”Pull!”

The green-furred gorilla spun around like an olympic thrower and let a clay disc fly; it was wearing a primarily white suit with black trim placed in a way to form a massive ‘X’ across its chest . Through his visor, Scott saw everything tinted in red, but that wasn’t anything new to him. Even the glasses Hank made especially for him had to be tinted red to hold the beams back. What was new was the assisted aiming and crosshair sight Hank outfitted the visor with. The crosshairs moved slightly within the visor and gave him a readout of the disc’s drop speed and the approximate moment to fire. When the sight lit up green, Scott pressed in on the button located in the center of the dial on the side of the visor. In midair the clay disc was struck with a beam of red energy and shattered. The gorilla clapped and spun around, grunting loudly. A moment later, it was replaced by a young man with green skin, cheering and clapping; the suit shrank down to match his body size. Another invention of Hank’s to aid the newly formed and approved field team.

”Yeah-ha! Nice shot, Scott! I mean… Cyyyclops!”

”Thanks, Gar. You’re getting the hang of shifting faster.”

”Thanks, man. And, it’s Beast Boy.”

A silver blur flew past the pair, kicking up a gust and rustling their hair. Pietro turned his head slightly as he rushed past Scott and Garfield. The amazing goggles Hank made for him were similar to Scott’s visor and allowed him to track targets around him even at high speed. They also served the purpose of acting as safety glasses to keep debris and the wind from hitting his eyes as he sped around and were even tinted to keep any glare off. Along with the goggles, Hank designed his suit to be resistant to the high rate of speed as well as have some extra cushioning and protection to his body. At the corner after passing his friends, Pietro skidded to a halt and reached down to grab a towel and water bottle. He dabbed at his forehead and neck before squirting some water into his mouth.

”Lookin’ good, P!”

Gar whooped and swung a fist around in the air. Pietro waved a hand at him with a smirk as he cracked his neck a few times. He’d have to mention to Hank to try and add a little more cushioning to the neck area and maybe some sort of cooling factor.

”Okay. Run Course 3.”

“Voice recognition: Pietro Maximoff… Confirmed. Running Course 3.”

The floor of the training room immediately began shifting and changing. Scott and Garfield left through the door leading up to the observation room to give Pietro some room. As they left, he stretched his legs and arms out briefly before taking off. In an instant he was a silver blur again, untraceable by the human eye. He beelined for a path between two shifting pillars of metal. The instant he clear them, the floor panel fell away, but with the goggles helping him track everything around him he was able to clear the gap in the floor. The moment his foot touched the ground, he was off again. A wall of pillars shot up from the floor, and he weaved around them then spun around a pillar that shot down from the ceiling. Pietro continued weaving through the shifting floor and ceiling.

From the observation room, Hank McCoy and Max Eisenhardt watched the silver blur dash around the room. Scott and Gar joined them a moment later. The computers tracked every team member’s vitals through their suits, and Hank watched them with interest. He read the numbers flashing across the many screens and muttered to himself as he crouched in his chair and chewed lightly on his glasses. Max, on the other hand, stood by the window and watched the blur down below.

”Hey, Doc McCoy, how fast is he going right now?”

Hank snapped himself out of his thoughts and turned his blue, fur-covered face toward the green youth.

"Ah, Garfield. His speed varies as he turns and ducks, but he accelerates back up the moment he's past an obstacle. On average, however, he's running around three hundred miles per hour. He's achieved faster in a straight test in a more open environment, but this test is simply for reaction time and to see how he does in more enclosed spaces."

”Uh… huh. Cool.”

Scott smirked as Gar’s face fell into a more confused look. He joined Magneto at the window and watched the silver blur rush through the shifting room. Max had a far away look on his face as he looked on. Meanwhile, Garfield had wandered away from Hank and over to the other viewing window overlooking the training room next door. Below, he could see Tara, Jubilee, and Jean training and testing their own suits out. Tara’s eyes flashed yellow as she reached out toward the mound of rocks the training room had produced for her. Pieces of the earth flew around her and launched at Jean. As the pieces sailed through the air at a high speed, Jean reached out with her mind and grabbed hold of several loose objects near her and used them to batter the pieces of earth away and deflect a few toward Jubilee with an extra push from her mind, her eyes flashing pink for a moment. Jubilee watched all five crosshairs light green from behind her own visor and let the energy building up in her fingertips go. From her hands came bright flashes and sparks of multi-colored light. The gloves Hank made her held up against the energy buildup as well as the release of energy. Each bolt of light slammed into a piece of debris or earth and shattered them before they could hit her.

