Barbara Leigh-Anne Kimble

Professor Bad-Ass, Bobbi

Female

24

Bobbi is a scrawny little bit of a thing. While having some shape, she certainly isn't the sort of curvy pin-up minx she would like to be. Her small stature and slender build are things that she wholeheartedly will take advantage of; be it the way small girls are fetishized or proving that even small girls can kick butt.

She has angular features, high cheekbones, and a clear cut jaw. Her face, and some other things, are littered with freckles and she loves them. She makes no attempt to cover them and generally goes for more natural make-up. Nude lipsticks/gloss and if she is feeling extra fancy she will give herself a sharp wing-tip and prefers blue or purple for eyeshadow. She tends to not wash the make-up from her face and so will sometimes have a smudgy look around her eyes and a stained pillowcase. Her skin is a light bronzed color, mostly from her genes and less from time spent in the sun. She has scars over her forearm and thighs from self-harm committed in the past.

Her black hair is typically straight, though in more humid weather it may start to frizz and become wavy. She doesn't care much about it and keeps it long despite this giving her a near constant bed-head. Unless she decides to brush it that day. Bobbi typically keeps her hair down, but on special occasions may give herself a "Grande" ponytail. Despite her style, she only has a couple of piercings. Most in her ears but she does have a nose ring. She also doesn't have any tattoos. They are much too expensive and she would rather eat.

Her favorite? Leather. Leather. More leather. Bobbi has a preference for black, shiny, and tight. Tank tops, biker jacket, metal studs, high waisted leather pants, thick boots. She is the epitome of a 50's greaser chick. When she is feeling girlie she loves herself some heels and fishnets. However, they are not practical so she almost never wears them. Mostly though, she wears what she can get her hands on and is not one to actually care about her clothes or getting dirty. Jeans, sweatshirts, a sheet cut and tied - whatever as long as it is form fitting and comfortable.

| Outgoing | Wild | Irresponsible | Easy-going | Commitment Issues | Open | Loud | Laughs Easily | Personable |

Bobbi sees herself as a fun and adventurous person. She doesn't stay in one spot for long and makes friends easier that Mattel makes money. She is open, welcoming, and delightful. She is quick to share anecdotes from her past, give wholesome advice, and take the youngins under her wing. Unfortunately, this can sometimes lead to trouble as she doesn't always make the best of decisions. She tends to be flighty or flaky, easily distracted and pulled away to other, more interesting things. She has been known to abandon her friend at a bar in order to go home with some lovely someone or another for a fling. Bobbi can't seem to help herself and has never been able to keep a consistent relationship due to this. She tends to get caught cheating.

Loud, opinionated, and wild she can be a constant thorn in a more reasonable person's side. Despite her fear of commitment, this doesn't mean she doesn't care. Despite her more negative traits, she can be a motherly and soothing person. Bobbi is not the sort to judge a book by its cover and is typically a more "relaxed" and easy going sort of person. She doesn't take direction or demands all that well but can be persuaded through bribery. When flustered, embarrassed, or upset in some way she has a tendency to chain smoke and space out, in a way dead to the world as she is lost in her own thoughts. A sort of disassociation with realty for a bit. Sometimes she comes out of it on her own, other times she may have to be "woken up." She does genuinely care about people and wants to see them happy. She just puts herself first and is more likely to run from a fight than help. That's how she has made it this far in life.

⫸Driving: Since she got her license she has never stopped. She is best with motorbikes but can handle a car or truck (typical road, no semi) with ease. After all, there is some money to be made street racing.
⫸Iron Liver and the Bottomless Pit: Girl can drink like a sailor and eat like a football player.
⫸Mechanic: Partially self-taught, again mostly motorbikes but she has had quite a bit of experience with cars. She has worked on both as a way to earn pay when she is not involved in certain other activities.
⫸Street Fighting: Dirty, cheating, no holds barred sort of fighting. It is not nice and not stylized. You do what you have to and look for any weak point you can exploit. She also uses her petite stature and limberness to work against larger opponents.
⫸Billiards/Pinball: Well, you gotta have something to do when you are drinking. And ain't nothing as satisfying as a successful hustle.

