She’s a caring and thoughtful person. She understands people, relates to them on a personal level, and is a good listener. It had never been a desire of hers to become a therapist or anything even remotely close, but Hannah’s ability to hear someone’s problem or pain and calm them down, make them feel better or loved is a natural trait she doesn’t think twice about. To Hannah, it’s basic human instinct to care for others so deeply, especially after there’s so very few left to care about.
WEAKNESSES: Hannah doesn’t have the toughest skin, nor a strong voice. She’s a pushover, sensitive, soft-spoken and non-confrontational. Her preferred method of dealing with upset or aggressive people is trying to talk things over while combatting overactive nervousness, but even then she won’t speak up or try to defend herself unless absolutely necessary. She's prone to crying when alone, still mourning those that were lost and dwelling on too many questions. On the outside she can appear calm when sifting through corpses, but there's always the one or two that gets to her. She's not a mentally strong nor brave person; she's a team player and will help in any way she can whenever needed, but don't expect Hannah to carry any army into battle. She may cower in the corner instead.
Though Hannah’s gotten used to the new way of living, she tends to bottle up negative emotions in favor of appearing okay with everything. If something is bothering her, Hannah will try to ignore it or downplay it as nothing too serious. Avoiding issues at all costs is her forte.
Francine is not a physically strong person; she’s thin, unable to lift a lot of weight and is not nearly coordinated enough to run smoothly for long periods of time.
HISTORY:
In a quaint little apartment still in the process of being furnished exclusively by IKEA’s best, Francine lived with her long-term boyfriend, Marcus. Sometimes at night when neither could sleep and all the other conversational possibilities have been worn down, pillow talk of marriage would arise. It was never fully serious – not to the extent Francine wanted – but Francine was more than welcoming of the idea of settling down with Marcus for the remainder of her life.
At a small café near the downtown core’s financial district, Francine worked as the stores’ assistant manager. For months the higher-up’s had been promising Francine a promotion to managerial level and her own store, but it was something Francine doubted deep down within. She was simply too shy and timid, too much of a pushover to want to constantly ask about it for fear of coming off as annoying. Besides, the coworkers at her store were some of her best friends – a makeshift family. To leave them permanently, knowing she would have to replace them, broke her heart more than she would ever admit. She was okay with staying behind if it meant not having to lose the people she grew so close to.
Elsewhere in the city, Francine’s mother and father had officially moved in with their other daughter, Hannah, and her own family of three. Most Sundays Francine and Marcus would have dinner at their place, where sometimes her brother Jeremiah would attend, looking more and more ragged than ever, on some new drug Francine preferred to pretend never existed. It was easier to ignore Jeremiah’s lifestyle, believe they were all one happy, fully-functioning family, and that Jeremiah wasn’t as bad off as Francine knew he was.
Playing the card of ignorance was better than facing reality.
When the virus began circulating the news and became a serious threat, Francine and Marcus bunkered down with Hannah’s family and their parents. They stayed in the basement, stockpiled food, listened to the radio until it became too hard to keep hearing so much destruction and death daily. After so long, they shut it off for good. They sat quietly and waited, listened to gunshots and sirens and fires rage on. Very quickly on it became chaos in the streets; people didn’t want to wait for death, it seemed.
Jeremiah never arrived, never replied to any of their text messages. Francine doubted any got through, what with the millions of other people jamming the airwaves. In some morbid, twisted way that left Francine questioning her sanity ever since, she preferred he didn’t. She wanted to believe, of all of her family, Jeremiah – the strung-out, couch-hopping lowlife – survived, and that he thrived in the new world. Even at his worst, Jeremiah was resilient. Francine liked to imagine him sobering up and rebuilding society single-handedly.
That thought helped her cope with the images burned into her mind of how, in the cramped, damp basement with mildewed boxes pushed to the sides and enough canned food to last only a week, each and every single last one of her family let out a shudder, a groan, a wet and weak gasp. One-by-one they all went limp, and Francine didn’t know which one to try and help first. She froze, her hands reaching out for Marcus as her eyes fell on her mothers’ worn, weary face that became lifeless, motionless.
When her body began to respond again, Francine ran to her niece Chelsea’s side, knowing it was what everyone would have wanted. But Chelsea was dead the moment Francine was next to her, frantically shaking her, trying to get any response from the young girl.
In the end, Francine stood in a room of bodies she once loved and lived for. She was too shocked to do anything but stand stock still, wide-eyed, staring at a pockmark in the brick wall as her mind tried to process anything that had just happened. It felt like an impossible nightmare, one that Francine couldn’t grasp the reality of until it had hit her hard, like a cannonball right in her guts.
On auto-pilot her feet carried her outside, looking for help or an escape or something to explain what really happened. Standing on her front lawn covered in crispy brown leaves, she saw the teenage boy from across the street, Charles. Without a word shared between the two, they crossed the gap of concrete and grass between them in a second and embraced one another, and for a solid day they sat on the grass and wept heavier than ether had in a long time.
After two days of searching for help – or other living people – and finding only more bodies that further reduced the duo to tears and emotional exhaustion, they returned to their homes. It was an agreement they made that they couldn’t return home and see their families again. Instead, both gathered their belongings and left before any attachment could pull them back. Even as they walked down the road in a hurry with knapsacks on their backs, Francine wanted to run back just to make sure her family wasn’t still alive the whole time.
Eventually Francine and Charles made their way to the EMS station a few blocks over, still hoping help would arrive. Instead, after a few days of total silence in-between sobs and fits, a small group of regular people showed up. There were three of them, making a group of five in total. It was getting colder outside, and no one from the group wanted to see any more corpses, so they remained indoors for a few months. Over that time, Francine learned to cope a bit more with the loss of her entire family through the help of total strangers that became very close to her. Calling them friends wasn’t quite right; they were more than that, and in a different way.
Come February, the supplies had gotten lower and it began to make more sense to leave their pseudo-home. Trekking out into the cold, blistering wind, bundled up and unprepared for it, they made their way from building-to-building, becoming inner-city nomads. Through that way of surviving they found another survivor, Gerry Tran, who was unable to communicate very well but became a quick fixture of their group. English or not, Gerry was part of them, and they relied on him just as much as he did to them.
The group headed for The Emerald Towers as it was the next closest residential spot, and that day had been a particularly bad one. They walked through the front doors, set down their packs, took a moment to shake out the cold from their bones, and saw three other people – Annette, Alexander and Amina. It was a relief to see other living beings for a change, and despite the weather, that night had been the first time Francine laughed in a long while.
When one of their group, Marshall, jumped from the rooftop and committed suicide, Francine simply stared at his body half-buried under the snow from the warmth of inside. Amongst the sadness, pity and regret, Francine felt disappointment, and slight anger. She cried for him, but not in the way she had for the others. There wasn’t as much emotion or effort behind those tears shed. It just wasn’t possible to keep crying like that anymore.
Since the beginning of The Towers, Francine learned to look at the bodies with a little less humanity and sorrow. They became a trademark of the city; they were not things she let herself think about, or feel things over. It made scavenging for supplies more bearable. It made getting through each day less depressing.
It made it easier to not feel guilt every time she laughed or smiled or had a light-hearted conversation with someone. It also made her question her sanity and what became of her, that she felt so disconnected and unaffected. But those were thoughts she never let leave her head.
