Jude Tucker Biggs (Most people just call him him Biggs.)

19

Male

At just under three-hundred fifty pounds (347lbs to be exact), Biggs certainly lives up to his name. He carries it well enough on his large six-foot-five frame, though the weight is still rather prevalent across his body. His chest and back carry a lot of it, folding and sagging every which way, and for the curious, yes, the man boobage is strong in this one. Not as bad as it could be, but many would probably elect to keep their shirts on in his position. But wait, there’s more. A round, sagging gut juts over his waistline, reaching down to rest in front of the button of his pants. His upper arms and thighs could resemble short tree trunks, tapering off slowly until the respective joints, then narrowing sharply to the hands/feet. And his extremities are rather short and stumpy as well.

His face could not dodge the ravages of weight either. It is round, ending in a cleft chin, which sits atop a fold of skin that might as well be his real chin. But he has solved that little issue. A brown beard, nay, a truly magnificent mane covers his jawline and reaches down onto his neck, following it to just above his Adam’s Apple. The hair is thick, extending out about two inches from his skin. This is in stark contrast to his head which is buzzed nearly completely bald. His eyebrows lay in a light crescent over his downturned pale blue eyes.

Small moles dot the young man’s otherwise blemish-free ruddy skin. On his face, there are a couple dark spots on his left cheek, but the right cheek is where all the fun is. Along with a few more spots, Biggs has two slightly raised bumps between his eye and nostril, maybe an inch and some change apart at most. The bumps are about half the diameter of the standard #2 pencil eraser.

As for clothing and the like...well, it ain’t easy looking fly when you’re confined to the “Big & Tall” sections in stores. Sure, he could always just order his outfits online but that’d be a bit out of his budget. So he makes due. More than not, he’ll be wearing some sort of graphic tee and jeans. Or trousers. Or whatever will fit, really. At least when it comes to accessories he has a bit more freedom. Biggs is rarely seen without a duckbill cap in various patterns. Both ears are stretched out a touch and now house curved steel bars. And on his left wrist is an Omega knock-off. Stainless steel bracelet and an ocean blue dial. While it’s not the real deal, it’s not a bad little timepiece.

And finally, one of the more noticeable features of the Big Man...the tattoos. Biggs is absolutely covered in them. Coupled with his overall large features and the guy can come across as rather intimidating to some. He is rocking full sleeves connecting to a large portrait of a majestic kodiak bear ferociously roaring on his back. Under his bear are the names of his mother and brothers. A few tattoos rest on his neck, most noticeably is the number four. Considering he grew up on fourth street, one can connect the dots. And across his fingers on his right hand the the letters “B-I-G-G”. The left fingers spell out “S-H-O-T.”

Fight or flight. It’s the natural response a creature has to a harmful event, attack, or threat to survival. Being a big boy growing up, Jude Biggs never exactly excelled at the whole flight concept. He wasn’t much better at fight either, but out of the two, one of them used his weight as an advantage while the other was merely hindered by it. While he’s no Rocky, Biggs can hold his own in a fight if it came down to it. He’s not trained in any sort of style, but one tends to pick up the basics pretty quickly when one gets beat down every other day.

Biggs is a much lover than a fighter, so to speak. He’s rather musically inclined, possessing a rather lovely singing voice as well as decent skills on trumpet, saxophone, and piano. And while he cannot draw to save his life, and his handwriting is on the extreme fringes of legibility, the boy can put words together fairly well. Poetry and songwriting tends to be his jam. When he combines these, well, Biggs ends up being a rather clever rapper.

While not the most athletic guy around, Biggs digs basketball. He’s always up for a pick-up game. And while the other players are likely to run circles around him, the guy’s can hit net like nobody’s business.

Little extra tidbit for you, dear readers, because I love and cherish you all and am totally not trying to fluff this shit out longer than it needs to be: Biggs can bake! Cakes, cookies, the whole nine yards. And the shit tastes fan-fuckin’-tastic. Doesn’t look half bad, neither. If the drug game doesn’t work out, there may be a future as a pastry chef in the works for him.

Bradley Biggs and Jennifer Maloney had been seeing each other for only a couple months when after a drunken night of debauchery, Jude was conceived. Named after her father and Bradley’s brother, Jude Tucker Biggs ended up the first of eventually three boys between the trucker and substitute teacher. Though shortly after Jennifer got pregnant with Benjamin, Bradley packed up his truck one last time and hit the highway, never to return.

Jennifer tried her best raising the boys, and for the most part, Jude turned out mostly alright. Granted, he did end up maturing a bit before his time. With no father in the picture, Jude had to step up as it were, helping his mother with the housework and caring for his little brothers whenever needed. But kids will still be kids, and even the mature young Biggs could be a brat from time to time.

At some point during his childhood that Biggs realized that there was something a bit...different about him. He was too strong for a kid his age. He ended up breaking things left and right completely by accident. Even he knew something was up. After all, when he was able to lift the family car up just to retrieve a ball that had rolled under it, well, it doesn’t take a genius to know that shouldn’t happen. Somehow he managed to keep it a secret, only telling his mother once. She was so terrified for the boy that she forbid him from ever using the power around others. He complied, and thus his little ability was never actually discovered, or more importantly, registered. It was hard though. He was a heavy kid, and frequently got into fights with the other kids on the block. It wasn’t just the weight though, that attracted the teasing. His lack of a father, his brother’s apparent “slowness”, and terrible rumors about his mother were all fuel for the fire. It took more than a little restraint to keep from smashing some skulls...but he managed. And while he did end up mellowing out a bit as he grew older, those early years really were rough.

The little hellion didn’t end his reign of terror at sloppy playground brawls either. He stole things. Often. It could be anything as small as a candybar from the shop at the end of the block, or money from somebody’s unattended purse. He knew what he was doing was technically wrong, but the young Biggs valued his family’s wants and needs over abstract concepts such as morality. Ethics be damned, if his baby brother was hungry and there was no food in the house, he’d make sure the kid could eat.

His youthful shenanigans eventually matured into slightly older crime. Drugs. While he never did actually join the local gang, he did know some people on the inside. They got him hooked up with what he needed. And though Jude never had much of a taste for the product, he was absolutely addicted to the money it brought in. He was a small time dealer, but he was pretty successful. Maybe it was luck that he was never busted for it. Or maybe he was just a drug dealing prodigy? In any case, the family’s income tended to be a bit higher than what the IRS would see at the end of the year. If Jennifer knew what he was doing, and she probably did, she didn’t seem to care.

It was during this time that Biggs met the men that would become his best friends. Sanjay Tamboli, Gabriel Maloney, and Derek Hughes. The four together made for excellent business partners, and the great times seemed as if they’d never end. It was bliss. Pure, drug-tainted bliss. They even made a shitty garage band, Daffodildo, where they picked up Jordan Adkins as a bassist and her sister Meghan Glover on drums.

But the dealing soon came to an abrupt stop after some close run-ins with the law. Biggs realized that he was found out before he was actually fingered though. While the law knew he was on the wrong side of the D.A.R.E. campaign, they couldn’t gather enough to nail him. He threw in the towel and washed his hands of the whole deal. He’d find another way to support the family. Maybe something a bit more legit.