Miss Barbara was born without a father, to some street bitch in New Orleans. Bobbi never learned the woman's name besides Mama. Though some men called her Harriet. Harriet the Harlot. That wasn't her real name but it was what everyone else called her. She grew up among garbage littered across the floor, vomit all over the toilet, and needles emptied of mysterious substances strewn about. She never forgot to put on her shoes before getting out of bed.

When she was about five, her Mamma got a boyfriend. Paul. Paul kept the house clean, he had an amazing corporate job which paid good money. Harriet didn't have to sell it on the corner anymore, though she still struggled with addiction. Paul's predilection, however, was for Bobbi. And generally girls Bobbi's age. She never had friends over. Perhaps twice a week he started those nightly visits after Harriet would relax with a needle in her arm. And then there were all of the presents. Toys, dolls, and jewelry. The one she adored most looked like a little cage with a softly glowing white bird inside. And for years this weird sort of symbiosis between Mama and Paul continued. Bobbi let it be, for a while. She knew nothing else and she had to admit it was nice to not have to wade through piles of chip bags, condoms, and pill bottles. Never knowing if something was piss or puke soaked.

When Bobbi was 9 she just couldn't handle another nightly visit. Four years she pretended for a mother who should have known but didn't give a fuck. So, while he began his usual ritual on top of her, she slit that fuckers belly. The knife? Well, it came from someplace beyond and disappeared shortly after. Being a child she wasn't charged. She was just acting up. Her grades were bad, she was often in detention. She was just an unruly thing. Paul didn't press charges. He also didn't come back.

Mama had gotten used to a clean house, nice clothes, and a constant/reliable source of drugs. And so it was up to Bobbi to keep it so. Almost military, really. Tuck in sheets, clean corners with toothbrushes... Run down to the corner and get some Xanax. Mama had begun to expect a lot from her daughter and laid hands on her when it didn't meet her newly upgraded expectations.

It is about here we come to Bobbi's teenage years. She falls in with the "wrong" crowd. She discovers drugs and booze. 13 and she had a connection for anything she wanted. Paul had also come back into their lives. He'd had a daughter you see. Julia. And Julia needed a mother. Bobbi had grown much too old for him and no nightly visits happened. She knew he was getting everything he wanted from Julia though. She saw the signs, the presents, and everything made her sick. It was a big hit to her and she felt as if nothing mattered any longer.

Bobbi started hanging around this 30-year-old guy, Happy. Happy liked to pamper her, keep her drugged up, and just take pictures. Bobbi didn't mind so much. He made her feel pretty and worthwhile. Slowly then came the prostitution. She relished it, the power she had over men, the looks on their faces. In return she got drugs and Happy got paid. Bobbi did this for about six months before Happy disappeared.

When she no longer had this source of sex and drugs, she returned to a life with Paul and Harriet. She behaved and got clean, got her drivers license and loved the freedom of it. It made it easy to stay away and to ignore what was happening in her household. She would hang out in garages, go to illegal rallies, and dated men much too old for her. But they had cars, they knew about cars, taught her mechanics, and best of all... they had drugs. At this time she mostly indulged in booze and marijuana.

16 - two years later, that was when she'd had enough. High on some sort of meth mixture that she had been unknowingly dosed with, she came home. She walked down the hall full of regret and self-hatred, staggering and knocking a picture off the wall. There was a muffled cry. A shushing sound. And a rage formed in her belly she couldn't describe. She kicked the door of Julia's room in and it flew from the hinges. She reached out a hand and grabbed onto something. Something wooden. Upon looking she found that most of her arm had disappeared into a ring of soft white light that was just large enough for her arm to get through. Bobbi pulled and out came a sledgehammer. Its head was shiny black and it sparkled like stars. The deep red-brown of the wood was carved with symbols she could not read. None of the mattered now though.

She turned on Paul and gave him the beating of a lifetime. Bobbi didn't know if she killed him or not. In her drugged haze she looked at Julia. The girl was terrified and in the corner, sheets pulled up over her nose. "You have blood on your cheek," Julia said. Bobbi reached a hand up and smeared it away. There was a lot of blood. Everywhere. The hammer had disappeared. When she turned around her mother was there, glaring at her. "Get. the fuck. out. of. my. house. now."

