Age: 29 Para Category: Beta - Currently Category Four Powers/Abilities: Williams power is the manipulation of fire. He can generate fire and then wield it in a variety of ways. So far he has mastered the art of throwing blasts of flame and wielding small flame 'knifes' in each of his hands. The powers appear to be influenced by his mood when he becomes enraged he has less control however the fire appears to be stronger than it usually is. The blades he forms are capable of cutting through substances and are more or less like extremely fine plasma torch blades.
His entire body, as a result, seems to have undergone a metabolic change. He has a constant temperature, and as such is more visible on thermal imaging. Under falling water in the right conditions, he even generates steam. This comes at a cost, he finds himself weakened and slowed down in cases of extreme cold more so than the average human being. Skills:
Streetfighter: William has been living on the streets since being ousted as a Parahuman to the MPD. As such he's had to make money some way, and that was is in illegal streetfights. Occasionally being pitted against another parahuman he's become a reasonable fighter when it comes to using his abilities.
Former Law Enforcement: William spent years working within the Marlon PD. Whether or not he was corrupt was a matter of perspective. He made sure that no real crimes were being committed. He may have occasionally taken money in exchange for going off a case that wasn't worth his time, but his heart was in the right place. His prior job in Law Enforcement means he knows their tactics, their skillset and how they operate. It also means he's trained in a myriad of skills.
Strength: Never stop training. He's reasonably strong.
Weaknesses:
Wanted Man: All Paras are wanted, but not all of them used to be cops. His face is plastered over every district in the city. He's a known fugitive.
Temper: It could be a side-effect of his change in lifestyle, it could be power related, however, where before he was calm and mild-mannered he is now quick to anger and finds it hard to maintain control when he does get angered.
Aimless Alcoholic: He once had a purpose. He was bringing Law and Order to the streets, now he has nothing except the bottom of the bottle and the next fight.
Brief History: William Locke was born to Adam and Amara Locke, career cops in the MPD. From a young age, it was clear that there was very little else that he could do. While his mother left the frontlines for a desk job after his birth both his parents continued in the MPD right up until the present day. Through his school years, William had a very slanted view of the world. The rules were there for a reason, and they should be obeyed. Not obeying meant punishment. He became a form of a bully while he was at school, using physical violence and threats of physical violence to ensure that the rules were being followed. The kind of rule-breaking that a teacher didn't really frown upon. As far as he saw it sometimes you had to break some of the smaller rules, to enforce the bigger ones. To make sure everyone was safe and secure.
Upon graduation of High School he proceeded to go straight into the Marlon Police Academy. He graduated top of his class, with honours and was assigned to the 45th Precinct. He quickly got a reputation as someone who got the job done, and someone whose superiors didn't often ask how he got the job done. He got promoted to Detective 3rd Grade at the age of 23, which is where his vision started to get clouded. When investigating a murder he was uncovering the entire command structure of one of the main mob families within the city. When they approached him with an offer. Ten thousand dollars, if he didn't investigate any further. He took the offer, after all, why should he care if one gangster kills another gangster.
This train of thought continued and carried him through his police career. Until one fateful day, the Lorne Tower exploded, sending a cascade of energy throughout the city. He developed a fever, however continued to work. That was until one day, becoming enraged with a suspect flame erupted out of his hands in the interrogation room. Instantly labelling him a Parahuman in one of the main centres of parahuman capture and containment. Getting out wasn't easy, and he had to hurt more than one or two of his former colleagues however it came down to survival. He knew what they did to Paras. He knew what Lorne did to Paras, and that wasn't going to happen to him.
Unable to get in touch with his friends, colleagues, parents or anyone from his old life William has resorted to alcohol to soothe his worries. Illegal street fights being the only way he can get money, so what if he has to beat up criminals? That's basically what he used to do anyway.
William placed the bottle back on the bar. Smoke hung in the air, creating a haze throughout the dingy little bar. A hideout, the kind of place that in his old life he'd have loved to find. So many potential squealers on criminal deals all over the city. Now he was one of them. Arguably worse, the MPD was cracking down on Paras harder than they had ever cracked down on criminals. He sighed as he lifted the bottle again, finishing the last of the golden liquid. It was doing nothing for his mood tonight. He slammed the bottle down and grabbed the robotic bartender by the shoulder as it went past. "Give me a whisky." Without so much as a word it pulled a bottle out, as well as glass.
