Basic Information
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Superhero/villain Name: Solomon Grundy
Civilian Name: Cyrus Gould
Origin city/Planet: Hub City
Hometown: Hub City
Sex: Male
Race: Now kind of a pale grey color, Zombie. His former identity was Irish-American.
Height: 9'0"
Weight: 400 lbs
Age: Technically a newborn, his previous life was in his mid-thirties
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Costumed Appearance:
Civilian Appearance: Kind of impossible for him to have one. If he needs to be unknown or unseen he just stays away from the public.
Icon: None

Costumed Personality: Cyrus wanted to be an author or a professor of literature of all things before the family business got to him, and it shows. When he's not in a confused, newly reborn state he's surprisingly eloquent and fond of quoting Milton and both Percy and Mary Shelley among others in order to make his points and reflect on his new state of being. Part of him had always hated the mobster lifestyle he was caught up in, and between that and the legion of spirits animating him he's bent on reforming the criminal underworld of Hub City through force, fear, and any other means at his disposal. He's far from even an anti-heroic figure however, as he still intends to stay a behind-the-scenes criminal and control crime in Hub and force it to adhere to his standards rather than stop it at all.
Civilian Personality: No difference from his costumed one.

Super abilities:
-Skills:

-Powers:
Immense Super Strength- The combination of Grundy's massive zombie body and the cursed magics and vengeful spirits that animate him means he's near-immeasurably physically strong, capable of going toe-to-toe with Kryptonians and similar beings in terms of raw muscle power.

Magically Enhanced Durability- Solomon Grundy is incredibly physically durable, capable of withstanding blows of strength equivalent to his own without major damage as well as surviving similarly powerful attacks. He has no supernatural method of grounding himself however and if he fails to ground himself he can be moved by sufficient force.

Magically Induced Regeneration- On top of his already frightening durability, Solomon Grundy is capable of regenerating from wounds he does receive with surprising speed as the magic which animates him restores his form. He can reattach any part of himself that's severed in seconds, though if a limb is completely destroyed it takes several hours to regrow, and destruction of his head will kill him.

Undead Physiology- As an undead revenant, Grundy has no vital processes, nor does he require them to exist. Functionally this means he doesn't breathe, sleep, eat, get tired, require any of the blood or organ function of a normal human being, or ordinarily register pain as more than a mild annoyance.

Resurrective Immortality- If Solomon Grundy is killed, he will invariably rise again on the next Monday to occur in the same location as his first resurrection. Grundy himself has no idea as to why he specifically resurrects on Mondays, but it seems to be an immutable law of his existence
-Gadgets:

-Weapons:
Civilian Occupation: None. Being dead makes it hard to hold down a job.

Weaknesses
Fire- Perhaps because of its purifying associations, fire is able to completely bypass Grundy's enhanced durability and regeneration abilities, and damage from fire causes Grundy actual pain. While he doesn't burn any better or worse than you'd expect from a nine foot tall corpse and it doesn't stop him from being resurrected, it's still the surest way to kill Grundy.

Necromancy- Because Grundy himself is powered by necromancy, a powerful enough necromancer might be able to control him or banish the spirits that animate his body. The powerful curse that tethers Grundy to this world will likely eventually force him to return at some point, however.

Nth Metal-As a being animated almost entirely by magic, Nth Metal is highly disruptive to Grundy and can bypass all of his defenses or shut his body down with prolonged exposure.

Biography---------

Character History/Origin: Cyrus Gould was the third and youngest son of a prominent Irish American mob boss in Hub City. However, Cyrus always wanted more out of life than petty crime could provide him and dreamed of becoming an author, or maybe a professor of literature, studying hard every day and trying his best to steer clear of his father's criminal empire. Eventually he achieved the first step towards dream of getting into a good college and majoring in English. Unfortunately for him, after about a year away from home Cyrus's father was assassinated by a rival mob and Cyrus was pulled out of school to help in a brewing gang war between Hub City's increasingly small but violent Irish mobs.

He took to the violence of clandestine war reluctantly but well in the years that followed, eventually overcoming the deaths of both of his older brothers and responding with a series of reprisals vicious enough to bring the rest of the survivors to a negotiating table. The Gould family became the premiere Irish Mob organization in Hub for some time, but those Cyrus had forced into submission never forgot the losses he inflicted on them. Eventually, a conspiracy was formed to assassinate him. At a meeting allegedly held to discuss drug distribution strategies Cyrus was strangled with a garrote, severely beaten, shot twice in the head and dumped into the river with a length of chain double-wrapped around his body to sink him down to the riverbed. After that the fine gentlemen who did the killing considered their business concluded and went back to running their individual gangs.

Cyrus Gould was supposed to be a footnote in the history of crime in Hub City, an interesting but brief and inconsequential uniting force for an often fractious branch of that city's criminal underworld. Unfortunately for criminals and law abiding citizens of Hub City alike, in the year 2020 the world was changing and those changes brought consequence. With the return of magic, ghostly apparitions that would normally lack the strength to affect the mortal world are once again free to wreak havoc. Being a place of endless violence, Hub City has more than its fair share of poltergeists remnants of dead gangsters who despised the life of violence they lead. The combined legion of otherworldly mafiosi, mobsters, gangsters and criminals laid a deadly curse on the world that corrupted and destroyed them. One of their own powered by their spectral energies and otherwise impotent fury, would rise from the dead and reshape the world to force the mortal underworld into something better, something they would approve.