We were once heroes. But heroes win the wars no one else could.
I don’t know if we’ll win this war.
And I’m so, so sorry…
. . .
//THE//SEVENTH//DIVISION//CODE//
“When there’s no more hurt, there’s healing. When there’s no more healing, there’s hope. When there’s no more hope, there’s us: The Seventh Division.”
. . .
It was never meant to be a fixed thing in history, the idea of The Divisions. It started as people who teamed together to solve small crimes. It then transgressed into a freedom-fighting group of masked vigilantes saving the innocent from the U.S. government.
After that, it became clear what we were: the mediators of good and evil, the necessity to maintain order when others couldn't. We were an ever-changing task force of random men and women who signed on to save those who needed it.
At one point, we were playing God.
Today there are only a handful of us left, and now more than ever we are needed. Where the First to the Sixth Divisions have failed, I am determined to make sure this Divisions succeeds
This is The Seventh Division
. . .
|FORMER//EVENTS|
. . .
THE//FIRST//DIVISION//1988-1990
. . .
- JANUARY 3RD, 1988: VIVIAN PANG AND EUGENE RICE FIRST MEET, WORK TOGETHER TO SOLVE CASE OF SERIAL KILLER DANIEL PRESMAN; - FEBRUARY 18TH, 1988: VIVIAN PANG AND EUGENE RICE TAKE ON NEW CASE, BECOME KNOWN IN MINOR MEDIA PLATFORMS AS “SUPER-DUO”; - MAY 1ST, 1988: SUPER-DUO ENLISTS HELP OF JOSEPH ALBERTO – DUBBED “LIGHTTOUCH” TO SOLVE NEXT CASE. MARY-ELIZABETH ROSS, NICKNAMED “LADY LUST,” JOINS; - AUGUST 22ND, 1988: THE DIVISION RESCUES ALFRED ARMITAGE FROM GANG SHOOTOUT IN FLORIDA. ARMITAGE JOINS THE DIVISION; - OCTOBER 13TH, 1989: AFTER CONSTANT SUCCESS OF THE DIVISION, THERE IS RISE IN INTEREST OVER SUPERHEROES ACROSS AMERICA. MANY AMATEUR VIGILANTES/GROUPS ARE REPORTED, SPARKING POLICE CONFLICTS OVER INABILITY TO DO JOB WITHOUT DISTRACTION; - JANUARY 3RD, 1990: OTHER CIVILIANS COME OUT AS “GIFTED,” COINING THE TERM “PSYCHOGENERATIVE” TO REFER TO SUPERHUMANS. FEW OTHER PSYCHOGENERATIVE’S FIND AS MUCH SUCCESS AS THE DIVISION; - MARCH 21ST, 1990: THE ACTION FILM “THE DIVISION OF MASKS” IS RELEASED, BREAKS BOX OFFICE RECORDS. ALFRED ARMITAGE AS MAN O’WAR MAKES CAMEO APPEARANCE; - MAY 18TH, 1990: LONE VIGILANTE “POLAR STORM” IS SHOT BY LOS ANGELES POLICE OFFICER WAYNE COX AFTER POLAR STORM ATTEMPTS TO STOP SMALL HOUSE FIRE. COX WAS REPORTED AS SAYING, “HE WAS IN THE WAY”. DEATH OF POLAR STORM CAUSED CONTROVERSY ACROSS AMERICA, LABELLED AS ACT OF “POLICE BRUTALITY”; - MAY 21ST, 1990: LAPD ISSUES PUBLIC STATEMENT, INSISTING DEATH OF POLAR STORM WAS ACCIDENT, TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ACTIONS; ADVICES MASKED & ASPIRING VIGILANTES LET LAW ENFORCEMENT HANDLE SITUATIONS; - MAY 24TH, 1990: SMALL GROUP OF PROTESTORS FORMS OUTSIDE OF LAPD OFFICES; - MAY 26TH, 1990: CROWD OF PROTESTORS GROWS LARGER, IS DISPERSED BY LAPD. FIVE OFFICERS SEVERELY INJURED BY PSYCHOGENERATIVE PROTESTOR. PSYCHOGENERATIVE IS ARRESTED, TWO OTHER PROTESTORS INJURED; - MAY 27TH, 1990: MAYOR OF LOS ANGELES BRENDA CHARLES MAKES PUBLIC SPEECH, INDICATING FEARS OVER PSYCHOGENERATIVES AND THEIR CAPABILITIES. WARRANT FOR THE ARREST OF ANY PSYCHOGENERATIVE ACTIVITY IN LA IS ISSUED; - MAY 29TH, 1990: EIGHTEEN PROTESTORS ARE DETAINED IN LA, TWO SEVERELY INJURED, AS RIOT BREAKS OUT IN DOWNTOWN CORE. SEVERAL POLICE CRUISERS ARE SET ABLAZE BY PSYCHOGENERATIVE; ONE MAN IS KILLED IN RIOTS; - JUNE 2ND, 1990: ATTEMPTED CAPTURE OF THE FIRST DIVISION BY LAPD; VIVIAN PANG IS ARRESTED. NEWS SPREAD BY THAT NIGHT, INSTIGATING MASSIVE RIOT; SEVERAL OTHER PSYCHOGENERATIVES AND PROTESTORS ARE IMPRISONED. SMALLER PROTESTS POP UP ACROSS NORTH AMERICA; - JUNE 3RD, 1990: LAPD HEADQUARTERS BUILDING IS ATTACKED BY MULTIPLE PSYCHOGENERATIVES; IMPRISONED PSYCHOGENERATIVES ATTEMPT ESCAPE, INCLUDING VIVIAN PANG. FOUR PSYCHOGENERATIVES AND TWO POLICE OFFICERS ARE KILLED; - JUNE 7TH, 1990: US PRESIDENT VICTOR WILDE MAKES TELEVISED APPEARANCE, DISCUSSES WAVE OF PROTESTS ACROSS US. ANNOUNCES ACT TO DETAIN ALL IDENTIFIED PSYCHOGENERATIVES FOR SAFETY OF SOCIETY; SAYS UNIDENTIFIED ARE ENCOURAGED TO COME FORWARD BUT WILL BE DISCOVERED REGARDLESS; - JUNE 10TH, 1990: SEVENTEEN PSYCHOGENERATIVES ARE DETAINED ACROSS AMERICA. THE FIRST DIVISION RETREATS TO NYC. RIOTS DIE DOWN WITH OCCASIONAL TERRORIST ATTACK AGAINST POLICE DEPARTMENTS; - JUNE 18TH, 1990: UPWARDS TO SIXTY SUSPECTED PSYCHOGENERATIVE’S HAVE BEEN DETAINED. THE FIRST DIVISION’S HIDEOUT IN NYC IS RAIDED; LIGHTTOUCH IS CAPTURED; - JUNE 27TH, 1990: LIGHTTOUCH ESCAPES CELL, RELEASES OTHER PRISONERS, CAUSES CHAOS FROM INSIDE PRISON. SEVERAL DETAINED, ONLY FEW ESCAPE, LIGHTTOUCH