And so she did. Just walked out. Bobbi knew how to live a life without having to rely on others. So she did everything she had to. After meeting up with some of her car friends and explaining what happened, she learned about an underground fighting ring. Specifically for Metahumans. Betting was common there. People liked to watch the Deltas duke it out. And so she fought under the name Professor Bad-Ass. Oh, how she fought. Each blow was like hitting her mother back. At first, she lost a lot. With time she got better. She drove and worked and did everything she could to survive.

At 17 she met Gray. Gray was gentle, sweet, and loving. She was ashamed to admit, but she could not help herself. She often cheated. He was the one to help her gain mastery of pinball. It was sort of an obsession for him. Gray also enjoyed heroin, which she hated. Here she fell deeper into a world filled with drugs and crime. Occasionally she indulged, marijuana and cocaine perhaps, and with her outgoing and charming personality met a grand amount of crazy characters. She lived a passionate life with a man who loved and adored her. But she was fucking scum. She did what she could to get him off of heroin. Gray overdosed six months into their relationship and she used the money he left her and sold all of his possessions to buy a motorbike and travel. She couldn't stand the feeling of being tied down any longer. She couldn't stand to look at anything to do with Gray. She has not touched a pinball machine since.

Travel she did. She followed bands, joined the rainbow road for maybe half a year. When she fought she discovered two new weapons - Major Medical Bills and Sheriff Nap-Time. Her life was one of inconsistency and chaos. Nothing seemed to matter.

She wasn't sure when it happened. 18, nearly 19 now and her life had never amounted to very much. Maybe it started at the end of her rainbow road adventure, having to take a seventeen-year-old girl to the hospital because she was OD'ing. Something about this lifestyle of drugs and how she had even lasted this long... It was too much. It was time for a change. She started going to NA and has been clean of all drugs for nearly five years. Well... she drinks and smoke, but we all have to have a vice right? She still travels. She still fights and is better at it without the haze of high. She makes friends wherever she goes, being the jovial sort of person she is. But she has admitted to herself it is a lonely existence. Things are getting harder to deal with. She attempted suicide once but was caught by the girl she was staying with before it all could end. She has spent two years of her life in a psych ward and is now ready to face the world again. She even got her teeth professionally cleaned and fixed up. But... What else is out there for her?

Captain K.O. - An average sized sledgehammer. The top, hammer part appears to be made out of some sort of solid stone with glittery white speckles inside of it. The handle is made of a red-brown, rusty colored wood. White symbols or runes are etched into it in a language she doesn't understand. Her most trustworthy of weapons.
-Major Medical Bills - A claymore made from the same sort of sparkling black stone as K.O. The handle is pure white silver and wrapped with a rusty colored leather. Similar runes of glowing white appear on the sword near its hilt. This is her most inconsistent and hardest weapon to pull through.
-Sheriff Nap-Time - This is a buckler shield which, at most, covers her torso. It is lined with the silver metal and the outside of the sparkling black stone. This is attached to the red-brown wood and the handles made from the rusty leather. The white runes appear on the inside.

Jonathan Elijah Doyle

Officer Doyle
Sheriff
Cowboy

Male

41 - 05/11/1978

Jonathan Doyle is an old man from a different world, and he bears that fact in the way he carries himself. His shoulders slump heavy and low and dark bags hang like dead men underneath his sharp, judgmental eyes. A crooked nose, broken after one too many fistfights, sits center on his wrinkled face. A thin and stubbly mesh of facial hair stays glued to his flat chin, never getting quite as long or bushy as John would like.

Before time sanded away his best features, he liked to think he was quite handsome. Though not very tall, he was muscular and strapping, once upon a time; but age has taken away a degree of his form's definition, and left him with a slight gut and arms that are a shadow of their former selves. His hair, however, suffered the worst of it. He's felt his hairline creep further and further up his head with each passing year, his shame for it matched only by what he feels for the growing bald spot that crowns the top of his dome.

Only a few scars can be found across his body, though each holds a great deal of significance to him. He earned his first, a rather small mark across his left eyebrow, in a bar fight with a man that was eyeing Doyle's future wife. His second came to him when a Taliban put a bullet through the upper portion of his right forearm. The rest all appeared in the same, short time frame when an IED blew up underneath his squad's Humvee and a spray of shrapnel cut into him from his left thigh up to his bellybutton.