William sunk his hand into his pocket withdrawing a wad of cash and placing it on the bar. "Leave the bottle." The robot paused for a minute as it checked it's programming, looking down at the pile of cash it picked it up and inserted it into a chest compartment before walking off to deal with some other customer. He opened the bottle, putting the top of it to below his nose smelling it. The strong wooden, sweet smell of whiskey attacking his nostrils. He smiled as he poured out a finger or two into his glass. Taking the smallest of sip to start with, shuddering as he did so. The first was always the worst.
There was a clatter as a pistol was placed on the bar beside him, he tried to ignore it but its owner had other ideas. A burly man, tanned. Skin broken by heat and age, a long scar across the left-hand side of his face. Of course, William knew him. The gun-runner known as the Jackal. He had tried to buy William back when he was on the force, but William had put him away instead. He couldn't stand gun-runners, innocent people always got killed because of them. Quite often by another average citizen. It's what happens when you put guns in the hands of untrained individuals. Sure they would just intend to threaten one another, but more often than not the trigger was pulled and someone wound up dead over a trivial argument.
"'Ey. I recognise you." He jabbed a finger at William, who didn't turn to face him and instead poured another drink.
"You're mistaken. We've never met."
"Yeaaaaaah. You're the pig ain'tcha? Too good to take a bribe from me 'eh? Fine to take it from half the other geezers here."
"I'm not who you think I am." William downed his drink, feeling the heat of the alcohol burn through him.
"Yeah yeah, I hear you're a big bad Para now 'eh? Spitting fire like bullets huh."
William turned to face the Jackal, his anger starting to rise. With the temperature of the room. "What is it you want Jackal?" William practically spat the name. What he wasn't expecting was the backhand across the face, his cheek cracked from the power of the blow as he was sent off his barstool. Lying in a puddle of piss, alcohol and probably blood his rage reached a peak. He raised himself with his hands, the pool on the floor turning to steam only adding to the putrid smell that already existed in the bar. At this point conversations had stopped as everyones attention turned to the two of them. Jackal picked up Williams bottle of whiskey and took a swig from it before throwing it on the ground.
"I want you to get out. You're not welcome here. Para-Filth."
Name:Chester "CJ" Jonas Age:26 Appearance: Para Category:Gamma, threat level 1 Powers/Abilities:Hyperkinesis: Chester's mind works differently from others his mind, and his muscle control are perfectly in-sync allowing him enhanced reflexes, perception, and motor control. He doesn't know how he does it. But his mind is capable of near impossible shots, and perception. If he isn't stressed, and he focuses well enough he could shoot another bullet out of the air, or ricochet a bullet to take out multiple perpetrators in a room. Photographic Reflexes:Perhaps due to his hyperkentic abilities, or perhaps something more has given him the ability to copy some of the physical abilities of others. If he wishes to he can learn martial arts simply by watching a kung-fu movie, learn to shoot like a pro from watching instructional videos, operate a vehicle simply from watching someone do it. Of course his abilities are limited by what the human body can accomplish so he can't copy others abilities, or mimic an ability that requires outside tools unless he has said tools, so those obvious moves where the actor is wearing a wire he can't reproduce without a wire. Skills:Warrior: Before he got his abilities he was already an accomplished fighter, and warrior. Serving as a soldier, and a private military contractor, before settling down to become a cop. So he's familiar with a variety of weapon platforms, and combat styles. Technical skills:Being a cop has left him with extensive knowledge of technical systems inside the city, and how they work. Meaning he can interface pretty well with some of the more cyber related things through out the city as long as he has the clearance for it, or getting in trouble if he doesn't. Weaknesses:Abilities:His abilities don't allow him to go beyond that of a normal mans, so he can't keep up with some of the stronger abilities, nor be as strong as someone with super strength, or as fast as someone with super speed. So in reality he's basically an augmented athlete. His hyperkinesis requires a pretty clear mind to properly work. Stress, and not focusing can limit it severely. And as a cop in a pretty crime filled city, he's always stressed. Slow/stubborn learner:With the exception of his photographic reflexes, he's slow to come around to other ideals, or view points. Often standing his ground on stupid tiny things that don't even matter for the sole purpose of he can. His older sister:The only thing in the entire world he truly cares for. With her being ill, and neither one of them making enough money to afford proper treatment for her, he is immensely protective of her, and if anything happened to her it would be more than enough to push him to the brink, or put him out of commission.
Brief History: Growing up with deadbeat parents. Much of Chester's child life was spent with his older sister, Lillian taking care of him. The two of them together learned how to survive on their own with just their wits, and skills. His sister was an honest person, a kind person. But some of the things she had to do, and some of the things they encountered out there very much still burn vividly in Chester's mind, filling him with a strong sense of justice from an early age.