INCLUDED; - JULY 2ND, 1990: MALIK AIDU IS SOUGHT OUT BY THE FIRST DIVISION, REQUESTED TO JOIN; MALIK USES TELEPORTATION ABILITY TO SNEAK PRISONERS OUT. MANAGES TO RESCUE FOURTEEN OF NEAR ONE HUNDRED PRISONERS; - JULY 10TH, 1990: COUNTRYWIDE WARRANT FOR ARREST OF THE FIRST DIVISION MEMBERS IS ISSUED; SEVENTEEN OTHER PRISONERS RESCUED; - JULY 19TH, 1990: WHITEHOUSE IS ATTACKED BY SMALL GROUP OF PSYCHOGENERATIVES RESULTING IN EACH OF THEIR DEATHS. EUGENE RICE HACKS TELEVISED PROGRAM, MAKING PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT REQUESTING ALL PSYCHOGENERATIVES CEASE VIOLENCE, RIOTING; - JULY 28TH, 1990: MAJOR RIOTING IN DOWNTOWN DETROIT; PSYCHOGENERATIVE COMMITS SUICIDE-BOMBING IN TIMES SQUARE, KILLING TWELVE. ESTIMATED FIFTY PRISONERS RESCUED OF NEARLY TWO HUNDRED CAPTURED; - AUGUST 13TH, 1990: EUGENE RICE AND LADY LUST CALMLY BREAK-UP ORGANIZED PROTESTING OUTSIDE OF WHITEHOUSE, STATING, “THE GOVERNMENT IS NOT OUR ENEMY, AND WE DON’T HAVE TO BE THEIRS … THEY ARE AFRAID OF US. WE SHOULD NOT CELEBRATE OR CAPITALIZE ON THAT, WE SHOULD BE THE ONES TO FIX THAT”; - AUGUST 29TH, 1990: UPWARDS TO THREE HUNDRED PSYCHOGENERATIVES AND SUPPORTERS DETAINED, COURTRIGHT PENITENTIARY BECOMES FIRST PSYCHOGENERATIVE-SPECIFIC PRISON. INMATES SEDATED, LEFT TO SOLITARY CONFINEMENT; - SEPTEMBER 13TH, 1990: TWENTY PSYCHOGENERATIVES ARE EXECUTED AT COUTRIGHT PENITENTIARY. CANADIAN PRIME MINISTER ELEANOR HARDING ACCEPTS REFUGEES, CLAIMS, “THIS BARBARISM AGAINST FELLOW HUMANS IS NOT WHAT WE, AS A RACE OF EQUALS, ARE ABOUT.” CANADIAN GOVERNMENT BEGINS WORK WITH THE FIRST DIVISION TO RELOCATE, PROTECT REFUGEES, BUT REFUSES TO ENTER AMERICAN TERRITORIES; - SEPTEMBER 26TH, 1990: INTEL LEAKED THAT FORTY-SEVEN OTHER PSYCHOGENERATIVE PRISONERS HAVE BEEN EXECUTED. MALIK AIDU AND LADY LUST INFILTRATE COURTRIGHT PENITENTIARY, REMAIN UNDERCOVER AS INMATES, SLOWLY REMOVING PRISONERS ONE-BY-ONE; - OCTOBER 5TH, 1990: POWER-NEUTRALIZING PSYCHOGENERATIVE BROUGHT IN TO COURTRIGHT; LADY LUST AND MALIK AIDU STUCK IN PRISON; - OCTOBER 19TH, 1990: US PRESIDENT VICTOR WILDE ASSASSINATED. VICE PRESIDENT MARTIN RICHFIELD TAKES OVER OFFICE. VIVIAN PANG AND MAN O’WAR PREVENT PRESIDENT’S ASSASSIN FROM KILLING MORE IN WHITEHOUSE; - OCTOBER 25TH, 1990: MALIK AIDU ATTACKS GUARD INSIDE COURTRIGHT, IS EXECUTED; - OCTOBER 27TH, 1990: RIOTS STOPPED, ONLY MINOR PEACEFUL PROTESTS IN HONOR OF MALIK AIDU. ESTIMATED TWO HUNDRED INMATES REMAIN AT COURTRIGHT; - NOVEMBER 1ST, 1991: THE FIRST DIVISION INFILTRATES WHITEHOUSE, EUGENE RICE SPEAKS WITH MARTIN RICHFIELD, ASKS TO END IMPRISONMENT OF INNOCENT PSYCHOGENERATIVES TO HELP BOTH SIDES OF BATTLE, IS TURNED AWAY BUT NOT REPORTED; - NOVEMBER 15TH, 1990: MASS ARREST OF ROUGHLY SEVENTY PSYCHOGENERATIVES ACROSS THE US; TEAM OF CLAIRVOYANTS FORCED TO LOCATE UNIDENTIFIED, UNDERDEVELOPED PSYCHOGENERATIVES. THE FIRST DIVISION’S HIDEOUT IS COMPROMISED; ALL BUT EUGENE RICE ARE CAPTURED; - NOVEMBER 20TH, 1990: EUGENE RICE ATTACKS CONVOY TRANSPORTING PSYCHOGENERATIVES TO COURTRIGHT PENITENTIARY; RELEASES SEVEN PSYCHOGENERATIVES, INCLUDING MERLE MOREAU, DONNA TATE AND AMANDA WEISZ; ALL THREE JOIN THE FIRST DIVISION; - NOVEMBER 25TH, 1990: THIRTY MORE PSYCHOGENERATIVES CAPTURED; THE FIRST DIVISION RESCUES FIFTY MORE PSYCHOGENERATIVES EN-ROUTE TO COURTRIGHT. VICE PRESIDENT MARTIN RICHFIELD REMAINS SILENT ABOUT MATTERS; - DECEMBER 1ST, 1990: EUGENE RICE KILLED WHILE RESCUING CAPTURED SUPERHUMANS;
. . .
THE//SECOND//DIVISION//1991-1996//
- JULY 2ND, 1994: VIVIAN PANG, NOW GOING BY CODENAME “THE PANG,” TAKES OVER AS LEADER. GROUP’S NAME OFFICIALLY BECOMES “THE SECOND DIVISION”; - JULY 10TH, 1994: MYSTERIOUS, MUTE WOMAN KNOWN ONLY AS “THE POET” JOINS THE SECOND DIVISION. BECOMES KEY FACE OF THE DIVISION’S PROPAGANDA; - AUGUST 7TH, 1994: LADY LUST LEAVES THE DIVISION; - NOVEMBER 1ST, 1994: HOMELESS IMMIGRANT SUNG JIN LEE IS RESCUED BY LIGHTTOUCH AND ZENITH FROM SUICIDE. SUNG JIN LEE STAYS WITH GROUP, UNOFFICIALLY BECOMING NEW MEMBER DESPITE NO BENEFICIAL SKILLS OR ABILITIES;
. . .
THE//THIRD//DIVISION//2003-2006
- DECEMBER 29TH, 2005: GROUP REUNITES, FORMING THE THIRD DIVISION, AS WORD OF WW3 BEGINS SPREADING; - JANUARY 18TH, 2006: WAR BECOMING VERY REAL THREAT AS CLASHES BETWEEN NORTH KOREA AND UNITED STATES INCREASE; - FEBRUARY 10TH, 2006: NICOLE SCHUESTER – “THE DEATH MACHINE” – JOINS THE THIRD DIVISION IN HOPES OF ENDING WAR; - FEBRUARY 17TH, 2006: ATTEMPTED BOMBING OF WHITEHOUSE IS FOILED BY THE THIRD DIVISION; - FEBRUARY 19TH, 2006: PETER MENDEZ – “BIG BOY – IS RELEASED FROM JAIL, BECOMES PART OF THE THIRD DIVISION; - MARCH 20TH, 2006: US BOMBS NORTH KOREA, BOMBS ARE DEFLECTED BY ;
. . .