Out of this army of the damned, Cyrus Gold proved the most strong-willed and following his death, one of the most motivated. Now armed with a powerful new body formed from the ectoplasm of a horde of ghosts and fueled by their hatred and undead energy, he prepares to rise from the dead and bring order to the Hub City underworld.

Optional information
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Nemesis:
Allies:
Team:

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Superhero Name: Watchdog
Civilian Name: Malcolm Talhaiarn
Origin city/Planet: Bludhaven, New York
Hometown: Bludhaven, New York
Sex: Male
Race: Metahuman
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 110 lbs.
Age: 11
Birth Date: Found in a dumpster as a newborn on February 1, 2009, so that's what he goes by.
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Costumed Appearance: Lacking much in the way of resources or indeed, any notion that he's actually anything close to a bonafide Superhero, Malcolm makes do with what little he has; garbing himself in an old, worn-out denim jacket that seems much too big for his tiny frame, an old white wifebeater, a ratty pair of jeans and some sneakers that've seen better days. Covering his face he has... a simple black rag and a pair of old welding goggles to cover his glowing orange eyes (though they don't do much to obscure their light when he opens them) and a ratty old Bludhaven Brawlers ballcap over a what would be a mop of unruly brown hair if he didn't shave it down to a buzz as often as he can, both to keep lice at bay and to not have something that could be easily grabbed onto attached to his head.

Finishing off his raggedy outfit is pair of equally raggedy black batting gloves, worn from use and full of holes, especially over the the index and middle knuckles of each hand revealing flesh that's almost always cut or scabbed-over from being a the punches he throws on a nightly basis.

All in all, not exactly the flashiest of costumes, but there is a subtle, unintentional genius to it in that when his eyes are closed, he is virtually indistinguishable from any other of the myriad homeless youth in Bludhaven, and is very likely to be ignored by any passers-by.

Civilian Appearance: To be perfectly honest... Malcolm doesn't really get out much, and the 'costume' listed above makes up pretty well all of the clothing he owns. So when he does go out to do normal homeless boy things, it's usually in the exact same outfit with his eyes closed beneath his goggles to hide their glow and the rag dangling around his neck. Those few that actually know him well enough to see him without all the headgear and his jacket, however, would see him for what he truly is; a pale, scrawny caucasian kid who looks more than a little hungry usually sporting some kind of cut or bruise and a crescent-shaped scar around his left eye which he owes to a broken beer bottle he took to the face and many more across his body, some of which are still healing.

His most defining feature, however, is clearly his eyes; in that, where there once was a steelish grey, there is now a fiery, glowing orange, visible even through the goggles he wears... which really puts a dampener on that whole 'Living a normal life in civilized society' thing, even for a homeless kid.

Icon:

Costumed Personality: Watchdog (as urban superstition has named Malcolm) is, by reputation, relentless, unyielding, fighting with the ferocity of a wild animal yet still having the uncanny precision to hit you exactly where it will hurt most. Preferring ambush and pragmatism to theatrics and any notion of a fair fight, Watchdog has a singular talent for adaptation and improvisation, leveraging anything and everything he can to his advantage while denying the same to his enemies and making up for his modest size with quick thinking and sheer determination.

All that said, Malcolm has no interest in fame or fortune, and high-tails it whenever he sees the press on their way. This has led to extraordinarily embellished tales of the lad in the local rumour mill, cobbled together by the people he's fought, those he's saved and anyone else who may have happened to spot him in the past year; Depending on who you ask, the 'Watchdog of Bludhaven' is either a bloodthirsty alien monster, some escaped government experiment living in the sewers or a vengeful spirit sent up from the depths of Hell itself to punish the wicked.

All of these guesses are, of course, completely insane.

...But, to be frank, "Starving homeless kid who sneaks up on crooks and beats them bloody with a lead pipe" is a pretty crazy statement in itself anyway, so who is anyone to judge?

Civilian Personality: Malcolm is, for lack of a better way of putting it, a walking, talking stereotype of the Bludhaven lower-class; brutally frank, indomitably stubborn, clever in the worst possible way and possessing a potent mixture of pluck and grit with a healthy dash of crazy. That said, the lad has a big heart... ironically, you'd have to in order to survive a Bludhaven slum, where everyone who isn't a gun-toting psychopath is all in it together, and has no small reserve of compassion and kindness, and would give you the shirt off his back if the ratty rag would get you through on more night... even if his words wouldn't exactly match his actions.

...Or at least, that's how he used to be.

Nowadays Malcolm is just... tired... and angry. Hardly sleeping as even when he closes his eyes, he can see all the violence and murder happening in the streets of Bludhaven through his eyelids and even when he does, his sleep is plagued by nightmares. Between all that and the fact that he's basically constantly on the verge of starving to death, the only things keeping the lad on his feet these days are rage and sheer force of will.