The only ink to cover his body's ugly mural is the emblem of the 10th Mountain Division, with its duel bayonets crossing over one another atop a powder keg-shaped background. Right beneath it are the numbers 1/78, indicating his battalion and regiment, respectively. The tattoo sits just off-center, resting above his heart.

Doyle is typically seen wearing sheriff's uniform of Donovan County, Georgia. He holds no shortage of pride in bearing that seven-pointed star and that old campaign hat of his, even after eight years of consecutive service. The uniform's top is long sleeved and khaki colored, bearing on it his badge and a nameplate for identification purposes. The pants, meanwhile, are olive green and feature a khaki stripe down the exterior sides. His campaign hat, adorned with his county badge and golden cords, match the shade of his slacks.

When not on duty John tends to favor simplistic and rustic attire. Long sleeve button downs, blue jeans, and a brown, belt-leather jacket all serve him well most of the time. His choice of boots (oft either cowboy or some variant of combat, depending on the setting) and hat (nearly always some form of cowboy hat) are a source of mockery for how out of place they make him look in Palm Beach, but John isn't the sort to ever adapt to his environment, so he chooses to continue dressing like he's still in Pickett's Ridge.

The only jewelry he'll ever wear is the golden, smudged ring that rests on the ring finger of his left hand.

GUNSLINGING || John's father took him to the range for the first time when he was eleven years old, and he's never quite stopped shooting since. His time in Afghanistan refined his shooting skill with long weapons like rifles and carbines, while his years as a deputy and sheriff have allowed him to master the revolver and shotgun. His greatest claim to fame, thus far, was putting a bullet through the eye of a Delta at 40 yards.

DRIVING || Life on the farm often saw young Jonathan behind the wheel of a pickup or the tractor as early on as twelve years old. As he grew older and more experienced and learned that running over Miss Graham's mailbox was generally a bad thing, John became steadily more comfortable as a driver. His career peaked when he started taxiing infantrymen across the Rigestan in a fat, sluggish HMMWV. He's been stuck with his'87 Chevrolet Caprice cruiser for the past eight years, though it has served him well: more than one drunken fool thought they could outrace the law and found themselves in a pair of cuffs not but half an hour later.

BOXING || John had plenty of downtime in Afghanistan between his duties, and he and his buddies decided the best way to spend that free time was to beat the shit out of each other. They found themselves a boxing coach at Bagram Airfield, put together a makeshift ring, and spent many a night drinking and punching one another. Doyle liked it well enough that he decided to continue practicing when he returned to the States, though his duties as a deputy and then a sheriff kept him from pursuing it too seriously. Still, he keeps his fundamentals polished enough, and it's served him well against many a belligerent idiot who tried to swing on him first.

ADMINISTRATION & COMMUNITY RELATIONS || No amount of rootin', tootin' or shootin' can make up for a sheriff that doesn't know how to file a report or deal with an angry citizen. It's far, far from John's favorite part of the job, but he wouldn't have gotten it if he couldn't do it. He's an organized person that works best with physical filing and paper in his hands, typically passing off anything digital to his secretary or one of the deputies. Doyle is generally well-liked in Pickett's Ridge and the rest of Donovan County, and he has a good rapport with the majority of the community thanks to his decisiveness in dealing with trouble and open-door, honesty-first policy.

A child was born in the tiny Georgian town of Picket's Ridge on a Thursday, minutes after the crack of dawn. John Doyle was a rowdy boy in his youth who spent his days reading comic books about cowboys, watching re-runs of Gunsmoke and running about town with his friends shooting invisible banditos with their cap guns. He had a penchant for picking fights with bullies and getting knocked on his rear-end fightin' for guys littler than himself; John didn't win too many of those fights, but that didn't stop him from jumping right back into it. His obsession may have lessened when he became a teenager, yet it never quite went away. He never quite stopped daydreaming about small-town heroes who did right by normal people and fought evil whenever they came across it.