THE//FOURTH//DIVISION//2011-2016
. . .
THE//FIFTH//DIVISION//2020-2021
THE//SIXTH//DIVISION//2021-2022
|CURRENT//EVENTS|
THE SEVENTH DIVISION (2024-???): - APRIL 18th, 2024: Merle Moreau – formerly known as “Zenith” – sets off to track down former members of The Divisions;
|FORMER//MEMBERS//OF//THE//DIVISIONS|
THE//FIRST//DIVISION//1988-1991
- EUGENE RICE: leader; a thirty-six-year-old white male from Manhattan who left his job as a detective; possesses minor form of chronokinesis (able to pause and rewind time to some degree). Started The Divisions alongside Vivian Pang. Was killed by police officer during The Psychogenerative Law riots; - VIVIAN PANG: a twenty-six-year-old Chinese female once studying to be a doctor. Her sister Grace was murdered by serial killer Daniel Presman. Does not have any psychogenerative or paranormal abilities though is a skilled hand-to-hand combatant. Started The Divisions alongisde Eugene Rice; - JOSEPH ALBERTO/LIGHTTOUCH: a twenty-nine-year-old Filipino man who came to America from the Philippines. Was a thief known for skilled lockpicking and extensive planning of heists. Was capable of photographic memory and enhanced hearing. Left The First Division after finding out he would be a father; - ALFRED ARMITAGE/MAN O'WAR: a twenty-two-year-old Caucasian male from Kansas; had a knack for sharpshooting. Was a wanted criminal on minor charges; fled to Florida where he got caught-up in a biker gang. Was taken in by Eugene Rice after Alfred was only surviving member during a rough shootout; - MARY-ELIZABETH ROSS/LADY LUST: a thirty-four-year-old white female formerly employed as a waitress and prostitute. Possessed a mind-controlling form of vocal persuasion, realized only later in life. Left The First Division after Eugene Rice's death; - MALIK AIDU: a twenty-four-year-old African male capable of teleportation. Was recruited by The First Division to assist in relocating captured psychogeneratives. Was ultimately executed inside Courtright Penitentiary for attacking a guard; - MERLE MOREAU/ZENITH: a seventeen-year-old Caucasian female capable of telekinesis and minor teleportation. Was rescued by Eugene Rice from being transported to Courtright Penitentiary. Agreed to help Eugene Rice rescue other psychogeneratives; - DONNA TATE: a fifty-four-year-old white female, rescued by Eugene Rice from being transported to Courtright Penitentiary. Assisted in rescuing other psychogeneratives but not did return afterward; - AMANDA WEISZ: a twenty-seven-year-old white female, a businesswoman and mother of one. Was identified as psychogenerative and to be brought to Courtright, but was rescued by Eugene Rice. Was ultimately killed alongside Eugene Rice;
THE//SECOND//DIVISION//1991-1996
- VIVIAN PANG: became new leader after Eugene Rice's death; - ALFRED ARMITAGE/MAN O'WAR: was removed from The Division in 2004 after Armitage had killed a pregnant woman and her son, believing the baby to be his; - THE POET: a middle-aged black woman unable to speak, going only by the moniker "The Poet". Would only communicate through poetic writing. Was a natural brawler with high stamina and had a knack for finding out information; - MERLE MOREAU/ZENITH: took on the moniker "Zenith" as her allegiance with The Divisions became official, making her the youngest member; she would go on to become the longest-running member; - SUNG JIN LEE: a forty-year-old Korean immigrant, was homeless and spoke broken English. Was about to commit suicide when Merle Moreau stopped him. Lee was taken in by The Second Division for a bit, but soon became a permanent member despite not having any beneficial talents or abilities; - VORIAN VON TRAUPITZ/THE GOOD DOCTOR: joined The Second Division as their main supplier of weaponry, armor, gadgets, etc.;
THE//THIRD//DIVISION//2003-2006
- VIVIAN PANG/THE PANG: reunited group after word of WW3 started; took on the fan-given name "The Pang". Left shortly after the war ended due to extreme stress and emotional fatigue; - THE POET; - MERLE MOREAU/ZENITH; - SUNG JIN LEE; - VORIAN VON TRAUPITZ/THE GOOD DOCTOR; - NICOLE SCHUESTER/THE DEATH MACHINE: a twenty-eight-year-old woman, mother of two, and a strong-willed freedom-fighter "for the greater good"; possessed rapid cellular regeneration; joined The Third Division when rumors of WW3 began - PETER MENDEZ/BIG BOY: a forty-one-year-old Hispanic man, father of three, and working as a part-time barista and paramedic. Was known for his impressive stature - standing at 6'7 and weighing 285lbs. Had precognitive episodes and informed The Third Division about upcoming war. Later joined to help. Sacrificed himself to save other members of The Third Division and a few dozen bystanders;
THE//FOURTH//DIVISION//2011-2016
- SUNG JIN LEE: brought back group when man referring to himself as "Desecration" began hunting down other psychogeneratives for sport. Became unofficial leader of The Fourth Division; - THE POET; - MERLE MOREAU/ZENITH; - VORIAN VON TRAUPITZ/THE GOOD DOCTOR; - NICOLE SCHUESTER/THE DEATH MACHINE: beheaded in 2012 by Desecration during live televised event;
THE//FIFTH//DIVISION//2018-2021
- SUNG JIN LEE: took on a shared leadership role with Vorian von Traupitz; - VORIAN VON TRAUPITZ/THE GOOD DOCTOR: became more of a leader for The Fifth Division, sharing leadership responsibilities with Sung Jin Lee; - MERLE MOREAU/ZENITH; - MARIA DIAZ/VAULT: a twenty-five-year-old Hispanic woman; was once studying Art History when discovered for possessing photographic memory and telepathy, enabling her to explore entirety of subject's memories and thoughts. Was captured by team of scientists hoping to conduct experiments, but was rescued by The Fifth Division. Diaz joined the Fifth Division a while after rescue; - LUIS ORTIZ: a twenty-three-year-old man living in Mexico City capable of muscle and vocal mimicry. Requested help of The Fifth Division after being hounded by infamous drug cartel. Remained a close ally to The Fifth Division;
THE//SIXTH//DIVISION//2021-2022
- VIVIAN PANG/THE PANG: came out of retirement to help fight in the oncoming alien arrival. Led the new group alongside Sung Jin Lee and Vorian von Traupitz. Died in the final battle; - SUNG JIN LEE: died in the final battle; - VORIAN VON TRAUPITZ/THE GOOD DOCTOR: leadership role became stronger, a more prominent figure in The Sixth Division. Survived the final battle; - THE POET: rallied most of new members together. Survived final battle but vanished quickly afterward; - MERLE MOREAU/ZENITH: one of the longest-running members, Moreau stayed to fight final battle. Became a key part in organizing final battle. Survived the final fight; - ROSWITHA VON TRAUPITZ/ARSENALP: after having aided The Divisions for multiple years, Roswitha teamed up with The Sixth Division to fight in AW1. Died in the final battle; - JOSEPH ALBERTO/LIGHTTOUCH: returned to The Divisions, leaving behind a family of four, to fight in AW1. Was the first to die in the final battle; - MARY-ELIZABETH ROSS/LADY LUST: along with Lighttouch and Man O'War, Lady Lust resumed her role as one of the original members in The Sixth Division to fight in AW1. Survived the final battle but died in the hospital hours later; - ALFRED ALBERTO/MAN O'WAR: was allowed back into the Divisions to fight in final battle, and was more than enthused to be. Died during the final battle; - MARIA DIAZ/VAULT: fled The Sixth Division before the final battle, afraid to fight in it. Has not made contact with any surviving members since; - LUIS ORTIZ: fought in the final battle but was killed almost instantly by alien forces; - AGATHA THAVARASA: a fifty-two-year-old Sri Lankan woman with advanced telekinesis. Was a mother of five and worked as a real estate agent. Left behind her life to fight in AW1, knowing she was needed. Was one of the last to die in the final battle; - SHELDON WRIGHT: a thirty-four-year-old black man with enhanced reflexes, dual-wielded katanas; was recruited to fight in final battle. Died during the fight; - ADRIAN BAKER/POLYHEDRON: a twenty-six-year-old black man and part of the crime-fighting trio, "Polyhedron". Donned the suit and mask to fight in the final battle. Died during the final fight; - MARCUS WHITE/POLYHEDRON: a thirty-year-old black man and leader of the "Polyhedron" trio. Convinced the other two to fight in the final war. Was the first of the three to die; - BERNCE "BERTIE" WASHINGTON/POLYHEDRON: a twenty-seven-year-old black female, and the final part to the "Polyhedron" trio. Was hesitant to fight in AW1 but caved. Was the last to die of the three; - ??? - ??? - ??? - ??? - ??? - ??? - ???