The announcement had come yesterday that the six students training in the two rooms conjoined by the observation deck would be the first field team from Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Children. With the public’s discovery of the superhuman came those who would use their power against the public and cause terror. There were also those with power who stepped up to fight against them, and the X-Force team would be apart of those individuals now. After some intense training and tests they would be cleared by Charles Xavier and Max to enter the field. Of course, Magneto would be their supervisor in the field, and Pietro would act as the team lead. The goal, aside from helping those people in need and to find super-powered individuals living on the fringes of society and give them a place to belong, was for the team to further learn how to control their powers and for Max to eventually be able to let them into the field led solely by Pietro.

Character You're Applying For: Greg Saunders; Vigilante

Powers And Abilities:
Spirit of Vengeance- After surviving his experience in Hell, Vigilante has found himself possessed by the Spirit of Vengeance, thus making him the current Ghost Rider, though he has trouble controlling it once he does change. These abilities are extremely new to Vig, he does not yet fully understand the scope of his responsibilities as the spirit. Vigilante can transform into his Ghost Rider form through concentration, or he can be forced into it during life threatening situations. In this form, Vigilante becomes a skeletal version of himself, and his body, clothing, and motorcycle are wreathed in hellfire. While in this state, he is a degree faster, stronger, and more durable than any average man; and his motorcycle is much faster than an average bike. Additionally, his lariat dramatically increases in length, and is itself wreathed in hellfire. His guns can also fire hellfire bullets. The last ability this form grants is a signature ‘Penance Stare’. He can finish a sufficiently weakened opponent by staring into the depths of their very soul, forcing them to see and feel the pain they’ve inflicted upon others for eternity. Vig suspects this form may have more abilities, but he has yet to discover them.

Gunslinger- Even during his time as a normal man, Greg Saunders had a knack for his pistols. He was never masterful, but he more than knew his way around the range, and was certainly the best pistolero in Warpath. Since his time in Hell, Vigilante’s skills have sharpened a hundredfold. He hasn’t had much of a chance to test it, but Vig now reckons he’s one of the best marksmen in the world. He carries six revolvers on him, two on the front of his hips, two on the back, and two on his chest(Edward Kenway style).

Whipfighter- Vigilante had experience with his whip when he was alive, but being constantly knee deep in demons teaches a man to use every tool at his disposal. He’s grown very precise with his lariat, able to even reliably grab and throw objects with it. A few times he’s managed to use it to wrestle a weapon out of a demon’s hands.

Grease Monkey- Vigilante’s passion, before his life went to Hell(literally) was working on his motorcycle. He’s a little rusty, since he didn’t have much time for motorbike repair in Hell, but he’s excited to soup up his ride for his new responsibilities.

Origin And Backstory (In A Maximum Of Four Paragraphs):

Greg Saunders, on some level, always suspected that Warpath, Texas, was never meant for human habitation. There was an always has been a certain amount of strange to the place. Being born there, Greg would know that better than anybody. It was like a black hole to the curious and the supernatural -- always drawing them in. All the street corners had another magician who could tell your future for a dime, and every time the circus was in town, it was stranger than the last. The way his Pop described it, Warpath was a place where Hell and Heaven became kissing cousins, where reality and fictions bled together until you couldn’t tell ‘em apart no more. Greg always figured his Dad was joking around with him. Nothing stranger happened in Warpath than it would in any of the big cities. Greg would’ve been mostly right. Until things really started to get weird.

Sheriff Mort Saunders was just about the best Cop on the force, and the only one that really gave a shit. Things had a way of sorting themselves out in Warpath. Most of the offenses were just hack magicians trying to sell themselves on the mystique of the place, and swindle people out of their money. Anything worse than that was usually just petty crime. Anything that there was evidence of, anyhow. Reports would always come in from time to time. Murder, robbery, you name it; but when the Police would roll up, there’d be no evidence. Just ghosts and echoes. By the time Greg was nearing his twenty first birthday, Mort started mentioning a ‘New Case’ to him. Something that would ‘explain everything’. Six months later, he turned up dead in the first confirmed murder in the last twenty-five years of Warpath’s history. Greg took up Pop’s old revolvers and his whip, intent on delivering revenge to the sonsabitches who did this to his father. He swore on his grave to dedicate his life to the path of justice. The life of the Vigilante. The newly christened Vig spent two months tracking down and systematically eliminated a gang of bandits. As he worked his way through the higher ranking members, it was slowly becoming clearer and clearer that this was no ordinary Gang. It was a cult, devoted to finding something they called ‘The Miracle Mesa’. Vig never knew much about magic, but as he rolled up on the Cult for the final showdown, he could feel the air draw thinner. The closer he drew to them, the more he felt in a waking dream. The very reality around him seemed to pulsate with a kind of power, as if being touched by a force beyond mortal comprehension. It was around then that everything went to Hell.