His own chance to be a hero came in 2001 when evil men attacked his countrymen and changed the world forever. John would be hard pressed to find New York on a map, but he still felt righteous anger in his heart at the wrong that had been done to them. So he found the army recruiting office in Valdosta, said some sorta oath, and was promptly shipped off to the other side of the country to become a soldier. He was placed in the 10th Mountain Division, 1st battalion, 87th Regiment, and deployed to the God forsaken hellhole that was a Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. He arrived in the Middle East in December of 2001 and spent much of the next four months patrolling empty mountains and trying not to fall asleep during guard duty. He didn't make contact with the enemy until March in the Shahi-Kot Valley, during Operation Anaconda. He was lucky enough to have been part of the relief forces, so he faced the easiest of the fighting- though he still took a bullet through the arm and spent a week trying desperately to keep his head attached to his shoulders.

For as terrifying as combat was, John was surprised by how much closer he got to his squadmates during it all. Nothing makes closer bonds between two people than being stuck in a foxhole for eight hours, bodies pressed together and both of you smelling like shit. Doyle and his mates continued to enjoy their comradery for another three years, fighting and living side by side against a faraway foe. Things got sticky at times, sure, but they'd all been lucky enough to avoid anything life-threatening. The thing that came closest to killing them was boredom.

Until they ran over an IED.

Everyone in the transport was hurt in some way. John was peppered with shrapnel and wouldn't be able to walk properly for nearly a year. One of the boys didn't make it, in the end, and all of them would go on to be medically discharged for their injuries. Doyle returned back home to Pickett's Ridge in 2004 and received a hero's welcome. He spent the next three years in physical therapy for his wounded leg, sweet-talking one of the nurses at the clinic, an old spitfire from high school he never quite stopped thinking about named Abigail, until she finally caved and agreed to marry him. They had a son within the year, Marcus, and a daughter, Rose, followed just after him.

John was elated when his doctor finally cleared him to work again. He'd been sick of staying in bed, and he'd already seen every Western movie ever made at least twice by then. It didn't take long for him to find his way to the County Sheriff's office, where a deputy's badge was practically pinned on his chest the moment he walked in the front door. He spent the next four years patrolling Donovan and learning the ins and outs of the community. He found a passion for the work and dove head first into it, proving himself a capable peace officer and a trustworthy face in the community. By the time the sheriff election rolled over, nearly everyone was saying he should go for it. Doyle figured he might as well give it a shot; it might even be a little fun.

It turned out that the only difference between being a sheriff and being a deputy was the amount of paperwork quadrupled and his allotted time for sleep was cut in half. The first year of service was stressful, tiresome and all-around awful, but Abi refused to let him quit. He was forced to adapt to his circumstances and rely on others to lighten the burden for him. Things became far easier once he got used to delegating and organizing things, doing his best to mimic his sergeant's mindset from back in Afghanistan. By the time his third year had rolled around, Sheriff Doyle had grown fond of the position, no matter how frustrating some days might've gotten. He came to appreciate how much effort and passion it required of him. Some small part of him loved finally getting to play the gunslinging, hometown hero he'd imagined himself as when he was a kid.

Fast forward to 2019. Pickett's Ridge is as quiet as ever one, lonesome afternoon, and Sheriff Doyle is investigating a noise complaint at the Rusty Iron Motel in the southern part of town. A couple of young tourists were having a very loud, very angry spat, according to the motel's owner, so John was meant to swing by and see what the issue was. One of the motel's occupants was an infamous Delta criminal that went by the street name 'Warmonger.' He and three of his crew were hiding out in Pickett's Ridge after robbing a bank down in Charity City. They were planning to keep their heads down for a few months before they'd take the cash and split up. Evidentally a few of them weren't keen on waiting out, and their argument swiftly turned to violence. By the time Doyle and his deputies had arrived, Warmonger had already murdered his entire crew with his bare hands, and he was holed up in the motel room with the cash and their battered corpses.

Doyle hadn't known he was dealing with a metahuman at the time. Rather than start a protracted siege, he stacked up on the door with his men and decided to breach it. Deal with the threat quickly, before any damage could be done. Warmonger responded violently. John still remembers quite clearly the look on his deputy's face when he put two shotgun shells right into Warmonger's chest only for the Delta to tear him limb from limb. John and his men tried to retreat, but Warmonger followed, and their battle spilled out over Pickett's Ridge's streets. Nine dead, twenty-eight wounded and an hour later, John managed to put a bullet through the metahuman's eye and Warmonger went down. The sheriff handed temporary authority over to his second and proceeded to join federal and state law enforcement in escorting the Delta back to Charity City. John has been asked to stay in the city for awhile while 'Warmonger' is processed and the investigation is rounded out. As tired of it all as he was, Doyle agreed- he'd do anything he could to make sure that monster went away for life.