He never had the chance.

In a matter of days, Jude Biggs’ world shattered apart.

Derek Hughes, Biggs’ best friend and lover, suffered a major heart attack after a night of alcohol-fueled speedballing. He went fairly peacefully. Bigg’s friend Gabriel was there, along with his own little brother Hector, and they all took a trip down the same slippery slope. Derek’s heart gave out, where Hector and Gabe nearly choked to death.

Devastated by the loss, and horrified that his baby brother was hooked on the same shit that he had been slinging, Jude fell into a bit of a depression. Blaming himself for his brother’s addiction, Biggs swore to himself that he’d get Hector clean. Somehow. No matter the cost.

Unfortunately, the cost tended to be a bit too steep, financially, at least. He simply couldn’t afford to get the boy into a rehab clinic. There was another option though. He could kept slinging. Build up enough money to get Hector some help, then he could quit for good.

Turned out that life wasn’t going to work the way he wanted it to.

One of Biggs’ former associates in the drug game fell hard. Fortunately for him, he had some information to trade, especially on some unregistered Meta-humans. Unfortunately for Biggs, he was one of those Meta-humans. Years of laying low thrown out the window just because some bozo couldn’t smell ham when it was staring him in the face. Great. When it came time for Biggs to come down, he didn’t even have anything he could trade to lessen his sentence: the bozo squealed like a damn pig.

Luckily, it was NEST that got to Biggs first. They crashed a bandmeeting between Biggs and the crew. They all went down. He was given some options. And though none of them sounded particularly great, he agreed to the Camp ThinkerRock route. If nothing else, it would be a bit quicker and, all things considered, it had to be better than the alternative. Right?

So Biggs found himself on his way to Camp ThinkerRock. He resigned to just do his time as quietly as possible, then get home. And maybe, just maybe, Hector wouldn’t have fallen TOO deep into the drugs...

Super-System

Superhuman Strength
There’s strong, and then there’s very strong. And slightly above that would be Biggs. For someone with his unique physique, it would be expected for him to be at least a little strong. After all, fat may be fat, but a man doesn’t just carry around the equivalent of an average woman or small man along with his natural weight and NOT get accustomed to some heavy lifting. That being said, what Jude can do is staggering. He is able to lift a staggering amount of weight fairly easily. Like, don't go to the gym with him. You will most likely feel like less than a man after he lifts your entire weight bench while you're hitting reps.

So how does that actually play into any use outside of cheap party tricks or gym dominance? To that, I ask you, have you ever been hit in the face by a powerlifter? It fucking sucks. So just use your imagination here. Make the connection. Go ahead. I'll wait.

...

Yeah.

So when slapping around fools isn't enough, it's time to get creative. Biggs LOVES to get creative. At his strength, one's environmental weapon arsenal tends to open up quite a bit. All of a sudden, dumpsters, street lamps, that hog dog cart down the block, they all become ammo for Mean Green Bigg Pitching Machine. And when none of that works, he can pull out the absolute big guns, so to speak.

I speak, of course, of your average compact. Tiny little hybrids, electric cars, and very few midsized cars all fall within Biggs' weight range. And while it may not be the equivalent of being run over and peeled out on, having Prius slamming down on top of a guy is just a painful, not to mention pathetic, way to go.

Enhanced Durability
With great power...blah blah blah. As one might expect, Biggs is pretty tough. For him to pull off some of the shit that he does, his body has to be pretty resistant. How else can he lift up that dumpster without his legs snapping, his arms giving out, and that dumpster crushing him like an ant beneath its feet?

Hell if we know. He obviously isn't in great shape physically, but that being said, he's a durable little fuck. That's not to say that one couldn't stroll up to him and introduce him to Mr. Shankey, the friendly neighborhood switchblade. His skin is still skin after all. But you're just not going to break his arm. Sorry Ms. Rousey, your armbar isn't going to be too useful here. His body seems capable of supporting up to ten times his body weight. Which is great. But...

Jude seems to have a hard limit of about three tons and some change. It seems to be tied in with his actual body weight. Or at least, Biggs have never tried lifting anything more than ten times his weight. He's big, but he ain't dumb. That’s the absolute maximum amount of weight he’s managed to pick up thus far. When he did so, he was unable to take even a single step. Just lifting the damn thing took everything he had. After tossing it, and it only going a few feet, Biggs hit the ground, exhausted. He had to rest for about a day or two before he felt normal again.

Super strength isn’t all sunshine and Priuses, either. While he’s had it a while, knowing exactly how much force to use on an object can be tricky, and it’s not exactly something one can simply turn off when one doesn’t want to use it. Seeing as how Biggs is buying a new alarm clock on a weekly basis, there are some kinks. Don’t shake his hand. Fist bump at your own risk.

And his durability...while his frame is pretty sturdy, its contents are not. It's like carrying around eggs in a steel carton. Piercing, burning, freezing, pretty much anything that isn't just straight up blunt trauma is going to hurt. A lot.

So yes, super strength can be pretty damn handy. But on it’s own, it’s not much to write home about.

Stamina is an issue here. Using his tremendous strength just tears through the guy’s energy. Extended exertion is guaranteed to damage his body heavily. And should he try to bear his maximum load for any extended period of time, he’ll quickly find himself exhausted to the point of passing out. The same can be said of the resistance aspect of his abilities. Sure, he can jump off a decent sized roof and land on his feet without his legs snapping like twigs, but he's going to pay for it. The higher the leap, the more force his body has to disperse, the more energy is devoured. That's what makes the maximum weight bearing so dangerous. He's getting hit on two fronts there. And should he continues past the point of exhaustion, well, Biggs is buying himself an express one-way ticket to Ash city. A few hundred pounds isn’t going to wipe him out, but it is better if uses his strength in short bursts with lower amounts, just to be safe.

He also moves slow as hell. Big guys usually aren’t known for their agile, graceful movements. Biggs is no exception. One of the easier ways to beat the big man is just to stay away and whittle him down with ranged attacks. Or bust a cap in his ass. Whatever floats your boat, really.

Or, if one feels frisky, get up close and sock him a couple of times. Despite his strength and size, Jude has absolutely zero fighting experience. His technique is nonexistent, his speed is pathetic, and his knowledge is limited at best. It’s not outrageous to say he could easily get his ass whooped. But when all you need is one good punch to end a fool...well, you can get away with being complete shit.

If somehow, someway, Biggs does end up with a broken bone or two, he's in for a bad time. Maybe it has something to do with just the strength of his frame, but the damn thing doesn't heal well, at all. A broken bone may last three, six, or even ten weeks in some people. Biggs is likely looking at double that. Twelve to twenty weeks is not outside the realm of possibility here. And with that knowledge, Biggs is SUPER careful when it comes to his body. Avoiding injuries is one of his top priories. Kind of sad, really. A man can take a punch like no one's business, survive falls that would cripple your average man, but should he somehow fracture his bone, he's on the bench for a long ass time.