Vigilante can still not accurately recall precisely what took place that day. In the face of the Miracle Mesa, reality peeled away, and all that was left was a nonsensical jangle of ideas, colors, feelings, and raw magic. What he does remember is bits and pieces. He remembers a blob of color, high in the sky, like you’d asked an abstract expressionist to design a city. He remembers emptying his pistols over and over again, shooting rounds into unholy abominations that spilled out of what seemed to be a hole in the world. What he remembers most of all is that he woke up in a place wholly unfamiliar to him, knee deep in demons.

Much like Warpath, Hell was… Unsuited to mortals, if Vigilante was still a mortal at all. God knows if he was dragged there through the Miracle Mesa, or if the demons spilling out of the thing killed him and brought him here. The one thing Vig knew for sure was that he had to get out. His experience of Hell was like a cryptic, corrupted version of the mortal plane. Everything was inverted, a perversion of itself. Everywhere was a veritable Sodom and Gomorrah, and just about all of the locals wanted him dead. In time, he found his pack. Six others who the Miracle Mesa had dragged in: Shining Knight, Jonah Hex, Johnny Frankenstein, Crimson Avenger, The Star Spangled Kid, and of course, good ol’ Stripsey. Time is a murky thing in Hell. They might’ve spent six months or a thousand years waging war on every manner of Demon and Monster they could find. However long it took them, on their way to demand passage out of the land of the damned from the Sultan of Sin himself, they ran across a demonic entity by the name of Mephisto. Mephisto’s bargain was simple: Safe passage out of Hell for Vig and all of his friends; in return for his mortal soul. By now The Seven Soldiers had learned a handful of lessons about survival in Hell. “Don’t deal with demons” was at the top of the list. In a pitched battle that lasted either a half hour or a month, the Soldiers, most of whom had all their limbs broken, were reasonably certain they’d hurt Mephisto. At least a tiny bit. Entirely beaten and with no other options, Vigilante stood up to the plate and laid down his soul, thus making him into Mephisto’s pawn, the Spirit of Vengeance. The current Ghost Rider. Now returned to Warpath, Vig and the Soldiers are planning their vengeance on Mephisto, and are seeking any magical help they can get. As Vig swore on his father's grave: Justice will be done.

What Makes This Character 'Ultimate'?:
This version of Vigilante alters his traditional origins, instead placing him in Warpath from the get-go. The idea here is to blend elements from many different versions of the character; literally the Ultimate edition. The main difference from those standard runs is its heavy focus on Saunders’ time in hell, which was otherwise just a bit of narration in a Jimmy Olsen comic. This version takes major inspiration from the raw weird that was Grant Morrison’s 7 Soldiers. There’s also the introduction of the Ghost Rider elements, which I did both to strengthen the idea of the DC and Marvel connection going on in this universe, but also to boost Vigilante’s power level, so he’s no slouch around some of the heavy hitters being brought in for this(as traditional Vig is just a grease monkey who is good with guns). On top of that, it lets Vig lean into the weird/supernatural that surrounds Hell and the West more effectively.

Supporting Characters:
Shining Knight - A medieval Knight encountered in Hell. He stumbled across the Miracle Mesa while battling with Morgan Le Fay. He swears he owned a winged horse by the name of Winged Victory, and thinks it must be alive somewhere in the world.

Jonah Hex - 1800's Bounty Hunter that Vig met in Hell. He ran into the Miracle Mesa while tracking down a Bounty.

Frankenstein - Another person Vigilante encountered in Hell. He stumbled into the Miracle Mesa sometime in the late 1700s.

Crimson Avenger - The first man Vigilante encountered in Hell. Small time hero of the early 1940s. He typically did things quietly enough that neither SHIELD nor CADMUS came down on him. While tracking down a case, he encountered the Miracle Mesa.