As he grew older his sense of morals never faded. Not when he enlisted, and saw things that would shock people to this day, not when he sold his soul for a private military contract to earn some money for his sick sister. But as her condition worsened, he felt a stronger need to return home, so he fulfilled his contract, and flew back on the first plane he could catch.
He would move in with his sister first chance he got to take care of her, getting a job with the police force to keep them afloat with what medicine they could afford, and a nurse to care for her while he was at work. At home he's a kind gentle human being who would do anything for his sister, in the MPD he's a lawbringer who is working to change the corruption, and public opinion from the inside.
When the para incident happened, he didn't know he had changed until he could perfectly replicate a martial artist on the holovids it just clicked with him, and he could copy it. To top it off, if he focused well enough he could pull off shots on the range that would be nothing short of 1 in a billion shots, or from ranges that were incredibly difficult to pull off. Being able to tag a perp with a round to the leg while running through a crowd with a rifle at 700 meters with no sight proved pretty useful to the police work he did, and due to his abilities found himself getting promoted.
Of course for his promotion they wanted to test if he was a parahuman, or not. But all it took was just a matter of holding back his powers enough to blend in, but still stick out. Allowing him to pass his test as far as he could tell. He now works as a beat detective on the streets, working hard to use his new abilities to make the city, and the police force from the inside.
The city was a cesspit of crime, and menace. But perhaps this one went too far, the gathered cops stared at the scene before them. The area around them had been blocked off so they could investigate the scene. Burnt out before them stood perhaps the most glorious place in the entire city, now gone. A charred sign said. "Willy Pete's donuts. Est 1970" This place had the best donuts, and joe in the city, and now it was gone. A bunch of angry cops were now outside this donut shop. Shouting, angry, upset. "What kind of bastard would do something like this?" Asked one. "Don't know some sort of madman, and when we find him we're sending him straight to hell." Replied another. The rage in the air was palpable, but Chester had a job to do. He singled out the owner one Chelsea Pete.
She was pretty overweight, probably from sampling her own product too much. But her kind face, and gentle mannerism's had made this donut shop feel like a second home to many of the assembled police officers, himself included. "Miss Pete tell me what happened here." He said, making sure to study her face for any lies. He doubted her guilt, but that didn't mean there was a slim chance she burnt it down herself for the insurance money. "Well I was outside on my smoke break, when a man in one of those obscure band t-shirts, and black jeans entered the shop. All I remember was him shouting. 'Death to the pigs' Then he started to glow, before he just exploded into flames. Never saw anything like it but everyone inside was just vaporized, gone..." Her voice quivered, and the sadness in her voice was palpable. "Lost some of my favorite customers, and workers in that blast, and all my great grandfathers original copies of his recipes. Thankfully we have them copied, and hopefully you'll let the insurance companies know what happened here." She finished her statement with a shaky sigh, and the officer just nodded. "Of course, thank you for your time Miss Pete." With that said he gave her a kind wave, and headed back to his patrol vehicle.
Safely inside his patrol vehicle, he brought up his police issued computer, and checked the street footage of the incident. It didn't have a good angle of the shop, but he thought perhaps he could see the perp on the screen. With some luck he managed to catch the man on screen. His greasy hair seemed to hang to his scalp by mere threads, he work a black t-shirt with the words "Metallica" it also had a generous amount of rips, and cigarette burns, the perp also wore black jeans. The classical music t-shirt, and the description matched so it was clearly their perp. Using the voice command feature he had the information forwarded to the other police officers at the scene of the crime, and kicked back into his seat with a heavy sigh. He wanted to light up himself, but he chose not to in case he got interrupted.
It took longer than he thought to be interrupted, but interrupted he was. "Yo CJ, that perp you sent us he's hanging out in the crowd of onlookers, we haven't moved in yet figured we'd let you handle it." Came a voice over his helmet radio. He didn't bother with a reply, he just exited the vehicle, and used his helmet's HUD to scan the crowd. Sure enough the man had come back to the scene of the crime, perhaps to see if they knew anything yet. So Chester set on an intercept path with his target. "You there! Come ere" He shouted, of course he didn't approach him, instead he bolted. They always run.
The foot chase didn't last long before he had cornered the man in the plaza of a group of buildings. His pistol was drawn, but the criminal didn't want to stand down. "I'm gonna fuckin toast you pig." The criminal scum shouted, in his arm he readied some sort of fire in his hands. This man was a parahuman, but that didn't matter to Chester his job was to uphold the law, and he was a parahuman as well. He fired his pistol into the mans arm, the fire dissipated as the criminal lost focus on whatever he was going to do. Then it was a matter of quick rush, to intercept him striking him in the face, throat, and groin. With him disabled it was only a matter of drawing his buton, and knocking him unconscious. The job was done thoroughly, and the suspect was slapped into cuffs. If only all cases worked out like this.