|CURRENT//MEMBERS//OF//THE//SEVENTH//DIVISION|
THE//SEVENTH//DIVISION//2024-???
- MERLE MOREAU/ZENITH; - VORIAN VON TRAUPITZ/THE GOOD DOCTOR; - THE POET;
INTERVIEW//WITH:ALFRED//ARMITAGE,THE//MAN//O’WAR
THE//STORY//OF//THE//FIRST//DIVISION
“Tell us – tell us about how it all started, how The First Division came to be.”
“Well…
The First Division… shit, I think it was Eugene Rice and The Pang who started it. Yeah, yeah, totally was. They had both been doing their own thing separately for a while, but, you know, that was in 1988 – things were different back then. People didn’t really turn to superheroes for help. Hell, there weren’t a lot of ‘em. So on one hand you got this real big, goofy guy with this shit-eating grin – all he could do was slow down time. Not even stop it. Real winner. Then you had this little Asian firecracker, Vivian. Shaved her head bald, lifted weights like there was to tomorrow, did some real manly shit for this little China doll, like she had somethin’ to prove to someone. She was a hard-ass, and she’d clock you square in the jaw before you’d say shit about her. Wanted to be some champion boxer, I guess.
So you got Eugene and The Pang, and they both want this notorious serial killer – Daniel Presman, er some shit like ‘at. So the two meet, clash, fight a bit, work together, solve the case, yadda, yadda, and bam. You got it. The birth of ‘at beautiful baby: The First Division.
‘Course, back then they didn’t have no name. Not until Lighttouch – uh, Joseph Alberto. ‘Member him? He joined ‘em, and he brought along Lady Lust… then they found me, wanted me as a part of it. I was just some farmboy who shot birds for shits and giggles, ‘ccasionally I’d shoot more than that – but, whatever, right? Figured, what they hey, might as well, y’know? Named myself “Man O’War.” Sounds pretty badass, am I right?
Yeah, we were titled as “the original five”. That’s when “The Division” became our name. Right after Lady Lust joined and, hey, suddenly you got boys bending backward for ‘at bitch. Really milked it too, that cow. Knew exactly what she was doing.
And we didn’t know we’d be the first of other Division’s, so we didn’t name it “The First Division”. That’s just some crap y’all came up with to make us some legacy, or somethin’.
Anyway, we just kinda solved small-time crimes around the States for the most part – found serial killers, rapists, stopped bank heists and suicides. Real small stuff. Then more and more people were coming out as “super-powered,” ‘cause we inspired ‘em. It was cool at first, then shit got outta hand. The US government started tracking ‘em down, locking ‘em up. Someone had to stop it, you know? Nah, I wasn’t gonna stand for that shit. We had no clue how they were finding all these people, you know? But we fought ‘em. Rescued a shit ton of folk, most of which weren’t even “psychogenerative,” as they called it. Few of ‘em joined us; you got that flying chick Merle Moreau, that Aidu guy – Malik, ‘at was his name. Called himself “Hemlock”. Real cool name there, buddy. Then we picked up this one guy, named “The Poet”. Didn’t speak, just wrote real cryptic shit down in a notepad, and I swear that notepad never ran out of paper. Guy could read our minds too, not even shittin’ you. Always knew what we were thinking.
There were few others, can’t think of their names at the moment. Most of ‘em are still ‘part of The Seventh Division now, still doing shit. Not me. Nah, not after that.”
“And what are you referring to?”
“Okay, so, here’s the deal. We had that “no killing” rule, right? Complete bullshit. But, hey, I ain’t running the group, so I’ll oblige, you know? But the police must’ve figured out at some point: we were a hella lot stronger then them. So they started using lethal force. Killed Eugene, just, blam, shot ‘em dead in the street. After that, there was a shit ton-a rioting for a bit, then martial law kicked in… yeah, it went on until me, The Pang and Lady Slut sat down with the president – real nice guy, by the way, real nice – and, yeah, so we’s sitting there and talking about this whole shit. You ready for this? Turns out Mr. Prezzy’s a big ole Super himself. He could read minds. Fitting, huh? Had to keep that shit on the down-low though, you know? The world couldn’t know about it, God forbid. But he was just the figure head. Just ‘cause Mr. Bigshot’s the boss doesn’t mean he’s actually. But he’s all, “we’re gonna change shit, make shit better, fuck the government,”… I mean, maybe not in those words, but still. Both sides lost a lotta people, and it didn’t take Sir America himself to figure that out.
So he calls things off, makes a public announcement that any Super who acts up’ll be locked up for good. But everyone’s gotta respect us too – it ain’t a one-way street. That whole speech didn’t go over well, and it took some time. Still lotta fighting, workin’ our “superpowered underground railroad” deal. But it got there, eventually. We just had to work for it.”
“Sounds like it had a happy ending.”
“Don’t make this shit sappy. ‘Course it wasn’t, man. It took us three more years to make shit even a little bit better. ‘Cause Eugene’d always kinda been the leader, y’know, held our shit together. So when he died, it kinda fell apart. Lady Lust had a thing for him, and she left ‘cause-a heartbreak. Soft bitch. Really, in the middle of “us versus them,” you leave ‘cause you liked some guy? She had a nice face, I’ll give ‘er that. But the broad was basic. Didn’t even know Eugene was sleeping with a man, and it wasn’t even a secret.