Star Spangled Kid and Stripsey - Star Spangled Kid, former sidekick to Captain America, and his sidekick Stripsey themselves stumbled onto Miracle Mesa themselves in the late 1940’s, and have been in Hell since. That is, until Vig sprung them.

Billy Gunn - Old family friend and current Sheriff of Warpath.

Mephisto - Technically, Mephisto is Vigilante’s current Boss. The demon is responsible for his Ghost Rider abilities and his escape from Hell.

Sample Post:


Additional Notes:
-I tried my best, but I just couldn’t find the name of Vig’s Dad. But his original creators were both guys named Mort, so Mort Saunders was born.

-Why yes, yes I did ignore traditional paragraph rules and common sense in order to make my backstory fit the requirement. I really tried to keep it brief but most all of the details in there I thought were too important to cut out, and I really needed them to sell the concept.

Standard Scarab Technology Array, MK VI
Jaime Reyes - Human Host
Handcuffs
Glock 17
SHIELD Rifle
Johnny's Cellphone
FBI Radio
F-22 Raptor Engine

---

---

Unknown

Molasses dripped from his bones as Jaime Reyes found himself confronted by his own awakening. It was like a slow-mo punch to the lip- Jaime could feel his face crumpling under the knuckles, but everything was moving so slowly that he felt no inclination to stop it.

His eyes flickered open lazily, like it was a particularly quiet summer Sunday. Every inch of his body had a dull, obnoxious ache lingering in it. Reyes didn't know why. Had he, for God knows what reason, decided to join the Football team last night? Wandered his way into El Paso High's quarterback position and found himself on the business end of a three hundred pound seventeen year old?

Jaime went to rub the sleepiness from his eyes, yet found his hands uncooperative.

"Huh?" The boy murmured, tugging at them again. Something caught on both wrists. Something cold and unforgiving against his weak pulls.

That was when he finally noticed where he was. He was sitting in front of a stainless steel table in room caked in shadow. Judging by the coolness under his tush, Reyes could guess the chair was of a similar make to the table.

He noticed, too, that he was not alone.

"Jaime Reyes. Sixteen. Resident of El Paso, visiting Washington, D.C for...recreational purposes."

Seated on the opposite side of the table was a man that could be described as part high school physics teacher and part serial murderer. Straw-colored hair had been slicked back with thick slabs of hair gel, and a pair of even thicker-rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his hawkish nose. What caught Jaime's eye, however, was the symbol on his shoulder.

The eagle of SHIELD.

It hit him like a semi-truck barreling down the highway. The haze he'd woken up with was lifting. Yesterday...He hadn't played Football yesterday. No, Jaime could remember there being way, way too much blood for that. "Ohhh no, no...ahh shit! Fuck! Hostia-"

"Son," The agent's voice rose above Jaime's, the laugh lines on his face loosening at the sight of the kid's panic. "I need you to stay calm for me, alright? I know you've..." There was a pause, his expression shifting as he searched for the proper word. There wasn't a word for something like this. Not one that would help.

"You've been through a lot, son, but I'm here to help you. My name is Jasper. Jasper Sitwell. I'm an agent of SHIELD. You know what SHIELD is, right?"

Reyes snapped his eyes shut, letting the darkness choke out the light. His nose flared and air shot into his nostrils. He had to remember more. All he had were bits and pieces, but try as he might it felt like a fog had fallen over his mind. Like his thoughts were being hidden from him. It made his chest tighten. "Why can't...why can't I remember?"

With a sigh, Sitwell brought a manila folder into view. He must've had it open in his lap. "Well, I can walk you through what happened. You're not going to like it, but it's better we pull the band-aid off now. No use in trying to hide it."

He flipped the file open, revealing the printed report tucked away inside. It was titled 'Incident Report #4217 - Smithsonian.'

Jasper began to read in a slow, deliberate drawl. His voice was clinical and detached. "At approximately twelve thirty in the afternoon, Jaime Reyes entered the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. At one forty five he entered the Bialya exhibit, where Special Interest Object number four-two-one-seven was being displayed. The object activated when Jaime entered within approximately eight meters..."