He didn't even make it as far as the sidewalk before he was stopped by two men dressed in suits, he didn't even have to guess to know they were with the Lorne corporation. "We'll take him off your hands officer." Said one of them who didn't look like he had a single hair on his head, or body. "But h-" "But nothing officer, he's our problem now... Good work." With that they took the unconscious perp from him, and stuffed him into the back of a van. He sighed as they drove off, and just looked at his shoes. "Guess it was all in days work." He thought to himself bitterly, as he got back into his patrol vehicle, and drove off.
Empathy - Samantha can not only sense and decipher the emotions and intentions of others, but also impact their moods with her own. She can calm someone down, work them up, or just get them to trust her completely; given enough time.
Skills:
Trained: A member of Marlon's police force, Samantha has had extensive training and experience in combat, artillery, and general physical activity, even if she isn't an expert.
Botany: Samantha has always maintained a hobby of growing plants. Whether living in a one-windowed studio or a townhouse, she has always managed to maintain a variable greenhouse in her own home. It is the one subject in which she would consider herself an expert.
Weaknesses:
Postpartum: Despite being above the average woman in terms of fitness, Samantha gave birth only a little over six months ago, and as such finds is both physically and mentally exhausted.
Empathy:Hers is a power that can go both ways if she isn't careful enough. As much as she can impact another person's emotions, she can feed of other's in turn if she lacks the focus to control herself.
Brief History:
Samantha has lived the life of a suburban princess. While her family wasn't incredibly wealthy, she was rarely wanting for anything while growing up in the outskirts of Marlon. She was her high-school's golden girl, captain of sports teams, homecoming queen, and friend to everyone. It wasn't until after graduation she was hit with reality.
Joseph Wiles, her high-school sweetheart moved with her into the city, where they both hoped to peruse degrees at Marlon's university. By the time their applications went out, they had realized even with part-time work there was no way they could afford both school and city rent. In the end it was Samantha that put her education on hold and went with the advice of her uncle, a retired Marlon officer that still had some pull, and joined the police force. She finished the academy training in under six months and was married to Joseph in the same year.
Despite her reservation and previous goals, Samantha fell in love with her job. She found friends in her co-workers and a talent for investigative work. After years of hard work, she was finally up for a promotion to detective, only to discover she was pregnant in the same week. The job was instead given to her former partner, and Samantha took almost a year off to have and care for her new son Brady. After the fall of the Lorne tower, she was eager to end her maternity leave return to work, much to the dismay of her husband who had objected to her return to the force at all. They compromised on waiting a further to months. Not that he had much to worry about in the end; her superiors gave her a green partner, task her with only the most menial busywork - even for a beat cop, and generally do their best to keep her at arms length from the real police work needed in the city.
She is as-of yet completely away of her abilities, though she has found some people oddly agreeable in the past few months she has attributed it more to the niceness given to a new mother rather tan anything supernatural. Meanwhile she blames the same thing for being stonewalled at work, rather than her own frustration bleeding out to her superiors.
“I know when I'm not being taken seriously.”
It was getting hard to tell who was getting exasperated faster; the shop-owner or Amanda Briars – Samantha’s new young partner. The latter took a deep breath before trying to reason again with the man.
“Unless you give a more detailed description – or have some kind of surveillance, there really isn’t anything we can do.”
Really Samantha should have been helping defuse the situation, her chat with the captain earlier that morning had put her in too sour of a mood to be of much use. Instead, she looked at the dry, breakfasting customers seated indoors with envy. God she wanted to start drinking coffee again.
“Well if you two had shown up sooner she’d still have been here.”
Sensing her partner was reaching her breaking point, Samantha put on her best public-relations-smile, and stepped in.
“Unfortunately sir, there are a great deal of dog-owners in this neighbor-hood and ‘tall woman with a dark dog’ isn’t enough for us to be going around knocking on doors.”
She had not helped. The man’s face was almost purple with indignation. He was prepared to argue all day, sheltered from the rain as he was in the doorway of the donut shop.
“I am business owner in this neighborhood, a law has been broken and my property has been vandalized. Is it too much to ask that you do your job?”
“Sir, if you know who the woman is, we can fine her, but until then, if you have a plastic bag, we would be happy to clean this up for you.”
“This affects my business! Customers won’t come to a shop that has litter shit at it’s doorstep!”
He gestured to the ground where the three of them watched as a swirl of rain water washed the evidence of the crime into a storm drain.