Then a few months after Eugene and Hemlock bit it, you got some Spanish chick showin’ up at our doorstep – we shared an apartment, and I ain’t saying where – saying she’s all preg’d up with Lighttouch’s baby. Guess that touch wasn’t so light, am I right? So the sucker left. Wasn’t pretty. The Pang had always been easy to piss off, but man, she was a firestorm back when most-a our regular team left. Hey, for fact’s sake, that was when The Second Division started. The Pang took over after that. Kinda like generations, er somethin’. It was me who came up with that idea, naming it “The Second Division”. I thought it was cute. Fuck everyone else, that name was symbolic!”
“And, after The Psychogenerative Law was founded, would you say things got better or worse?”
“Meh. I mean, the police were told to back off, but didn’t mean they did. I guess it was better for folk who didn’t want to want to be in the spotlight. But the rest of us was just tryin’ to save the day here! And, of course, that law said we couldn’t do flashy shit in public. Fine by me; I was just the groups’ sharpshooter. Couldn’t do any special shit, nothing to make me super. But a lot of us still got caught and thrown in jail. Hell, Nicole, uh, shit… Nicole Schuester – yeah, yeah, you know her: The Death Machine. Blond dreads, tattoos all up her face. That chick. She’d been arrested so many times that it was weird seein’ her for longer than a week. Nah, they came down hard on us.”
“What changed it?”
"I guess y’all did. The people. Man, we had so many fans everywhere, we was like real celebrities. I made that mistake of not wearin’ a mask at first, so people knew who I was all the time. Couldn’t do groceries without some knucklehead wantin’ an autograph. We saved the day, you know, saved a lotta people. Hell, we stopped World War 3! People just loved us. Fucking loved us. We got shit done when it needed to be, and we didn’t back down until we did. People just went crazy for us.
And, as it turns out, cops be people, too! Huh, fancy that, you know? One-by-one, they all started to like what we were doing. Probably rescued half of ‘em at one point anyway. Hell, you ‘member Big Boy? They had a T-shirt line for him and everything. Got caught with coke a few times. He threw himself on a grenade to protect all of us and about fifty cops, without even thinking. See? We was good guys, no matter what shit we did. The police understood that way too late, but, hey, what can you do?”
“Speaking of that, of Big Boy’s drug scandal… would you say the drugs, the money and the power… would you say that changed The Seventh Division’s morals at all?”
“Hey, you give a bunch-a people a bunch of fancy powers, you’re gonna get some bozo thinkin’ he’s God. It’s gonna happen! So, yeah, a few of us did drugs, influenced some things, maybe stole a lotta shit. But Big Boy still fought to save both sides during WW3. The Poet did whatever the fuck The Poet wanted to, but he helped more people than he killed – and, yeah, we all know it, he killed a metric shit ton of people. So we abused our role in society, a lot. We ain’t hiding from that. We’re human, after all. We screw up. But, at the end of the day, we were still making sure y’all had an end to the day, know what I’m saying? We worked endlessly – day and night and day and night – to protect you all. So cut us some slack here. Not all of us were bad people, and those of us who were, we still tried.
And lemme tell you this – it’s scientifically proven, see: the more popular we got, the less crime there was. People ain’t stupid! You got this series of groups of vigilantes fixing some real societal shit for so long, hell, you ain’t gonna oppose us! You know? Thirty years, baby. You don’t go up against thirty years’ worth of kicking ass. So if there was some supervillain, they were some big shit, yeah. But that wasn’t all the time. So we got bored, y’know. Reckless, and shit. You spend so long fighting crime and living up to that name, so what’ch you gonna do when suddenly either the crime’s not worth it, or it’s more than you got to give? You still got all that popularity. Either you keep tryin-a live up to it, crack under the pressure, or, hey, drugs and drinking and some real hard shit. Yeah, we was stomping that shit out left and right, but that just meant we knew where to get it from. Had connections, and curiosity. Don’t blame us; those Hollywood stars do it all the time! But we still tried. I sure as hell tried, ‘cause I was a good fucking person.”
“Isn’t it true that, in 2004, you drowned a prostitute and her four-year-old son after she terminated what you believed to be your baby? And that is why you were removed from The Seventh Division?”
NOTE: there is a pause in the recording followed by scraping sounds and muffled shouts. Man O’War whispers something incoherent. The stifled yells abruptly stop, and footsteps can be heard walking away.
NAME: Merle Moreau AGE: 52 GENDER: Female APPEARANCE: standing at just under six feet, Merle is a fairly lanky woman, lacking a curvaceous figure. Her body is a thin, wiry one, her skin having taken on the idea of aging a little too comfortably. Wrinkles have begun to appear across her face and hands, something Merle still feels is much too early.
It's not often that Merle grows her hair out, having taken to keeping it short and neatly combed, brushing her bangs off to the side and forming a nice part. It's ruthlessly unmanageable, however, often resorting in something of a bird's nest messily perched on top of her head. As of a decade ago her hair began to gray. It's something she's learned to embrace rather than hide. She never understood the need for women to pretend they weren't getting on in age.
OCCUPATION: current member of The Seventh Division LOCATION: Toronto, Ontario, Canada FAMILY/FRIENDS/OTHER: - Maurine Moreau: Merle’s mother; once employed as a nurse and taking pride in aspiring to be Housewife of the Year on the side, Maurine Moreau was a sweet, mild-tempered woman with a secretive competitive streak. And the other stay-at-home housewives on their block were her pet peeve. Maurine remained a strong role model throughout Merle’s life, even after her death. Maurine ultimately died at the age of 73 due to lung cancer; - Malcolm Moreau: the breadwinner and all-around good man, Malcolm Moreau was a tall, handsome man with a penchant for fast cars and big machines. Taking on multiple jobs throughout his life, Malcolm balanced his workaholism and stability in his family’s life moderately well, though the stress got to him in his later years. He died at the age of 49 in a car crash; - Marcella Moreau: Merle’s fifty-six-year-old sister, mother of six, and recent divorcee. Marcella was the daughter the Moreau’s always wanted: girly, nose always in a book, eyes always to the sky. Successful, ambitious, driven and strong-willed, Marcella was the first and only of their family to attend college. When it became known that Merle was a psychogenerative, Marcella was the only family member to initially support her sister. She currently resides in Kansas having found minor fame as a published author;
ABILITIES: - Telekinesis: having honed the ability over several decades, Merle has even gone on to grapple with telekinesis on a microscopic level. Rather than feel just the sheet of paper itself, Merle can feel the fibres composing paper and, with effort, unravel each strand. Granted, it’s not her strong point, and it takes considerable concentration to achieve; - Levitation: through her telekinetic ability, Merle is able to mentally grip onto surfaces and push herself away from the object – to some limitation. The further away she gets, the less she can “feel” the surface, therefore limiting her to needing to be within eyesight of the designated spot. Therefore, she often propels herself forward, locking her concentration onto new surfaces as she goes.
STRENGTHS: having often been referred to, or demoted to the role of, “sidekick,” Merle has grown accustomed to being a keen listener over the years. She pays strict attention to the task at hand, remembering fine details and taking orders without issue. As the often second-in-command, she demonstrates a supportive, trusting demeanour.