As the words flowed from the man's baritone cords, Jaime let himself go back there. He allowed his mind to slip back into memories locked away. He was standing in the museum, right behind Brenda and Paco. They were nerding out over some old piece of armor, talking about Caesar salads or something. Reyes could feel himself growing anxious and bored when he finally decided to tell them he was 'going to the bathroom.' His excuse for running off to find something better to do.

He...remember the banner over the Bialya exhibit catching his eye. He had heard about Bialya being a war torn hellhole in Civics class. It sounded kinda entertaining, at least. That brought Reyes coasting inside, not chasing anything in particular.

Then he saw it. Jaime could remember what it looked like as if he were standing right in front of it at that moment. A piece of art, made of some...odd metal that had lost it's sheen a long time ago. It was shaped like some kind of bug. The long, almost knife-like legs gave Reyes the creeps. He could've sworn he remembered seeing those legs twitching.

"Dios mío..." The boy rasped, his voice barely above a frozen whisper. The room had grown colder. He swore he felt a chill rushing along his bare arms, eliciting goosebumps to rise along his tan flesh.

"...Four-two-one-seven entered a liquid state and broke the glass around it's display. It crossed the ground, passing by a number of other people as it made it's way directly toward Reyes. The Object crawled up the side of his leg and around his body, making it's way up until it reached the mouth. It entered into Reyes's body..."

Jaime could feel it, then. He could feel something cold tingling at the back of his throat. It was wet and sticky, like milk that'd been left out on the counter too long. That thing...it was too fast for Jaime. It moved up under his clothes, making a sound like nails in a blender played over a little girl's scream. Jaime could feel it moving. he could feel it inside of him.

Reyes wrapped his fingers around the handcuffs that kept him tied to the table. He pulled at them fiercely, air coming into his lungs in short, sharp bursts. Why was he locked up? Wasn't he the victim here? Why wasn't he in the hospital after that thing attacked him?

Agent Sitwell only glanced up at the rapidly unfurling teenager for a second. He had to continue reading: this was the part that really mattered, after all. "Once inside, the Object appeared to fuse with the subject. The liquid state metal that had entered his body came back out of his pores, encasing Reyes's body. Reyes then began to scream in an unidentified language, and..."

Jaime kicked the table hard enough for it to bounce in place. He kicked it again, and again, and again. A rumbling, anguished scream turned his throat raw as the fog finally lifted and the full extent of his actions was revealed. "STOP!" Reyes pleaded, tears stinging in the corners of his eyes. He shook his head with vicious conviction, fighting against his restraints like a man possessed. "Please- shut...shut up! Shut the fuck up! PLEASE."

He wanted it to stop. It needed to stop. He couldn't...this didn't happen. He couldn't have done this.

"Reyes's arms transformed into unidentified energy weapons of potentially extraterrestrial origin, likely as a result of his fusion with four-two-one-seven. Reyes opened fire into the crowd of panicked, fleeing people-"

Reyes threw his body backward. The chair he was in tipped, letting him tumble backward. The table was dragged along with Jaime during the fall with a screech of it's legs against the floor. He wasn't screaming anymore. His throat was too raw, and he could no longer find his voice. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. All he could see was the blood. The blood and the people trying to run away from him.

Sitwell stopped. He set the file down on the table with an utter, complete calm. Rising up from his own seat, the gangling agent took a step around the table and toward Jaime. "I know. I know." Jasper tried to comfort him, his voice low and fatherly as he bent down toward the crying boy. "I'm sorry-"

The sound of chains snapping caused Jasper's eyes widening. Before he could draw his sidearm, a fist coated in black and blue armor grabbed him by the collar. "Jaime, don't-"

With strength unknown to his arms, Reyes felt himself toss Sitwell across the interrogation room. The agent let out a cry as his back slammed against the harsh steel and he went tumbling down to the ground. The door was thrown open, several men in identical uniforms rushing inside with pistols drawn.

"I- I didn't mean to-" Jaime rasped, finding his voice overtaken by another, far stronger one.

'Jaime Reyes, I am Khaji Da. You are in mortal danger- let me help you.'

Issue #1 (scroll up ya dummy)
Issue #2
Issue #3
Issue #4
Issue #5
Issue #6
Issue #7
Issue #8
Issue #9
Issue #10
Issue #11
Issue #12
Issue #13
Issue #14
Issues #15 & #16
Issue #17

Issue #1
Issue #2
Issue #3
Issue #4
Issue #5
Issue #6
Issue #7
Issue #8

[url=http://]Season One Epilogue[/url]