--
Briars was already in the car, doing her best to dry her hair, when Samantha hurried inside shielding a box of pasties with her coat. Her partner wrinkled her nose at the sight of them.
“There’s no way those haven’t been spat on.”
Samantha shrugged and smiled broadly, “They’re a gift for the captain.”
Briars laughed, “Meeting didn’t go well then?”
“Same offer as before.”
There was a moment of silence as both women took off their dripping wind-breakers and individually contemplated the drumming of the rain on the car. The city was in complete turmoil, and the biggest incident had taken place in Samantha’s own district, and she had the choice of being the smiling face of the department on TV or picking up after litterers and dog owners.
“We should probably get moving.”
“You’re right,” Samantha agreed as she buckled in, “Who knows? Maybe they’ll have a loitering complaint for us.”
Height: 181 cm Weight: 73 kg Voice: Stana Katic (Catherine Beckett, Castle)
Classification: Gamma 2 Ability: Polymorphism Tamara has the ability to alter her body to match that of another human, mimicking their appearance, voice and physical attributes. Although the transformation is painless and takes mere seconds, Tam first has to “read” a person she wishes to mimic (Sight-based process, a few seconds suffice. It’s possible for her to read targets off of images or video, but not holograms due to their low quality.) prior to doing so. She can revert to her normal state at will without the need to read her own appearance off anything, and will also revert back if she falls asleep or loses consciousness.
Reading a new person overwrites the one she read previously. Tamara cannot replicate scent or memories of events and experiences, only know-how, and the overall mass of her body can only increase or decrease by about twenty kilograms. When mimicking another Parahuman, she will not gain access to their powers. Moreso, not only will the mimicry copy the target’s current ailments, she will always retain her current sickness’ or injuries, such as her limp and far-sightedness. Tamara cannot copy clothing or jewellery, forcing her to layer up or carry spares with her. Her attire can be damaged if she takes on the appearance of someone too big for what she’s wearing.Skills:
Information - Where would any journalist be without their sources? As the workaholic she is, Tamara has amassed an extensive list of people across the United States she can reach out to when she needs information or advice. Failing that, she’s no stranger to spending eight hours in a library or archive, driven by copious amounts of caffeinated beverages.
Intellect - While by no means a genius in any field, her brain can nonetheless work in high gear. An analytical mind, the ability to improvise, a knack for languages, sharp wit and good memory can go a long way.
Weaknesses:
Combat - Though she carries a sidearm where concealed carry is permitted, or some other self defense tool where it is not, she’s mostly useless in a straight-up fight, being forced to rely on her surroundings with escape still the preferred method. That being said, she’s a decent enough shot for a civilian.
Mobility impairment - A shrapnel from mortar fire claimed bits of the bones in her right ankle. Despite bone implants, Tamara still walks with a noticeable limp and can’t run as fast as a healthy leg would allow.
A sixth-generation Polish American, Tamara lived a middle class life in good, or at least decent schools. She grew up close to a news station, where both her parents worked as technicians, which greatly influenced her. Soon, she accumulated stacks and gigabytes of articles and interviews with accomplished journalists, and before long was studying journalism at Wisconsin Madison university, getting an internship at the Wisconsin Center for Investigative Journalism.
Once she graduated, she got a chance to accompany a freelance group of experienced reporters covering the reignited civil war in Mali. Unfortunately for her and the small team, the local government intentionally sent them to one of the most volatile sectors so their propagandists could portray the rebels as more evil for shooting journalists. Thankfully, the experience of the group and its sole guard, a retired VDV, kept them all alive. Although the footage she and the team shot brought them some recognition, her brief stint as a war correspondent left the young graduate more than a little shaken up, disillusioned and permanently limping due to an injured ankle.
While recovering at home, Tamara contacted the Wisconsin Center for Investigative Journalism again and started working for them. Her name became known throughout Wisconsin in 2047, when she and one other journalist followed a trail of unnecessary spending from the reconstruction of Austin Straubel Int’l Airport all the way to Green Bay’s mayor, making them indirectly responsible for the premature end of her term in office. This accomplishment led to her switching from the Wisconsin to the country-encompassing Center for Investigative Reporting based in Emeryville, CA. The Straubel Int’l investigation was the first time she ran across the words “Lorne Corporation”, one of the overpaid parties supplying construction equipment, in relation to her work, but paid them no attention since getting paid more than your stuff is worth is not a crime.
In 2049, Tamara was tasked to look into alleged tax evasion by several members of Lorne board of directors. She had been in Marlon for three months at the time of the explosion, finishing up research into the allegations that were either about as real as Atlantis or hidden so well she couldn’t even find scraps and was set to head back home a few days later when The Tower blew up.