Father: Bradley Biggs
Mother: Jennifer Murphy
Brother: Hector Biggs
Brother: Benjamin Biggs

Gabriel Maloney | Good | Bandmate/Best Friend | “Gabe...dude’s had it rough. Like, real rough. And despite that, he’s still so damn happy. I dunno, man, that’s a strong guy if you ask me. If anyone can kick this heroin shit, it’s him. And I’ll help him as much as I can. ” |

Gabriel Chase Maloney (Just Gabe will do.)

17

Male

At first glance, Gabriel resembles a living, breathing stick figure. But hey, when you’re six foot tall and lanky with long limbs and little body fat/muscle, that’s what you get. Jack Skellington reporting for duty. But truly, Gabriel is a thin guy. Skin and bones, as Mama’s apt to say.

She’s not wrong either.

Gabriel’s skin is stretched tight across his lanky frame. It is mostly white having a bit of a warm feel to it, but there are areas of higher color, mainly on his face. The nose, cheeks, and forehead often have a ruddy tint to them for example. Gabriel has a number of blemishes across his body. Moles dot his arms and shoulders. A trio lay in a sort of triangle under his left eye.

All things considering, and in contrast to his mop up top, he’s not a very hairy guy. It’s great considering he doesn’t have to deal with a mane of chest hair. It kind of sucks, however, on the beard front. It’s come in rather patchy, with a large bald spot to the right of his chin. His moustache has come in pretty righteously though. His wavy blonde locks fall around his face, reaching down to about shoulder length. There’s a sort of a wild lay to it, but Gabriel’s not about to mess with it. Live and let live, yeah?

Deep laugh lines have already marked the boy’s face, along with wrinkles at the corners of his almond shaped pale blue eyes. His nose even tilts a bit to the left, the product of some schoolyard scuffle no doubt..

Gabriel’s not exactly the most motivated dude on the block. As such, he hasn’t really tried many things. Sure, he’s given a couple sports a try, but he’s the kind of guy that quits after the first week, once his dreams of just walking onto the field and dominating the game are crushed and he’s brought back to reality. Where he does shine though, is up on the stage. When the lights are low and the crowd is cheering, that’s when Gabriel steps up and just shreds. And it’s actually good. Though he’d never be the one to say that. Humility is a virtue afterall.

But surely he’s got more to him than just music? Right?

…

Well…

Believe it or not, despite being about as athletic as a disabled poodle, Gabriel loves to run. Is he going to break any land-speed records? Probably not. But that doesn’t mean that he’s not going to go out and break in some pavement. Just put one foot in front of the other and keep doing that until your feet don’t move anymore. It’s nice and simple.

Gabriel likes simple.

Gabriel came into the world in the usual way. He was the only son of Mary and Thomas Maloney, coming in late in their lives. Thomas was around only for the first couple years of Gabriel’s life before he left to be with Jesus. Mary never resented him for leaving her. She resented him for getting to be with the Lord before she did.

Mary was, to put it bluntly, a Christian zealot. She raised Gabriel by the Bible, making sure that he minded the good Lord above all others. Then her. She was...well, not exactly cold towards the boy. She could be rather affectionate when she dipped into her spirits. But otherwise she was a hard woman. Tough. Like she believed Gabriel should be.

Such an upbringing should have produced a good little Christian boy, and in some respects it did. However, the boy who was brought up believing he should suppress his natural urges, eventually gave into temptation. But it wasn’t flesh or greed or violence that swayed him. It was drugs. Heroin, namely. It was bound to happen eventually. Under Mary’s tyrannical reign, fun was mostly forbidden. So when Gabriel entered his teenage years, and was eventually offered a taste of freedom, he jumped on it.

What he never could have expected was how hard it would jump on him.

It took one taste for the boy to get hooked on the crap. He began ditching class and, to Mary’s horror and wrath, worship. He began hanging around with some less than savory folks. Folks that could get him what he so desperately wanted. And when his cash ran low, he’d do anything to get his next hit.

At some point during his decline, Gabriel met the people that would become his best friends. Jude Biggs, Sanjay Tamboli, Derek Hughes...they were all connected in some way to the drug life. But it wasn’t drugs that bound them together. It was music. They formed a shitty little garage band called Daffodildo with a pair of sisters and were altogether horrible. But it was fun.

What wasn’t fun was Mary discovering Gabriel’s little hobbies. Defiling his body with unholy substances, listening to devil music, and, worst of all, whoring around with a daughter of Ham, the filthy little Jezebel. Mary first tried to drive the devil from her son by burning it out. When that failed, she then tried to beat it out of him. That didn’t work either. And Gabriel had had enough. He tried to stand up to his mother, but it only infuriated her. Giving up on him, Mary kicked Gabriel from her home, disowning him.

Since then, Gabriel had lived the couch-surfing life. He’d crash wherever someone would let him, and, should everyone be too busy, he’d take to the streets. Things were...well, not great, but they could always be worse, he supposed. Then, one night, it did.

He was with Derek one night, at a party. One thing led to another, and after consuming dangerous amounts of alcohol, the two ended up speedballing in one of the backrooms. Derek passed out, and then his heart gave out. Gabriel would have went as well, but someone had come along at just that time and found him choking on his own vomit in his sleep. They got him onto his side and he spit everything up. A few more minutes and...well…

After coming back from the brink of death, something was different. Gabriel could...hear things. Things he shouldn’t by any rights have access to. But he did, nonetheless. Those around him, he could hear what they were thinking. Almost as if they were speaking it aloud. And try as he might, nothing seemed to quiet them. He just couldn’t tune them out.

Unless he got high.

Despite it nearly costing him his life, Gabriel took back to heroin even harder than ever. There was no more time for just eating or smoking it. No...it was time for the big guns. Mainlining it. And he didn’t stop there. Anything he could get his grubby little hands on, he’d take. And it actually worked. The higher he got, the quieter the voices seemed to be.

And the closer to death he marched.

Perhaps he would have gladly gone to the reaper, if it meant silencing the constant barrage of voices. Perhaps he’d inject himself into an early grave. Given the chance he might have...but life doesn’t always work out the way we want it. And it just so happened that Gabriel happened to be at the right place at the right time for a NEST rail. Apparently they had received a tip on an unregistered meta: Biggs. They followed him to Meg’s garage, where a band meeting was going down. And while they were originally only after the big man, they were able to mark the others as metas as well. While they all had their own skeletons sitting their closets, Gabe had an angry monkey on his back. And the experienced NEST operatives could spot a junkee anywhere So Gabriel got the infamous choice: prison or the Academy.

To Gabriel, it was a simple one.

And so, he eventually boarded a bus bound for the luxurious Camp ThinkerRock.

And all he could worry about was where he’d find his next fix.

Cerebral

Thought Reading
Most people have a little voice in the back of their head, the one that whispers thoughts and feelings that one would rather not say aloud. A private voice, one of the most intimate aspects of a person...meant for only the individual in question. Gabriel says to hell with privacy, and tears down the walls separating one man’s thoughts from another’s. No thought shall go unheard with Gabriel in the midsts. Whether he wants it to or not.

Memory Reading
Going a step further than simple surface thought reading, Gabriel can access the memories of his target, seeing them as vividly as if it were one of his own. Should the memory exist in the subject’s mind, than it is fair game for Gabriel.