Unbeknownst to John, his fight with the Delta exposed him to energy that would soon change his life forever.

Type-White

Urban Manipulation/Influence || John Doyle possesses the ability to speak to, influence and manipulate urban environments. His power works in any environment shaped by human hands, though is typically strongest when in larger cities and towns. They tend to manifest to himself in the form of 'spirits' that embody whatever part of town he happens to be in, though John isn't sure these entities are real; in fact, he's convinced that these 'ghosts' are just how his mind processes the new information gleaned from his powers. And any backlash he receives from them is most likely spawned from him losing control of his abilities and misusing them in some form or another.

The amount of power that John has in any area is tied directly to his relationship with these 'ghosts;' those that he's more familiar with will be more willing to share information with him, or manipulate the city in some way to help Doyle. If he travels to a new area and encounters a new ghost it isn't likely to do much at all for him, and can even hinder Doyle if he asks too much of them.

The best method for John to befriend a part of the city is to do things for it. Anything from stopping graffiti artists to picking up trash can make a ghost warm up to him. Certain parts of the city might like it if he does favors for its best residents, or they might ask that he goes and sabotages another portion of the city for their enjoyment. The ghosts are an odd bunch, and each neighborhood and district talks and feels like its own, free-thinking person- as impossible and insane as that should be.

Examples of what his powers can do would include unlocking doors for him, pointing him toward escape routes, or helping him track down someone that recently came through an area. When Doyle has fully befriended a part of the city he might be able to form potholes in roads to stop escaping vehicles or cause street lamps to fall atop an attacker, or a trash can might launch itself at someone for him. His abilities never get too incredible- he'll never be bending streets like they're the tide or moving buildings around. They aren't particularly helpful in combat unless John can figure out a way to use them more creatively.

John's power is limited directly by the place he's in. In a town like Pickett's Ridge where he's served faithfully for much of his life, Doyle can assume that the ghosts will be more than willing to help him out when he asks them to. But in Charity City, he's a stranger. An outsider that hasn't proven himself quite yet. He'll need to familiarize himself with Charity first- to roam its streets and do good by its people- before the ghosts are willing to do anything for him.

Generally, Doyle is only able to interact with the city if its within 50 or so meters of himself. Anything beyond that is outside of his range. A neighborhood will usually remember the people that came through it for roughly two hours afterward with the trail tending to go cold not long after that, and Doyle can only follow someone's tracks if he knows who he's looking for. If John asks a neighborhood's ghost to do something to the detriment of a long-time resident, he'll usually be outright denied if not treated with disdain by the entity, provided he can't convince the ghost that the resident is bad for the neighborhood.

John's powers no longer function once he leaves civilization. Generally, this line is drawn at the city or town's limits, though he loses influence the further he gets from the center.

John can feel the pain of a neighborhood's ghost, especially if it's one he has a close bond with. Anything from a building being demolished, to graffiti being put on a wall, or a fire burning somewhere within it can all cause varying levels of pain for him. It's even possible for Doyle to feel this pain when he's far away from those ghosts- while this can help warn him that trouble's afoot, it also has the potential to debilitate or distract him.

Asking the spirit of a neighborhood to do too much at once, or something too severe can cause it to lash out against him. This could result in anything as mild as John stepping in dog shit to something as severe as him being hit by a car.

Doyle himself isn't the young man he used to be. Almost anyone under thirty-five can reliably outrun him, and his stamina keeps him from winning any sort of fist fight that isn't over in the first round of punches. On top of that, his bad leg has a habit of 'acting up' after too much use, so he's even more useless in a protracted chase of any kind.

Mira or Kash (Because some people can' say her name right!)

She also thinks that it's cute when people call her Doctor Sarai.

Female

23

It's not difficult to tell where Kashmira was born and raised. Her facial features and skin tone are distinctly featured from the Indian-sub continent (the southern area, of course), and she speaks with a very thick Indian accent - however she dresses more "American" than a walking stereotype (that's only for special occasions). The girl seems to carry herself with caution in mind, she usually takes slow steps but most of all watch her step. She usually keeps her hands together in front of her, or at her sides. A lot of people get the idea that she's rather tense given the way that she carries herself and the fact that she's very easy to startle. It's not the case innately, but she unintentionally gives off that kind of impression.