Not necessarily quiet or catlike, Merle likens herself to being a fairly decent amateur spy. Having worked alongside The Poet for many years in the field, Merle has picked up the basics of retrieving intel/breaking in without force or disruption. Merle is good at blending into crowds, improvising on the spot, resourcefully hiding when necessary and scoping out environments to better prepare herself the moment before. She’s not an expert at the incognito life, but Merle has a knack for it she prides herself in.
WEAKNESS: Unlike many other members of The Divisions, Merle has never been one for hand-to-hand combat. Her skillset is restricted to her telekinetic abilities. If, for whatever reason, her ability is nullified, Merle is useless in a fight.
Over the past few years she’s learned how to put her foot down but, for the most part, Merle had grown comfortable in anyone else’s shadow. Though she (imagines herself to be, at least) is a strong person, Merle is not a leader in any sense. She’s not inspiring or the first to charge; she looks to others for motivation and direction.
From all of the things Merle has had to face – from being young and on the frontlines of WW3 to seeing her mother’s cold, limp corpse on their family couch – she has grown exhausted and jagged over the years. In the early days she used to care deeply about humanity, the ideology of being an all-loving race working together. Recently, especially after the fall of The Sixth Division, Merle has lost the willingness to feel as compassionate about humankind. She’s irritable, tired, has anger and anxiety issues; she prefers solitude and yet has grown so accustomed to companionship that she is unsure of how to be on her own. Merle is experiencing a wide array of conflicting, dangerous emotions and is relatively unstable.
Likewise, from AW1, Merle has developed a case of anxiety and what she assumes must be a minor form of PTSD. She experiences night terrors, unsettling flashbacks, panic attacks from loud noises and an uneasiness in being in large, public areas. She never had been the social butterfly at parties even at the height of her minor fame, but now more than ever, Merle is uncomfortable with even moderate-sized masses of people.
BACKSTORY:
Born to Maurine and Malcolm Moreau just outside of Cleveland, Merle Moreau was the fourth and final family member to carry the “MM” naming trait – her older sister, Marcella, being the third. Mrs. Moreau worked as a nurse and would later go on to become “M.E. Moreau,” infamous for the “Charred Charter” trilogy. Mr. Moreau painfully worked his way up the ladder to being the district manager of a successful café franchise. Despite their stable income, Merle never knew how well off they were. She was raised to be appreciative and respectful of money, the hard-earned struggle to get it. She didn’t understand their wealth until living on her own and experiencing firsthand just how well-off her childhood had been.
When The First Division first started circulating the airwaves and the world just started its frenzy over them, Merle had been thirteen. A gangly girl with a gaunt face, ratty hair and the unflattering nickname “Ostrich” due to her large eyes; kids said, like an ostrich’s, Merle’s eyes were bigger than her brain. She was a quiet, reserved girl who burrowed into books during breaks and after school. Though she had friends and there was no genuine reason for Merle not joining them in the cafeteria or to hang-out, she preferred the quiet escape of science fiction and fantasy. Oftentimes she would daydream about becoming a superhero – donning a cape, saving the world, being the hero everyone needed. It was a fantasy she lapsed into often, neglecting real-life duties in favor of writing tales about her superhero counterpart. From her early teenage years up until the time she was seventeen, it was a hope she entertained daily.
Merely days after the infamous death of Polar Storm sparked the rioting and arrests, Merle rejoiced when she first felt something foreign in her head. As if she had sprouted fingertips in the core of her brain, she could feel the warm smoothness of the mug on the bedside table next to her in her mind, like she had absorbed the object inside her skull. It held her curiosity for minutes until the unexpected crackle of thunder startled her and was immediately followed by the shattering of the mug. Somehow, in the split second Merle whipped around to gasp at the window, the mug had been launched across the room and long trails of murky brown coffee were leaking down the wall. As her sister Marcella had been one of her closest friends, it was she who first heard about Merle’s incident. Marcella instantly chalked it up as Merle looking for attention, clinging to the latest trend – until Merle telekinetically lifted the pencil from Marcella’s hands, and Marcella believed her. Instantly Marcella’s stance on it transformed into a protective, fearful one; she warned Merle to not let anyone know, to not let Merle become a target for the government to capture.
Sticking to her sisters’ wishes, Merle remained quiet about the telekinetic episode for the following year – dabbling with the minor elements of it she achieved (mainly just “feeling” objects) – until the Thursday morning at 2am in 1991 when there was a knock at the door, the faint murmur of muffled voices speaking to Mama Moreau. Merle pressed her ear to the door and listened, trying to pick up any significant bits and bites of the conversation, until her own bedroom door burst open and she scuttled away. When she regained consciousness, she was in the back of a moving vehicle, her wrists tethered together and a pounding migraine weakening her senses. That moment would always be a blur to Merle, the gap in-between when she woke up and when she was suddenly clattered on the floor, heaving for air, a sharp pain in her side, and the wails and gunshots of frantic men. The door to the vehicle was torn open – there was heavy smoke in the air slithering into Merle’s nostrils, suffocating her. Like the other woman next to her, Merle clambered onto her knees and ignored the motionless, unbreathing armored soldier. She made her way out of the vehicle, stood on solid ground, and first came face-to-face with the man who would redefine Merle’s life: Eugene Rice. She had known his face for years – the whole world had. And when he requested her help, Merle felt a surge of excitement inside her overlap the fear she was feeling. Suddenly, in the midst of chaos and wreckage, of bodies and bullets, Merle was needed. By The First Division.
Her time during The First Division was a short one. The death of Eugene Rice a short time after Merle teamed up with the leader cut the group’s duration short. However, with the only two other members – Amanda Weisz and Donna Tate – leaving for their own safety, and the other members still in prison, Merle had been the only active member for two weeks until Vivian Pang was released and took over the leadership role. Along with the other members, Merle rejoined and become an official member of The Second Division.
For months Merle’s parents developed an uncomfortable disposition around their daughter, unsure of how to react to their daughter being psychogenerative. Marcella was more supportive, allowing Merle to live with her and her fiancé during Merle’s off-time. Mostly, Merle spent her days at the various locations The Second Division operated at. Being a member of the crime-fighting group became her life. She was an obsessive fan living the dream she always wanted, but that quickly died. It quickly became real. The circumstances in which she joined The Second Division were simply because she was the only remaining member who fought by Eugene’s side during his final days. Even then, Merle was just a budding telekinetic; she never had been much help to Eugene Rice. Under the command of Vivian, Merle was expected to perform to the group’s standards. The young telekinetic spent most of her time practicing, straining herself to hone a skill she had never been taught was possible before. During the first rise of Desecration in the ‘90s, Merle was backseat member. She took on smaller tasks, solved smaller crimes. To a group that had hassled with fame, Merle was just a background extra for the time being. Rarely did she see the spotlight; most of the world knew of her, but the name “Zenith” didn’t take hold until 2003 when WW3 began. In-between The Second and The Third Divisions, Merle returned home and stayed with her parents who had begun to accept Merle after seeing the work she had done. For a year, Merle travelled with The Poet who, despite not being telekinetic, taught Merle a fair deal. When WW3 began, Merle had been more prepared; she was part of the first group of The Third Division members to head over to China. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Merle’s face was plastered over propaganda posters and in commercials. Next to The Poet and The Good Doctor, Zenith – the fair-skinned, bug-eyed woman in the dazzling gold headscarf – was pivotal to the group’s identity. The prospect of war stole Merle’s attention, but every now and then she caught the wandering eye of a soldier and felt the pressure of growing popularity.