Gabriel isn’t a master of the mind by any stretch of the imagination. While he does have the potential to become a fairly strong telepath, he lacks basic control currently. Why, he cannot even filter thoughts at the moment. Anyone within twenty feet of Gabriel is subject to having his or her thoughts blasted into the junkie’s skull. However, should someone have enough willpower, they can put up a mental block, preventing Gabriel from touching their mind. Lord knows the boy doesn’t have the experience needed to work around such a barricade, so this seems to be one of the easiest ways of shutting him down. To kind of offset this, Gabe has taken to wearing headphones blaring some of his favorite music. It hurts his ears, but it drowns out the thoughts. Makes speaking to him a pain in the ass, but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.

Now, in order to read into the memory of a subject, Gabriel must make physical contact with said person. As long as he’s searching, he must remain in contact with the person. A break in connection or concentration will have meant all was for naught. Now, when trying to read a memory, complete and utter focus is required. So for this, Gabriel would prefer to isolate himself and his target to avoid any outside distractions. As for the memories themselves, Gabriel has no way of knowing if the memory is true or not. Should a person manage to convince themselves that a memory exists, it will appear to Gabriel. With that said, a crafty individual will have no trouble fooling the young telepath. Obviously a working mind is required for Gabriel to perform his magic. Sorry to all robots, zombies, and various creatures of mindlessness.

Prolonged use of his abilities will leave Gabriel with a terrible migraine. Use after that point can cause serious damage to his body and mind. This can be anything from bursting blood vessels, blood clots, aneurysms, to heart attacks, nausea, or just a particularly bad case of the sniffles.

When using his abilities, Gabriel must remain strongly focused on the task at hand. As such, his defenses are practically nonexistent at this point. Not only physically, but mentally as well. Gabriel must tear down his walls in order to reach out to another. If another telepath were to jump into his mind at such a time, they would have free reign to tear shit up.

Therein lies the largest issue for Gabriel. He DOESN’T understand how to build his walls. His power is nearly always running, which leaves him nearly exhausted most of the time. Large crowds drain him quickly. And above all, it’s overwhelming. Hearing so many thoughts at the same time...hearing so many things that were never meant to be heard...it’s too much. In a large enough crowd, Gabriel can completely shut down just due to the sheer volume of thoughts. Or even worse: he can lose himself in the ocean of voices, unable to find his way home. And when the mind and body are too occupied, it’s not beyond the realm of possibility for it to forget to regulate itself. Breathing? Overrated, really.

Mother: Mary Maloney
Father: DECEASED Thomas Maloney

Jude Biggs | Good | Bandmate/Best Friend | “Biggs, man...he’s always got the good shit. And he’s a helluva singer. If shit hits the fan, I know he’s got my back.” |

Jordan Glover | Neutral | Bandmate/Friend | “Ollie’s cool. We don’t talk as much anymore. I...I don’t know why.” |

Meghan Glover | Good | [Bandmate/Friend | “..yeah, I don’t fuck with Meg. Sanjay did, and well...just look what happened. She’s scary, man. Keeps a beat like no one’s business, but still scary.” |

Sanjay Tamboli | Bad | Bandmate/Frenemy | “Ahaha, yeah uh...Sanjay don’t like me no more. Guess he don’t like what he’s heard about me and Arya. I mean, I’d never hurt her, so I don’t get what his problem is. Seriously, he just needs to chill the hell out. But the dude can play a mean bass. Can’t take from him.”|

Meghan Dianna Glover (Meg will work.)

17

Female

There’s a sort of innocence that follows Meghan. God knows why it picked this little heathen. But when she narrows her upturned, pale green eyes, scrunches up her freckled nose, and gets that mischievous smirk on her face, shit’s about to hit the fan.

Surely it couldn’t be too bad, though? After all, Meghan looks like any other seventeen year old girl in America. She stands at about five foot seven, and weighs a healthy none of your damn business. Her figure sits somewhere between just straight and an hourglass. And while she is in decent shape, she doesn’t have overly visible muscles. So why be afraid of the little girl?

…

Just take our word on it.

When trying to avoid the little bitch, be on the lookout for a woman with a heart shaped face and long chocolate brown hair with caramel highlights. It will likely fall down just past her shoulders. She’s not likely to wear bangs, so her fair will usually be pushed back behind her ears or fall around her face, framing it. She’s got rather clear sun-kissed skin. Why, the only blemish that comes to mind is a small mole at the corner of her mouth. Left side? Yeah, that sounds right. Speaking of which, her lips...the bottom lip is fuller than the top. Tends to stick out in a pout most of the time.

As far as clothing goes, she tends to layer up. Usually nothing revealing. Long sleeves, jackets, jeans over shorts/skirts. She usually always dresses up slightly, but remains casual. Nothing too flashy, but still worthy of attention.

…

But why are we wasting our time even telling you this?

She could be anywhere.

She could be anyone.

Why...she could even be you!

...or…

...or she could even be me...

Growing up, Meghan tried a number of different hobbies and such, trying to find anything that really interested her. Most things didn’t. Sports weren’t her forte, and most crafty activities nearly bored her to sleep. She preferred something a bit more active, but not involving running. She also liked beating things. So when she was introduced to the drums during middle school, it was a match made in heaven. She’d always been pretty good about keeping the rhythm and beat, and she loved dancing, so taking that a step further was pretty natural. With everything said and done, she’s actually pretty good now.

Outside of that, she didn’t really get into much skill-wise. And as far as talents go, well, she kind of got shafted there. She’s really flexible, able to twist and contort her body into weird shapes, but that’s not really anything to write home about. There’s also her fairly impressive knack for impressions. After hearing someone speak for a while, she can usually parrot it pretty well. Her ear for cadence and accent is spot on...but it pretty much just amounts to a nifty party-trick. Kind of a bummer, but hey, if you were to want a human pretzel to give Liam Neeson’s speech from Taken as spoken by Christopher Walken, Meg’s your girl.

Meghan didn’t really have an interesting early life. She was born and raised in Salem, Oregon by a lawyer and her husband, an air traffic controller. But shortly after Meghan was born, her mother died in a car accident. Her father eventually married a fairly successful real estate agent with a daughter of her own. They couple did alright. As such, Meg never wanted for much. Mommy and Daddy pretty much provided everything. But they were smart enough to avoid showering her in gifts and whatnot. So yeah, while she was a bit spoiled, it really could have been worse.

She had friends, she went to school, and quite frankly, the kid didn’t have much else going on. Why, it wasn’t until middle school that she got an actual hobby. Drumming. She on a whim signed up for the marching band, and picked a drum because it looked the most fun. It was. And marching band was alright too. A bit dorky for her tastes, but the people were alright. For a while. But the transition from middle school to high school changed some things.

A lot of her friends discovered sex and that was pretty much the end of their musical passions. Meghan wasn’t interested at first, but curiosity eventually wins over us all. Rather than just jump into it, she did some research. Porn. Lots and lots of porn. What started as harmless curiosity turned into an obsession. She consumed an unhealthy amount of the smut, and when that stopped doing anything for her, she moved on to the real thing. She knew the right people to get into some booze-fueled parties, and one night she grabbed the nearest drunken virgin and blew his mind.