In terms of build, Kashmira is a very small girl at just an inch below five-feet due to genetics alone. The girl finds it easy for herself to get into small spaces but always find it incredibly hard to get noticed. She's extremely slim, bony, even due to a mixture of her diet and the fact that she practices yoga every day so she gets plenty of exercises. She doesn't have a whole lot of muscle-tone nor does she have a lot of body fat, but what fat she does have is merely padding for the girl. She has some curves with 36Bs and some hips, but nothing that'd make heads turn. India is a very diverse place, and Kashmira has roots from the Keralite people (and other Indians mixed in but they're rather distant). Her skin tone is a little dark but nothing major and she has a very pronounced nose with a large nose ring, and her eyes are large and a brown color - packing a striking gaze within them. Kashmira has long shoulder-length hair that's a dark brown color and is very well-maintained, and it's naturally a little wavy - she doesn't keep it in any style.

♦ Kind ♦ Devout ♦ Idealistic ♦ Respectful ♦ Careful ♦ Compassionate ♦ Eagar to learn ♦ Slow to anger but a handful once agitated ♦ Somewhat eccentric ♦ Wise ♦ Jumpy ♦ Stubborn ♦ Refuses to hurt people ♦

To begin, Kashmira was born in and grew up in India to two loving parents, but she had a twin sister Rashmika. Her family tree is quite complex because her grandparents had thirteen children, and she is just one of a legion of grandchildren. Growing up in Ahmedabad, life wasn't particularly hard for the girl, she grew up playing and hanging out with the other children and she was raised to be a devout following of Shaivism. Her early life wasn't particularly eventful other than the fact that she learned English and Hindi while in school in order for her to effectively communicate with other Indians. Life was going to as ordinary for the girl; she was going to grow up to become an amazing young woman that would strive to achieve Dharma. However, it came to Ahmedabad, the Beast, they called it, Kasmira now realizes that the thing had shaped her modern life. A powerful Metahuman that had been rampaging across Europe and Asia for decades and went on a rampage in her home city. It was a violent experience that haunts Kashmira, and worst of all she was separated from her parents.

As a little girl wandering through a destroyed city was a chilling experience that Kashmira really does not want to experience again. However, she noticed a red light coming from one of the buildings and wandered inside... and found a really weird red crystal. She grabbed the crystal and stuffed it into her pocket, and eventually was reunited with her family after the coast was clear. Given that her home was destroyed she found herself living with her uncle's family in Hyderabad until she got a new place to live. She held onto the crystal but felt oddly strong when holding it, and while playing with it, she had inadvertently caused a chunk of the building she was in to fall off. It was a scary experience, but she realized that she had done it with a bit of experimentation and realized that she can control stone. Eventually, she showed her twin Rashmika, and also showed her the crystal - but upon contact with the crystal, her entire body started glowing with a red energy. Eventually, Rashmika manifested with the ability to create and control wood.

They practiced with it and inadvertently attracted the attention of all the wrong people. When Kashmira was walking home from school, she took time to stop at her favorite place to kick a soccer ball. There was no one around... until she eventually smelled smoke and turned around to see Abel himself, smoking a cigar. The girl was terrified by the titan, but he stated that he meant no harm and that he tracked a Delta-Crystal to the area and asked her if she knew anything. The young Kashmira merely shook her head and Abel pressed on. In the end, Abel went on his way but she was terrified by the experience, so she ran home and grabbed the crystal and threw it into a river hoping that would be the end of their problems. However, they just started - the next night strange men were hanging around their household, and eventually made a move and broke in and held the family captive, demanding the crystal. Kashmira, out of guilt for starting the whole mess, told them that she threw the Delta-Crystal away.

Abel soon made his appearance and requested that she lead him to it. So, Kashmira walked through the streets of Hyderabad with the world's most feared terrorist walking behind her. The streets were cleared by his mere sight and the police, military, and Metahuman regulation had no clue what to do without endangering Kashmira. Eventually, she let him to where she threw the crystal and he walked into the river and after a moment he came back with it. He merely walked past her, cryptically saying "We have come to terms." before walking into a portal and his REAPERS pulled out. Her family was heavily questioned by the authorities, but ultimately they couldn't get a lead on the elusive REAPER organization.