Tamara was fortunate enough to be in her hotel room when her mutations manifested the following night. She was reading an article about the Tolmachevy sisters and thought what she would give to live a single day of their high life. Much to her horror, her body began to lose form, like a chocolate figure someone left in their car on a hot day, eventually mimicking the article’s photo of one of the twins.
The next day, she lied her way past the maid, claiming the explosion caused her nightmares about Mali to explain the horrified screams her neighbor complained about. In truth, she hadn’t slept a minute that night. It took her hours to calm down, make sure she wasn’t dreaming and become herself again, figuratively and literally speaking. Once she got back home, she took out as much of her vacation as she could, claiming she needed time to sort out some personal issues, which was a monumental understatement.
Once she came to terms with her new self, she spent the rest of her vacation experimenting in her apartment, learning what she could and couldn’t do while keeping a lid on the whole thing, at first out of irrational fear for her life and later out of a justified fear for her freedom.
When the hubris died down a little, questions began to grow in her mind like mushrooms after rain. What on Earth was Lorne doing there that, when something went wrong, caused such varied mutations in Humans? Why only in Humans? Why did whatever was going on there go wrong, and how? And in a dark corner of her mind, where the most insane and paranoid neurons lay gathered, an almost impossible, yet frightening question surfaced: Given some of the previous questions, was it an accident at all?
On a night like this, even the native Wisconsinite felt the damp cold despite a coat, gloves and a warm cap, and the streets were void of pedestrians. Outside a donut shop, a police officer and another man were leaning against the wall, taking cover from the rain. “García, you know the worst thing about this bucket?” the cop complained loudly to the civilian while tapping his helmet. “No idea, Abe. Helmet hair?” the other guessed. “It allows the smell to get in, but doesn’t let the donuts follow! It’s torture...” he was still droning on when she shmabled past far enough for the rain to drown him out. Tamara had to chuckle at the sound of the deep, booming voice of the cop’s voice filter complaining about not being able to pig out on duty. She paused and turned her head to take a better look at them, looking the civvie over before continuing on her way. Before long, she reached her destination for the night - an apartment complex in the good part of town. No Hilton, but still a step up from the rest of the suburbs. A whisper on the street, or rather in her workmail, told tales of a charity owner’s private retreat worth a considerable amount of money more than the humble non-profiteer he presented himself as should afford.
She walked back a couple blocks and disappeared into the alley, loitering in the darkness to let her eyes adjust. She expected the back entrance to be secured, but with a Master Lock mechanical five digit code lock they might as well have left the door open. The young woman sighed. She’d asked an associate of hers to figure out a way to bypass an electronic lock she expected to find and now owed him a bottle of Żubrówka for nothing.
Tamara pulled down her balaclava, which had until now been rolled up to look like a cap, braced her cane against the door and knelt down beside the lock. Pulling on the shackle, she got a shim between the lock body and one of the code wheels, turning the wheel one position at a time until she found the ‘true’ gate for that wheel, repeating the process for the other four. The lock clicked open without a hitch. ”1-8-6-4-7” she muttered under her breath as she closed the door behind her, the padlock in her pocket.
The door led into a garage belonging to the apartment building. Closing her left eye, she retrieved a flashlight and walked along the parking row until she found what she was looking for: a parking space with a sign announcing it was reserved for one ‘Leonard Church’. Parked there stood a white generation 10 Impala with mismatching driver’s door and front left quarter panel. Tamara snapped a few photos where the sign and the vehicle’s shoddy repair and license plate were visible to identify it was indeed the car Church publicly used. Something caught her eye in the adjacent parking space. It, too, was reserved for Church, and housed a vehicle covered with a tarp. Overcome by curiosity, Tamara pulled down the tarp, revealing a 2009 Bentley Continental GT. ”Someone has taste here. And undisclosed income.” she muttered as she took pictures. “Which is none of your goddamned business!” a voice thundered behind her. She spun around, coming face to face with a security guard. They were about 10 meters apart and the guard was already reaching for something on his belt.
Immediately backpedalling, she shone the flashlight directly at the guard’s head to blind him before shutting it off and plunging the garage into darkness. Unless his eyes were somehow augmented, he should be unable to see anything at all for a few minutes in the darkness. Meanwhile, Tamara closed her right eye and opened her left one, which was still adapted to darkness and hurried out of the garage before the guard could recover or turn the lights on. She burst into a service room, taking an immediate left to hide behind a large AC unit. Good thing she thought to take a dose of painkillers before she came here, which let her put a little bit of extra strain on her ankle.