That little process continued on for a while, and unsurprisingly, word got out about her shenanigans. She was called a whore, a slut, a Jezebel. But that never really bothered her. Hell, if the shoe fit. She was just having fun. Besides, why should guys be the only ones that got to fuck everything in sight and be celebrated? Fuck that noise. If anybody had a problem, they were jealous. At least that’s what she eventually settled on. It got annoying enough for her to quit band even. Not because she couldn’t handle the jackasses, but because she uh...got bored with it. Sure, let’s go with that.

But even the strongest among us break eventually. One could only take so much, and when the comments about her promiscuity didn’t get to her, people moved on to her physical appearance. While she was by no means a bad looking girl, when all one hears day in and day out is criticism on one’s appearance, well, it can worm its way into one’s confidence. And teens, well, they can be pretty savage. The constant teasing, it got to her. And after one especially brutal morning, where she was verbally beaten down by some slut named Jane, she broke. She fled to the bathroom, where she spent the rest of the day. Just needed some alone time, y’know? But while she was standing in front of the mirror, cursing herself and wishing that she was anybody else, she got her wish. Her reflection shifted before her eyes. In one moment, she was hideous, whorish Meg. In the next, she was tall, blonde Jane.

She thought she had finally cracked.

But when she left the bathroom, people greeted her as Jane. It was...bizarre.

She found out a little later what was going on. She was Meta-human. While she had no idea where it came from, there was no getting around it. She found that she could fairly accurately reproduce the visage of anyone she had seen before. A nifty trick, but not one she wanted to show the world. Not anytime soon, at least. She kept it quiet and never registered.

It was sometime after this that Meghan met some of the people that would become her best friends. Biggs, Gabe, Sanjay, Derek, and Arya. The guys were looking for a drummer for their garage band. She found a shitty little ad they had put online and decided why not give it a try. It was a perfect fit. They didn’t care about her whorish ways. As long as she could keep a beat and not get too wasted, that’s all that mattered. And it kind of helped that they could practice in Meg’s garage most of the time. Her parents were never around and their neighborhood was fairly spread out so it all worked out.

Things were groovy...for a while. But Gabe’s drug problem got bad. Like, real bad. And then Derek well...It was just a mess, y’know? After Derek’s passing, Biggs, Meg, Sanjay, and Jordan invited Gabe to show up for practice one day. It was going to be an intervention of sorts. They didn’t get far into it when the gathering was busted up by NEST. Apparently someone had squealed on Biggs about his Meta-humanness. And when they came to his most frequented spot to nab him, they hit a bit of a honey hole. Meg, Sanjay, Gabe, and Arya were all tagged as well. And most of them were dirty in some way. Gabe and Biggs were in the drugs pretty heavily. Sanjay was involved in some shady burglary ring and Arya...well she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

And Meg? Well, apparently at some point she had taken to accepting “donations” for her time. She didn’t need the money, but it was nice to have some extra change in her pockets, especially if it was for doing something that he enjoyed and was going to do anyway. And people tended to tip a bit more if they could end up spending the night with practically anybody they wanted. It was a win-win.

So with their various less than legal habits behind them, and the terrible crime of being unregistered Meta-humans, they were each given a choice. Do some time, or go to camp.

Meghan went to camp.

Super-System (Biological)

Appearance Mimicry
When it comes to various abilities that meta-humans may have, one may first think of something along the lines of flight or pyrokinesis or superspeed or even invisibility. So how far down that list does one have to get before they find shapeshifting? That’s Meg’s power in all its glory. She can shift her physical form to imitate any person she’s seen before. This will change everything from her height and weight to her skin or hair color. If it’s somebody who she’s been able to observe in person, Meghan can take on a more accurate imitation. If it’s a picture, she can still attempt it, but depending on the quality of the photo and the angle it was taken at, things may seem a little off.

As stated above, Meg can only imitate actual people she’s seen. So creating an entirely new form is out of the question. So is taking on the shape based on someone’s description or drawing of a person. Furthermore, Meg can not replicate a person’s thoughts, skills, voice, smell, or, should they be meta-human as well, their powers. She can only copy human forms as well, so there’s no dinosaur shenanigans going to happen here. So even bestial meta-humans are safe from the doppelgänger since Meg can’t copy their more feral features.

While Meg can copy the appearance down to even the clothing the person is wearing, it’s merely superficial. If she copies someone wearing body armor, it won’t stop a bullet any more than her own hoodie. If they were to have a gun sitting in a holster on their hip, Meg would find it impossible to get the damn thing out of it, let alone fire at anybody.

The morphing takes a decent toll on Meg’s stamina, and maintaining the false form is a constant drain on it. The more accurate or detailed she tries to get, the more energy it consumes. And the disguise requires quite a bit of concentration. Knock her out or startle her and the girl slips right back into her tiny frame.

Ever hear your mother say to not make a face because it may end up sticking that way? In Meghan’s case, that’s a very real possibility. The more time she spends in another’s form, the harder it is for her to shift back to her natural appearance. It seems as if there’s a bit of an internal counter, ticking down the time she’s in certain forms. The more she uses one, the easier it is to slip into and maintain. But if she goes without using it, she can lose it. At least until she can see the person again. What this pretty much means that should Meg go about masquerading as other people long enough without returning to normal and getting a nice, long look at herself, she risks losing that completely. Spend enough time pretending to be someone else and you’ll forget who you really are.

Step-Mother: Jasmine Glover
Father: Marcus Glover
Step-Sister: Jordan Glover

Jordan Glover | Good | [Bandmate/Step-Sister | “Ollie’s a little nerd. But dammit, she’s my little nerd. I love that girl. So fuck with her and we’re going to have a problem. Capishe?” |

Jude Biggs | Good | Bandmate/Friend | “Scared of the big bad Biggs? Me? Please. He’s my big gay teddy bear. Dude wouldn’t hurt a fly. And he makes an excellent wingman.” |

Gabriel Maloney | Good | Bandmate/Friend | “Gabe’s fun as hell, man. When he’s uh...sober that is. Which isn’t often anymore. Kinda sucks. I wish he’d kick that junk he’s on. I mean, it’s tearing poor Arya apart. She don’t need that. None of us do. And after Derek...” |” |

Sanjay Tamboli | Good...ish | Bandmate/Friend | “Pfft. Jay? He’s alright. Likes to talk big but don’t let him fool ya. Dude ain’t shit. How’s that song go? ‘Two-pump chump and hung like a weasel’? I kinda feel bad for him, really.”|

Jordan Olivia Adkins(Friends call her Ollie)

16

Female

Given perfect posture, generous shoes, and her knit cap pulled just a bit higher than normal, Jordan could probably hit about five foot three. On a good day. And with her rather petite build, it would be reasonable for one to write her off as harmless. Why, she doesn’t look much different from any other girl her age. Or, y’know, a boy younger than her age. If it wasn’t for her long, curly ginger locks, it wouldn’t be too outrageous for one to see the small chest, nonpoppin’ booty, and gender neutral clothes and just assume brohood. Go ahead a mention it to her, she absolutely loves to hear that.