After WW3 ended and Merle lost several friends, she followed the others and decided to retire. Returning home to America suddenly meant people wanted pieces of Merle. She appeared in several television and radio interviews, but the idea of publicizing that aspect of her life felt wrong after a while. Initially it was exciting; she wanted to tell her stories, embellish the tales; she was still a diehard fan underneath living the dream, but she had seen enough over the years that it felt wrong to still be that. She was in her thirties – she was a grown woman who had been to war and back. She had killed, almost been killed. It only became a tangible realization when she was sitting on couches or chairs in front of cameras retelling her half of the story. When the war was over and only real life remained. Suddenly there was no more fan gushing over all those times she fought for the greater good. It was just a battered, aging woman who knew nothing else in life. She had gotten so wrapped up in the idea of being something great that, when it was all over, she had nothing else except for the nightmares, the haunting memories, the blood embedded in her hands.
Like most things, her time in the limelight died down, and after a year of touring, Merle was once again left to find a life to nestle into. She found a home in the countryside of Kansas, adopted a bunch of dogs and painted the sunset. As much as she could, she struggled to forget the life she half-heartedly left behind. She saw multiple therapists, limited her use of telekinesis, and dated a normal, non-psychogenerative woman. Yet, at the end of the night when the television set played the nightly news well into the early hours of the morning, Merle sat up and watched the world still go on. No matter what The Divisions had done for the world, there would always be petty crime. Merle tried to pretend there never was anything wrong, but she always had the itch to fly out into the night and stop the robbers, the rapists, the wrong-doers. She didn’t know what else do to with her time. Life felt empty without Zenith.
There was a point when Merle contemplated she wasn’t Merle Moreau. She was Zenith, only Zenith.
The group was reformed by Sung Jin Lee in 2011, and Merle did not hesitate in rejoining. It felt right; there was an exhale of relief when she stepped into the center of the cramped, circular room, saw all the files sprawled across desks that Lee had been pouring over, and thinking, “this is where I am. This is who I am.” Merle fought alongside The Fourth Division to bring down the resurgence of Desecration and his Cult. At the end of it, she felt the same sort of emotional exhaustion. She lost Nicole Schuester, The Poet, and Sung Jin Lee himself. She had become close to Alex and Shirley Mackey, only to have them leave. When it was all over and Zenith found herself still standing in that circular room, alone and defeated, she didn’t know what came next. She gave up the life of Merle Moreau. She wanted Zenith – needed Zenith. It was the only way she felt whole, felt like what she did mattered. It was the only identity she felt mattered.
For the following two years, Zenith went solo, creating even more of a name for herself; she became known as “The Fashionable Fighter,” and headscarves with open blazers and muscle shirts became the new trend. On her own, Zenith stopped sex trafficking rings, child prostitution and drug cartels; she started, “The Zenith Zone,” an after-school program for young psychogeneratives to feel understood, to find help. At one point, Zenith was a popular joke suggestion for the US Presidency Elections. She felt broken, but accomplished. As one person, she achieved so much, and she didn’t even know that those were her glory days. That time, as a solo superhero, Zenith was at her best.
Eventually, however, important tasks beyond just her carried her to reunite with Vorian von Traupitz – The Good Doctor, the man responsible for backing The Divisions over the years with technology, armor, weapons, and anything else they would ever need. Along with others the two recruited and accepted, they started The Fifth Division. This time, Zenith didn’t feel like the back-up to call on when needed. She wasn’t the timid, quiet woman who went with the flow. She felt empowerment, felt strong. She felt pride and arrogance. It was not the same woman who supported The Divisions throughout all those years, it was a woman who wanted to lead The Divisions how she felt suited her. Rarely did Zenith embrace the fame – she entertained it, was amused by it. Finally, she saw it as power. She used it to her advantage.
It was pure self-righteousness until AW1 began. It still trailed along with her when Vivian Pang re-emerged and took over leadership duties alongside Merle herself and Vorian. Zenith felt that same strength and confidence up until the moments when she stared down the first alien ship that descended.
When she saw all her friends die around her, and when she stood in the emptied street with rubble and ruin all around her, Zenith wept. Harder than she had in years. She broke, wholly, crumbled into soggy pieces. There was no rejoicing in facing the others that survived.
After all things had settled and they left the mess behind, Merle wasted no time in heading back out to Kansas where her little home resided. She draped the singed and tattered headscarf with the “z .” sewn into it over the coat rack, collapsed on her bed, and slept. It was a sleep she wished lasted for the rest of her lifetime.
Two years were wasted to depression, anxiety, to crippling flashback and mourning. Isolated, unfriendly, prone to breaking into sobbing fits at the drop of a hat, Merle Moreau felt like a bruised failure that would never stand again. There wasn’t a lot of other direction pointing to how she should be feeling. At the same time, she finally came to terms with her age, finally understood she was in her fifties and was no longer a young thing that should be running around. Her body ached constantly, not able to keep up with the demanding lifestyle. All that was left in that former life was a small fraction of her brain clinging to the good ole days like it was a lost lover she could never let go of.
Just as she began to grow accustomed to the solitude, Merle found a letter on her doorstep. Simply, it read: “They’re coming back,” and a small signature at the bottom, reading, “The Poet”. It took Mere another two weeks of the letter being the only thought on her mind before she wrapped the dusty “z .” headscarf around her and stepped outside.
Like every other time before it, Merle Moreau never was sure giving up on the only life she knew was something she could do.
DIVISIONS BELONGING TO: has been a constant member since The First Division, in 1988.
. . .
MASKED//IDENTITY
NAME/TITLE: Zenith APPEARANCE: having never favored concealing her entire face, Zenith dressed simply in headscarves and loose-fitting, billowy clothing for the most part. For a stint she dressed in a black blazer and bell-bottoms until it caught on as a fashion statement.
Recently Merle has resorted to wearing a simple black, hooded cardigan over top of whatever simplistic blouse/pant combination she finds. She still drapes a silver and indigo headscarf across her head when out in the field in hopes of inspiring others to return to their former superhero counterparts.
TOOLS/WEAPONS: after a confrontation with a Cult of Desecration member who possessed power-nullifying abilities – rendering Merle useless and severely beaten – Merle has periodically taken to carrying a .9mm. When worn, it resides in a brown, leather holster that various Division members have etched their names into over the years. “I <3 Man O’War” is the most noticeable signature.
[/b]TRADEMARKS[/b]: the symbol “z .” has circulated over the years in regards to Zenith’s small fanbase. It refers to “the zenith point of the sky,” Zenith’s alleged origin of her name. In a costumed interview, Zenith stated, “I went with “Zenith” because of the zenith point in the sky – the middle, highest part. I want people to know that, whenever they look up to the sky, I’ll be there.” During her time in The Fifth Division, Zenith received a headscarf with the “z .” logo sewn into it. Zenith donned the scarf up until AW1.
Though Zenith never had one exact costume over the years, headscarves of various colors and intricate patterns had become somewhat of her trademark. It was the cause of the rise in popularity of headscarves amongst North American women during the 2000’s.