The guard stormed into the room, cursing her and her family several generations both past and future as he fumbled for his flashlight. Tamara waited for him to pass, holding her cane like a baseball bat. Once he passed, she swung at the back of the poor sod’s knees, uttering a hasty ”Sorry!” as she pushed him on the floor with the cane and took off in the opposite direction, slamming the door shut behind her. A few seconds after she secured it with the lock she pawned off the back door, furious banging from the other side reminded her to expedite her exit.
The guard rushed out the front door onto the street, looking for any sign of the intruder. Spotting a figure across the street, he drew his baton. “You there, HALT!” The hispanic male turned to the guard with his hands up and a surprised expression. “Hey, pal, have you seen a chick in a black coat, maybe with a balaclava?” the guard inquired. The civilian nodded, pointing in the direction of the industrial quarter “She went that way, seemed in a hurry.” The guard took off in pursuit, confident he could catch up to the limping intruder while the man continued down the opposite direction.
Some time later in a different part of town, the man pulled out a black coat and a cane disassembled into two pieces out of his backpack as he turned back into a woman, sporting a smug grin.
Name: The Ratman Alias: Adrian Romano Age: 26 Appearance: A tall man, completely covered in bandages, wearing a heavily worn trench coat and an old hat. His physical appearance varies, but if one looks close enough, they might see something squirm under the bandages.
Para Category: Alpha, threat level 3
Rumours have begun swirling in the back streets of Marlon, of a mysterious vigilante hellbent on revenge. A bandaged man in an old trench coat, prowling the alleyways to fight injustice. His hatred for the Lorne corporation is only matched by the ferocity of the rats he commands as they tear the flesh of his foes. Those who know of his existence often speculate on his identity. A man burned by a chemical accident, a parahuman disfigured by his own powers, and more theories thrown to the wind. In peeling back the bandages, one finds the truth - a mass of rats in the shape of a man, hiding the gnawed bones of whom they once were.
The Ratman began his life as Adrian Romano, proud son of Claudius and Rachel Romano, and brother to a number of siblings. His parents were high level managers in the Lorne corporation who had worked their way up from nothing, and Adrian's older brother also worked there. Adrian followed suit and sped up the ranks, hoping to use his position for good. Sadly, his rapid rise had attracted jealousy, and there were those already plotting his downfall.
Stabbed in the back by someone he trusted, Adrian was taken through the back streets of Marlon to die. They threw him into a pit, leaving him with nothing but the clothes on his back and a bullet in his head. Barely alive and in shock, Adrian weakly called for help, but his call attracted a swarm of hungry rats instead. Only a miracle would have saved him, and funnily enough, one came. The energy wave came from the tower, imbuing various people with special powers. This did nothing to dissuade the ravenous rats, however, and Adrian was promptly eaten. As they ate, however, they were slowly coming under Adrian's influence. The more they ate, the more they became like him. When they had gnawed him down to the bone, he was reborn. His will had been transferred to them, and there was no going back.
It took some time to get used to being a swarm of rats, but that allowed him time to get used to his environment. He became familiar with the lowest rung of society, making him lose more faith in the Lorne corporation. The shock at his situation had given way to anger, and now he planned against the corporation which ignored the plight of the poor and who had, in some ways, facilitated the betrayal.
When the Lorne corporation began their sweep, he was ready. Hiding their identity, Adrian and his swarm of rats became the Ratman, fighting the Lorne corporation and the corrupt government as best they can, carving their legend into the back alley streets of Marlon.
Blood ties The Ratman's sole power. His flesh and blood act as a conduit for his will. By ingesting parts of his body, a part of Adrian's consciousness is transferred and the recipient becomes a part of him, allowing the effect to proliferate. The effects of this power are affected by certain factors, however. The mind control is strongest from Adrian himself, but takes a back seat to stronger wills. A secondary host exhibits weaker powers, but the effects are stronger if the secondary host infects another host similar to itself. This way, the rats of Ratman can create other rats for the mass. There is a limit, however, as if there are too many minds to control, some will resist the effects.
Those under the effects function as a hivemind of sorts, many minds making one whole.
Strengths:
Infiltration and surveilance The small size of Adrian's rats allow for discreet infiltration, and they can pass information around the hivemind.
Survival As long as one rat survives, the pack can be remade. In an emergency the entire mass scatters in different directions, maximising survival chances.
Knowledge of the Lorne corporation As an ex-employee of the corporation, he knows of some secrets. Though they have most likely scrubbed his credentials from the system, he knows other ways to enter the headquarters.