The gal has a few moles on her rather pale skin. A pair on her chest, a few on either arm, and one just off the corner of her right eye. As far as scarring goes, on the end of her left brow is an indention, a leftover from a playground accident involving monkey bars and a bee years ago that nearly took out one of her round blue eyes.

There’s not too much thought put into Jordan’s daily outfits. She’s content with just a hoodie or light jacket if it happens to be a bit nippy outside, otherwise it’s pretty much just band tees and jeans. And the beanie. Can’t forget the beanie. It’s basically the only thing that is saving her from a life as Princess Merida of DunBroch. Truly, her hair can be a wild, wild beast, and no man is brave enough for that. Not yet.

Jordan, from an early age, was enthralled by cinema. Moving pictures, people pretending to be something completely different, it was all so exciting. So growing up, the gal consumed absolutely any movie that she could get her grubby paws on. So Ogo, how’s that relevant to any skill or talent, you might be thinking. Patience, asshats, we were just about to explain. Ollie, with a rather excellent memory, can recite a number of quotes and monologues from various classic films on cue. Great at drunken parties, terrible for crime fighting.

There’s a bit of a musician residing in the girl. She can play guitar pretty well, but she lives for the bass. The rhythm likes Ollie, and Ollie REALLY likes the rhythm. Go figure. Just uh...don’t let her sing. God bless her heart, she tries, but she sounds like a dying cat.

Math comes incredibly easily to her. Numbers, formulas, graphs, the whole shebang is her forte. Words...not so much.

She’s not one for most video games, but damn if she can’t hustle a fool in a fighting game. Take your pick of the lot o’ ‘em, she’ll whoop some virtual ass. Fear the ginger’s Shoryuken. Fear it.

Jordan was born in Salem, Oregon, to a recently widowed real estate agent. Her father, a soldier, took his own life after accident that would leave him paralyzed from the waist down. The woman remarried sometime after that, to an aircraft traffic controller. Some guy named Marcus. He was alright. He had a daughter, a bitch named Meg. She was less than alright.

The gal had an uninteresting childhood really. Average grades, average friends, average interests. She was well on her way to an mediocre high school life, followed by a very short rebellious stage in a mediocre college, where she’d try acid once or twice before getting scared straight and continuing her education towards an Accounting degree, which she would then use to get a mediocre job at some mediocre firm in some mediocre city where she would meet some mediocre man and have some mediocre children and they’d live out their mediocre lives until she had a mediocre death at the age of seventy-eight. How fucking thrilling…

Luckily, she was rescued from the American Nightmare by...well...genetics. Upon hitting puberty, the girl’s body changed in some unexpected ways. No, not a larger chest or booty, much to her disappointment, but in a more...exotic way. She found that she could bypass walls and doors as if they weren’t even there. And floors. It led to a rather embarrassing incident in which she found herself accidentally falling into the boy’s restroom at school...from the room above it. Not knowing what the hell happened, she was spotted by some dude leaving a stall, who then proceeded to freak out about her being in there. As she left the bathroom, embarrassed all to hell, she bumped into Jane, the resident bitch. She and her friends had been gathered around the lockers across from the bathroom. They saw her leave the bathroom, and, well, the teasing was long and brutal.

After some poking around online, Jordan found the answer to her odd situation. She was apparently a metahuman. A Ghost, specifically. Which fit her curious(nosy) nature just fine. She spoke with many others online, joining several cyber communities consisting almost entirely of the freaks. She refused to register her status, seeing it as a horrible infringement of human rights. But she wasn’t stupid. She kept her mouth shut on that particular subject. For the time, at least. Once she got through her schooling, she had plans to join certain activist groups.

Some time later, her step-sister started having a couple guys over to the house, where they’d play some shitty music in the garage. She begged Meg to let her tag in, and while she was initially stonewalled, Meg eventually gave in. The band was short a bass player anyway. The girl instantly clicked with the group. And thus Daffodildo was born. Not exactly the classiest of bands, but fuck it.

The band wasn’t around long before drugs threatened to tear it apart. Derek and Gabe got really, REALLY into the shit. And one night, the shit got really, really into them. Derek died. Gabe almost did. And the dumbfuck KEPT using after that. More than he did before them. If Jordan didn’t know better, she’d think he was trying to off himself.

The band got together and decided to stage an intervention of sorts for the struggling guitarist. They didn’t get far into their meeting before NEST came a-knocking. The gig was up. They were after Biggs, having got him name from some asshat that squealed in order to get a shorter sentence. And the rest of them were pretty dirty themselves. Ollie, despite having never done anything really illegal, had given her name to the organization she was looking to join. It had apparently been raided a couple days before. Taken down completely in a matter of hours. And from there, they got a ton of names, many of which belonged to unregistered metas like our idealist redhead. She might have gotten away with just having to register but...the group had been suspected to have been involved with a number of terror events across the country. So she had two options. Be tried for aiding terrorists, or go to camp.

As tempting as federal prison sounded, she opted for camp, along with the others.

If they thought she was little terror before, just wait until she gets out...

Super-System (Biological)

Intangibility
Ollie is able to quite effortlessly go wherever she wants, by, as she calls it, “ghosting” through solid objects. There’s not much more to it, really. She can go through most any natural substance found on Earth, including walls of various materials, people, concrete, you name it. When doing so, Ollie gains a sort of weightlessness, allowing her to effectively swim through the material if it is too thick for her to simply step through.

When ghosting, Ollie can target specific parts of her body, meaning that she doesn’t have to go completely intangible. To couple with this, she can extend the phenomenia, not to other people, not yet, but she CAN envelope an object the size of a small suitcase and take it with her. For this, however, she must remain in physical contact with the object. And she somehow drops the connection while in an object…

Yikes.

As much as she may want to, Ollie cannot simply dive into a mountain and call it a day. Or rather, she could, but it won’t end pleasantly for her. Ollie is limited by how long she can hold her breath. Breathing while intangible doesn’t exactly do much for a gal. Furthermore, she cannot rematerialize inside a solid object. Not if she wants to remain whole that is.

While physical objects will pass harmlessly through her while intangible, energy and mental interactions remain unchanged. If someone were to say, toss a lightning ball at her, Ollie is going to be in for a shock.

While Ollie can pretty much go through any object, she doesn’t have x-ray eyes. She can’t SEE through what she’s trying to ghost. If an object is too thick, all she’s done is find an easy grave. She’ll either run out of oxygen or…

It’s not pretty when a Ghost materializes inside a solid object. With the space already occupied, it comes down to which object is stronger. And the human body, being as weak as it is, loses nine times out of ten. When a Ghost DOES decide to try it anyway, and loses, it pretty much splits the body, pushing the foreign molecules out in the quickest ways possible. So what ends up on the outside, isn’t the same as what entered to begin with.

Smaller objects, like bullets, can simply pass through Ollie when she’s ghosting. But, should she rematerialize with it inside of her, she’s going to have a bad time. The momentum of the object doesn’t change. So if she’s too quick on the draw, she can phase a bullet through her head, just in time for it to pop out the other side, with half of her skull in tow.