Super abilities:



Gadgets:
-A few bobby-pins for lockpicking.
-His dad's old Zippo.

Weapons:
-A foot-and-a-half long piece of lead pipe.

Civilian Occupation: None

Biography---------

Character History/Origin: Bludhaven, a city with many names; The Devil's Tongue, The Big Dirty, The Bloody Haven, The Blud, Gotham's Toilet, etc... it was here on a frigid February evening that John "Mad Jack" Talhaiarn, former United States Marine and current owner of the clothes on his back and not much else, happened upon a screaming newborn baby in a dumpster behind a biker bar and across the road from a Denny's.

Thinking quickly, the man lifted the screaming infant out of the trash and pulled him into the warm confines of his parka as he began trudging his way through the heavy winter's snow towards the shanty town he called home. Talhaiarn had no idea what hell he was doing, but after a lifetime of mistakes that had led him down dark paths, disgraced and astray from his beloved Corps, he vowed to himself and any God who may've been listening, he was at least gonna get this one thing right-

Saving this fucking kid.

It took a bit of doing, and a little help from his neighbours to scrounge up and MacGuyver everything necessary to care for a newborn, but somehow he pulled it off.

After a week or so, the kid stopped screaming so much and started giggling whenever he caught wind of the old Marine near his makeshift crib. A few days after that, he started calling him "Malcolm" after his old man.

And some time after that, John Talhaiarn, a man who was both a living legend and a disgraced outcast of the United States Marine Corps... began to actually enjoy life again.

If there was anywhere to start this story, this would be it.

Mad Jack's boy grew up in their little Shanty Town, comfortably nestled in a wide alleyway, stubborn, tough and clever. With a tongue and wit sharp as any bayonet his Dad'd ever held in his former life but a heart as big and as bright as the goddamned sun. Never having much, but never really needing anything his little community couldn't provide anyway, Malcolm spent most of his days scouring the slums for anything he, his dad and his neighbours could use to make their lives easier, getting into all sorts of trouble with the other slum kids and sitting around with his dad, raptly listening to (heavily censored) war stories from his days in the corps.

It wasn't an easy life, by any means- But he was happy, so he never really gave a shit.

Though, if you've ever read a comic book, you probably have a good idea where this is going...

In the opening weeks of 2020, the five-year-long turf war between an alliance of the local Chinese Tongs, Russian Mafia and Irish gangs against the invading Aquila crime family of Gotham was reaching it's end, with the Aquilas emerging as the clear victors. In order to hunt down their rapidly scattering enemies and to send a very clear message about who was in charge now, Don Michael Aquila hired a 'specialist' from his hometown to get the job done-

Firefly. A psychopath with a flamethrower.

The night of January 31st was a relatively standard one for Malcolm; his "Aunt" Lin was cooking dinner over a drum fire, the Mikhailovich brothers were arguing in a heated, Slavic sort of way about... something stupid, from what Malcolm could gather as their confrontation shifted back and forth between Russian when they didn't want the kids to understand what they were saying and Ukrainian when they were too mad to give a shit, and Malcolm was sitting with a bunch of kids around his dad, who played Johnny Cash on a (mostly) intact guitar he and Malcolm had found the year before and the Shanty Town's local mutt, affectionately named 'Fleabag', was sprawled belly-up on Malcolm's lap being smelly and aggressively affectionate.

All-in-all, pretty normal... until something caught Fleabag's attention and she started barking up a storm. That being a charred... thing that vaguely resembled a person and stank of burnt meat that shambled it's way into their alleyway, gargling and hissing only one thing on what was left of it's vocal chords as a massive figure stepped out from shadows behind it and leveled a malevolent-looking device in the direction of everyone present;

"Help... me..."

All Malcolm can recall of what happened next was the sight, sounds and smell of everyone he'd ever loved or cared about being roasted alive to the chorus of screams and the demented laughter of the owner of a single eye encircled by scarred and burned flesh which shone with insidious ecstasy at the scene before it. And after that, nothing.

The next thing Malcolm remembers is crawling out from underneath the charred remains of his father, his dog and all the other kids.

It was his birthday.

At first, he could do nothing but sit there, shaking and trembling in silence as his mind struggled to comprehend what he was looking at, before realization slowly set in.

Then the crying started. Followed by the screaming.

And as the screaming gradually changed in pitch from horror and denial to pure outrage, something in the boy broke. The fire that consumed his family and friends slowly ebbed it's way back into his vision and consumed the whole world as he comprehended it, revealing to him nothing but violence and horror no matter where he looked, regardless of whether he wanted to see it or not.

Seemingly trapped in an eternally burning hellscape of violence and horror that he could not escape, even when he closed his eyes and in a fragile mental state, he could've easily bent or broken down. Instead, he got mad.

He got real mad.

Unable to sleep while seeing what he could, the lad eventually lashed out, more out of spite than any sense of justice, throwing himself into the fray against the criminal life within his slum with the frenzied anger of a mad dog... and then never stopped.

And so it was, that the myth of the Watchdog of Bludhaven was born.

Optional information
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Nemesis: Firefly
Allies:
Team:
(These are probably blank, unless you're the Batman analogue)