This was, among other reasons, why the Sarai family ultimately made the decision to move to America - where Kashmira's grandmother lived. They settled in New York, Staton Island, and life wasn't the easiest for the family at first - given that Rashmika and Kashmira are the only two in the family that knew more than a small amount of English. They eventually got a job at a restaurant that Kashmira's uncle had, and Kashmira, once she was of age. Though Kashmira and Rashmika finally met their grandmother in person at last - the aging woman, Hanumanta, was one of the first Metahumans in India and told her granddaughter about all the adventures. Most of all, she gave Kashmira a necklace with the shard of a red Delta-Crystal in it and stated that it boosts the power of whoever wears it. She also explained that she used it when she was younger, but now that she's aged she has no more use for it. Kashmira nearly rejected it out of fear of Abel, her grandmother insisted that it was a dark, cold, harsh place out there and that she needs every tool in her disposal to survive. The words resonated with Kashmira given her encounters with Abel, and chose to take the crystal - only to use in the most desperate of all situations.

She had problems progressing through American school at first, but in time she hit her stride and became a grade-A student through sheer dedication alone. She wasn't exactly one that fit in with Americans, but she found common ground with other Indians... though, she still felt like an outsider from time to time. This stride continued from grade school all the way through college. Kashmira was a very compassionate woman, one that wanted to help people where ever she could. Part of her wanted to become a therapist, but she realized that her true calling was the medical field. Which is where she worked her ass off to meet deadlines and had to put off advancements from her fellow classmates until she managed to graduate and pass her bar exam.

Her entire family congratulated her, but she figured that it was time for her to move on and become her own woman... besides, New York was far too cold for her! Kashmira applied to places all over and eventually, a hospital in Charity City decided to give her a call. She didn't even remember applying but if they were calling she took her ass straight to Charity Beach. Eventually getting herself acquainted with her new surroundings and a nice new apartment just for herself.

Though, Kashmira wants to follow her grandmother's footsteps and be the start of a massive family that'll hold her in high regards!

Type-Red

Kashmira's main power she received on contact with the red crystal, she's capable of manipulating all forms of stone; whether natural or artificial. At it's most basic her manipulation allows her to move and shape the earth, however her control is a more refined version of it. Instead of raw power her ability primarily focuses on precision. While she can't cause a landslide or collapse a building with a snap of her fingers she can create functionally anything out of stone. She can erect walls, pillars, spikes, and more out of the group, and send chunks of stone flying. Kashmira finds it easier to control smaller stone than larger pieces. Kashmira has to do this through body motions, so she can launch objects out of the ground by stomping her foot and can knock over stone pillars by casually pushing her hand over. It can it any body movement, as it's a connection between her power mind and body. Kashmira has a ton of potential with her ability and has plenty of advanced techniques in her arsenal. Such as creating weapons/armor, flying using her ability, and controlling sand.

Kashmira's Stone-Manipulation has a painfully short range - around sixteen feet of herself, but she can best control stone that is closest to her. Kashmira has the easiest time manipulating smaller pieces of stone than larger chunks. So that example of her erecting a pillar out of the ground? It would be very tiring and straining on the girl. As stated before, her ability is more focused on precision than raw power so she has an easier time shaping a stone surface than making earthquakes. Seemingly, she feels as if her power is more focused on creativity than destruction. Her stone manipulation requires contact with the ground or contact with the stone surfaces. The purity also plays a part as the stone that's diluted with other elements such as concrete is harder to control.

Kashmira has a lot of potential and physical strength that can't be ignored, and FAMA classifies her as a high-level threat. However, Kashmira is a mighty-glacier, she has a lot of strength, but it requires that she's slow-moving or immobile in order to use her power. Mixed with the pathetic range and the fact that she's not too fast herself, her power will leave her helpless if she has to deal with a faster moving opponent. Using her ability causes nausea, physical weakness, and more - which gets even worse if she tries to do an extreme feat. Due to the fact that stone is heavy, it's very difficult to use the ability in the first place and far more tiring than other elements.