Mother: Jasmine Adkins
Step-Father: Marcus Glover
Step-Sister: Meghan Glover

Meghan Glover | Good | [Bandmate/Step-Sister | “Ehh, I mean, we don’t always see eye-to-eye, but Meg’s been there for me when no one else was. We might not be blood, but that girl’s my sister. Even if she is a bitch.” |

Jude Biggs | Good | Bandmate/Friend | “Heh, I like Biggs. He’s funny. And I mean, he’s gay, I’m pan, we’re like two queer peas in a pod. Also, I’ve never seen a man that big be so terrified of harmless little puppies. Guess he’s just not an animal guy. Weird. He’s uh... been...a bit weird since Derek...y’know. Like, he’s acting as if nothing happened. And that’s like-he shou-It’s just wrong, okay? I hope he’s alright.” |

Gabriel Maloney | Neutral | Bandmate/Friend | “Ugggh, I just wish I could talk to Gabe WITHOUT him being high. It’s annoying. It’s like he’s always distracted or just not there. I mean, he’s a good guy, and Arya absolutely loves the dweeb, but...ugh, I dunno. I just don’t want to see another friend dead before twenty, y’know?” |

Sanjay Tamboli | Good | Bandmate/Friend | “Poor Jay...Meg’s rough on him. But I mean, he kind of brought it on himself. You don’t fuck with Meghan. She’s a sadistic little bitch. But I like him. Even though everybody kind of shits on him, he takes it all in his stride. Well...except for the dick jokes. Poor guy.”|

Sanjay Tamboli (Goes by Jay.)

18

Male

The fashion gods didn’t exactly smile on Sanjay. His sense of style leaves a lot to be desired. Nine times out of ten, he’s in a short sleeved button-up. Striped, more often than not. And blue jeans. Check his closet and it just consists of variations on that outfit. But whatever. There’s certainly more to a man than his clothing, yeah?

Like many Americans, Jay could stand to lose a few pounds. At six foot two, though, he carries his weight pretty well. He rocks the Dad Bod, and it’s working well enough for him. Well enough for him to not stress over not making it to the gym as often as he could, and when he has that extra slice of cake or one or two more beers than he should, he doesn’t get slapped by the guilt fairy. It’s a nice life, really.

Sanjay Tamboli is a third-generation immigrant, with his grandparents on both sides originating from Mumbai, India. His skin and features are a testament of that. Brown, fairly blemish free skin and black hair. Hot dog. He uh...he’s also a rather hairy man. While he keeps his hair relatively short (usually in a fauxhawk, much to everyone’s disgust. Please kill the fauxhawk. Please.), and his beard is trim and beautifully shaped, his body hair runs rampant. It’s nice and thick, keeping him warm and toasty during winter. Okay, yes, he still has to wear warm clothing in winter, but it does make for a decent pillow for whoever happens to be sharing his bed.

Dark brown eyes, thick bushy brows partially connected in the middle, and a large nose are his other defining characteristics. Though, to be fair, he’s not exactly one to blend into a crowd in whitebread Salem, Oregon.

Jay, like the other members of Daffodildo, is really into music. Inspired by the likes of Page, Van Halen, Clapton, and mothafuckin’ Hendrix, Jay picked up the six strings and never looked back, calluses be damned. Where Gabe’s more of the rhythm guitarist, Jay rips the sick solos as lead...or so he thinks. But hey, as long as he’s having fun, it’s all good.

He’s not all riffs and licks though. Cars, man. He’s pretty passionate about ‘em. Chances are, if he’s not trying to make his fingers bleed on the fretboard, he’s in the family garage working on the old ‘72 Pontiac GTO. Papa and he have been working on it the last couple years. Sure, they could probably dedicate a couple months and whip it out quick, but where’s the fun in that? Papa’s getting on in his years, but Jay knows his way around an engine block, and isn’t a stranger to the toolbox.

Jay’s also the only member of Daffodildo that can cook worth a damn. Sure, Biggs can bake, but that shit ain’t something on which a man can sustain himself. Jay’s the one that can make a belly smile. He knows quite a few recipes, gathered from the internet, various cookbooks, and his mother’s own traditional Indian cooking. If you like things spicy, Jay’s your boy. And if not, grow a pair, man up, and eat your damn food.

Jay comes from a fairly large family. Aunts and uncles, and cousins as far as the eye can see. And his own parents weren’t slouches either on the breeding front. Sanjay has several brothers and sisters, but he and his little sister Arya were the last ones. They’re also the closest in age, what with the next youngest having six years on Jay. But they could afford it, no problem. Papa and mummy were both accomplished surgeons. So money was uh...never an issue.

Jay had a pretty nice childhood. He went to a fairly upscale school, was surrounded by friends, and was pretty decent at sports. Hell, there were kids that would give their kidneys to have even a fraction of what he did. But Jay wasn’t really happy. Call it ungrateful, call it pathetic, he’s heard it all. Depressed, they said. No idea why, they said. Take these pills, they said. You’ll be better, they said.

Well, they helped. A little. Not much. If they’d have just opened their ears, they’d know what the issue was. Quite frankly, Jay missed his parents. Given their careers, they were both away fairly often. Their schedules were wild, too. So Jay and Arya spent most of their time with a nanny. At least until they hit puberty, that is.

Music really pulled Jay from his slump. He fell in love with the guitar and quickly got his own. He poured his heart and soul into it. And he got pretty decent at it. He stopped taking his stupid zombie pills and never felt better. He had found the perfect treatment: rather than keeping everything bottled up and letting it fester and poison him with its vicious bile, he just let it all out, channeling it into chords.

It was angsty as fuck, man.

Some time after that, Sanjay found himself sinking back into his slump. He had friends that were using DRUGS and talked about it like it was the coolest shit in the world. He had taken drugs before, the little happy pills, and all it did was kill his motivation. They swore this was different. They offered him a taste, don’t worry about paying, first taste’s free. It was orgasmic. Literally and figuratively...awkward moment, that. But from that day forward, Jay found his DRUG of choice: cocaine. It was what all the rock stars did, so hell, why not? It was even giving him some inspiration again, and he dove back into playing.

At some point around this time, Sanjay met a couple of likeminded individuals. Jude Biggs, Derek Hughes, and Gabe Maloney. They were a bunch of punks, talking real big while not being shit, but they were pretty alright. More than that, they were fellow rockers. The four of them got together and formed a band. Daffodildo. Derek’s idea, that. Bonding over their mutual love of cocaine and the last century’s rock music, they grew close. Shortly after they formed, their quartet grew a bit bigger, with the addition of Meghan Glover and her sister Ollie. They were alright. The band usually hung out at Meg’s house. She had a nice garage and her neighbors weren’t as likely to call the cops if they heard “devil music” being played next door.

All was great. Then Derek died.

Shit kind of hit the fan after that. Jay blamed his friend’s death on Gabe, who he had recently found out had been fooling around with his sister Arya. Not cool, bro. Not cool at all. She was a fucking angel and he was some useless junkee. And now he had pushed one of Jay’s best friends into an early grave. Of course, he had no proof of that, but it was a gut feeling. And Jay trusted his gut.

The band eventually decided to hold an intervention for Gabe. Well...everyone except for Jay. He thought they’d be better without the fucker, but he was outvoted. So he went along with it. Bad decision.

NEST raided Meg’s garage that day, rounding up the lot of them. They were metahumans after all. Even Sanjay. He wasn’t registered, mind you. But that was because his powers had only recently manifested earlier that year.

Allow me to explain?

Jay had gotten involved with some guys that uh...kind of, sort of, broke into people’s homes and took their shit. Burglary. Yeah, the son of two successful, extraordinarily wealthy surgeons, was stealing. But understand, it wasn’t a matter of cash to Jay. Hell, he couldn’t care less about that. It was more of...well, something to do. One can only spend so much time rocking out or tinkering on an old classic before he lost his mind. So Jay got a job at a nearby convenience store, and please, save the stereotypical Indian jokes. It was the only place hiring that would both work around his school schedule, not involved too much manual labor, and not send him home smelling like french fries...Anyway, a couple of coworkers were into some...well, shady shit. But they were fun. So Jay joined in. Hence the home invasion schtick. It was whatever. Jay never had to hurt anybody, and most people they robbed were pretty well off, so he didn’t see too much wrong with it.

It was during one of these invasions when Jay learned that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t your average dude. The guys were casing this real spiffy looking place, but there was a problem: the owner was smart. All the entrances locked, no spare key in an obvious spot, and a sign out front warning of ADT security. Now, Sanjay’s not much of a gambling man, but his gut was telling him there wasn’t an actual system in the house. His associates weren’t so bold. He couldn’t convince them to bust a window. Honestly, they seemed out of luck. They spread out for one last look. Sanjay ended up near the end of the home, and just peered into a window. There was a sick looking guitar in the guy’s bedroom. A Taylor that looked like it was cared for pretty regularly. But...it didn’t seem as if it had been played much. It looked as if the owned just bought it and set it up as prop in his room. Just a tool to impress some chick into getting into bed with him, if he had to guess.

He wanted it.

He wanted it.

And next thing he knew…

He was holding it.

Inside the room.

It had happened so quickly. One moment he was on the outside looking in, the next he was standing in the swanky bedroom. It just...happened. Jay felt as if he was being jerked forward and...boom. Confused, he stumbled through the house, guitar in tow. He looked thoroughly, but as he had guessed, there was no alarm system. He unlocked the front door and let his buddies in. They made out with just about everything in the house, but Jay’s buddies never really spoke to him after that. Not a big fan of meta-humans, those.

So back to the NEST raid, when the officials were running everyone through the system, Jay’s name hit a match. Apparently one of his former associates got his dumbass busted on a botched break-in. And wouldn’t you know it, he gave up Jay’s name as a renegade meta-human. Just out of spite, it seemed. Well...Biggs could relate.

He was given the option, get a roomie named Big Bubba who didn’t respect boundaries, or board a bus and go hang out with a bunch of snot-nosed kids at a summer camp.

…

What do you think he picked?

Other

Teleportation
Sanjay’s an interesting case. Despite only fairly recently coming into his power, he’s gotten rather used to it in that short time. That ability is, obviously, teleportation. Nearly instantly, Sanjay can cross considerable distances. He is able to do this rapidly if the distance he’s moving is short enough (a few feet), but he seems to be able to go to any spot that is within his line of sight, provided there’s nothing in his targeted landing point.

When teleporting, Sanjay can bring his body (obviously), whatever he happens to be wearing, and about the amount of extra mass that would consist of a packed briefcase. There doesn’t seem to be any kind of charge up time to this. Liberal use seems to be just fine.

As one can infer from above, Sanjay can only travel as far as he can clearly see. And his landing point must be clear and specific. This means that just because Sanjay can see a mile or two off into the distance, if he can’t make out an actual L.Z., then he’s shit out of luck. So smoke, rain, or even a blizzard could effectively render him useless. Break the eyes, break the man.

He also cannot teleport others with him. Sorry to anybody that was hoping to use him as the world’s quickest taxi-service. Wait a couple years and try again. He can take small things though, so give him your wallet.

Teleporting is unexpectedly tiring, too. A few factors play into how much energy is being used. But most notably would be distance, frequency, and amount of mass being transported. Want to warp around a room like a superpowered crack monkey? Knock yourself out. Want to make very few long distance jumps? Groovy. Want to warp around long distance like a superpowered crack monkey? You’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’ son. It can simply eat through his energy like nobody’s business if he’s not careful.

Momentum also plays a key role here. Just because he decides to jump, doesn’t mean he’s getting away with falling off a cliff. Typically whatever direction he’s moving when he ports, that’s the direction he’ll still be moving in when he reappears.

It’s not just his energy that teleporting can eat through. Rapid jumps can begin attacking his body as well. The more he ports, the more unstable his body becomes. While it can be useful, if he keeps it up, Jay might not reappear with all of his parts whole. It’s hard to tell what will be affected by the instability, at least until it happens. Enjoy your Russian Roulette, boy.

Jay also cannot stop a jump after he’s started. So if something happens to quickly pop up there before he does...well, R.I.P.

Why?

Technically Jay CAN teleport into an object. It would be suicide, but he can do it. What’s going to happen though, is whatever bit of his that ends up inside the object is going to be completely crushed beyond recognition. He might get away with an arm or leg, I mean, it’s not going to kill him to lose a limb, but it wouldn’t be pleasant if his head or chest ends up in there.

But hey, if he ever wanted a quick and insanely painful end, he’s got an out.

Father: Sandeep Tamboli
Mother: Meera Tamboli
Sister: Avani
Brother: Vikram Tamboli
Sister: Vena Tamboli
Sister: Arya Tamboli

Meghan Glover | ... | [Bandmate/Friend | “Listen, whatever she says about me? Complete bullshit. She’s just mad because I broke her heart. But hey, it’s not my fault. I’m a fuckin’ stud. Gotta, y’know, run the fields. Sow my oats and all that.” |

Jude Biggs | Good | Bandmate/Best Friend | “Man, we’ve been running together since way back, y’know? Biggs is the best man I’ve ever met. Hell, he’s more of a brother to me than my own brothers. But...man, he needs to give up on Gabe. Dude’s just gonna drag him down.” |

Gabriel Maloney | Bad...ish | Bandmate/Friend...ish. | “Listen, I liked Gabe as much as the next guy. He used to be pretty cool. But that heroin shit he’s on? It’s not cool. It’s fucking changed him. He ain’t the same guy. And fuck me, I guess, for being the only one with the balls to actually say it. I mean, he’s lying now, I’m pretty sure he’s stealing from everyone, and I mean...c’mon man...with Arya? She’s my baby sister, bro. You don’t fucking do that. And Derek...if it wasn’t for that slimy piece of shit, Derek might still be...ugh. I gotta go, otherwise I’m going to go beat his fucking face in.” |

Jordan Adkins | Good | Bandmate/Friend | “Ollie’s alright. I ain’t got any problems with her. Well...she does this thing where if we’re watching a movie that she’s seen, she’ll recite the fucking lines as they’re said. First couple times was impressive, don’t get me wrong, but that shit gets old after awhile. But I mean, other than that, she’s alright in my books.”|