Weaknesses:
Strength of many The strength of the Ratman is the strength of numbers. In situations where they are outnumbered, Adrian doesn't have many options. Thus, he prefers avoiding large engagements where he can't just pick off targets one at a time.
Human contact The Ratman is a group of rats in a trench coat. While he can communicate through language, it's obvious that he's at the very least a parahuman. This makes communicating with non-parahumans difficult.
Hunger In order to ensure their survival, every member of the pack needs to eat. Finding food for a large pack of rats every day is a task in and of itself.
It was a calm, moonlit night. The bandaged man walked the back streets of Marlon as he usually did, traversing the maze of concrete with measured ease. Rats accompanied his every step, skittering to and fro, exploring every unturned rock and dustbin in their path. Suddenly, the he stopped dead in his tracks, prompting the other rats to follow suit. They looked at him with curiosity as, in a hundred little voices, the Ratman sighed. As the bandaged man turned to stare at the moon, the other rats turned to the sky as well. He wanted nothing more than to simply stand there, staring at the beauty of the world. It was something he wished for everyone, in some ways. But not tonight. He had snagged something on his information network, which meant he had work to do.
It was a quiet night, which meant that he could hear it pretty soon. Grunts, thwacks, and occasional sobs. The bandaged man turned the corner and found what he was looking for. In the alleyway, a man relentlessly pounded a scantily clad woman with his fists. Judging from the man's clothes, he was from Marlon's upper crust. The woman was likely a sex worker of some sort. The bandaged man didn't know their story, and he didn't care. The bandaged man knew him as a government official, and it was time to pay his respects.
His shadow loomed over the pair, and the squeeking of rats heralded his arrival. The man turned, his face twisted in anger melting into horror as it beheld the bandaged man. "Y-You!" "Me." The Ratman rasped. The man was angry, but his voice was tinted with fear. So they had heard of him up there. Good.
He stepped forward with measured ease, slowly closing the distance between them. The government man scrambled through his pockets and withdrew a gun. "Back off! Now!" He barked. The bandaged man stopped stopped. A hundred voices spoke in unison. "Don't bother. You'll only put more holes in my coat." He said. The government man opened fire. The bandaged man's flesh shifted under his coat. Blood splattered from the holes that formed in his chest. The man grinned, but his triumph melted into confusion, as the being in front of him stood right where he was. His expression once again turned to fear, as the bandaged man brushed off the blood and took another step forward. The government man gritted his teeth and took aim, shooting at the bandaged man's head. 2 shots landed, and the bandages unfurled. The bandaged man put a hand to his face. "Y-you see that? Get the hell out of here, freak!" The man yelled with renewed bravado. "My, my. Look at what you've done to us." The bandaged man replied calmly. He rose to his feet and 2 bloodied rats scurried out of his hand. His head bluged and shifted under the now bloody bandages.
The bandaged man took step forward. "S-Stop!" And another. "I mean it this time!" And another.
The government man turned his gun towards the woman. "Take another step and I'll blow her brains out!" He yelled. But it was too late for him. Rats swooped down onto the flustered man from the rooftops, biting down on his gun hand. The government man screamed. The rats at his feet scurried into his clothes, biting and scratching wherever they could.
It was over quickly. The bandaged man surveyed his handiwork. The only thing left was bones and clothes, the rest had been eaten by the rats. The woman had run off in the mean time, but he didn't mind. There was only one thing left to do now. He issued a command and a wave of rats picked up the remains.
The night was transitioning to day. In an hour the sun would rise, and the citizens of Marlon would begin their day. But there was no rest for the police, especially not with parahumans running amok. The donut shop was a popular place for them to relax, as it was open 24 hours a day. In other words, it was the perfect place to send a message to the right people.
A policeman sat outside the store with a box of donuts on his lap. He was the only one to see it happen. A mass of rats dropped from the rooftop, scattering as they hit the ground. The cop jumped up and drew his gun, but they were gone as fast as they appeared, taking some donuts for the ride. Left on the scene was the skeleton. The policeman scrambled to the car and yelled a report through his radio. He had served for a while, he knew what he was dealing with. The Ratman's eyes watched as the policeman howled his name with fury, dozens of pairs of tiny little eyes, watching from the shadows. As the sirens drew closer, they turned away and disappeared into the night.
_______________________________________________ Morrigan O'Connor Beta- Rank 4 _______________________________________________ December 21st | 34 | Caucasian _______________________________________________ Married | ♀ | Heterosexual _______________________________________________ Doctorate in Physics | Director of Science at the University of Marlon _______________________________________________ Physical Profile ___________________________________
//Every Day Carry: • Braided gold wedding ring | Her wedding ring, never leaves without it, only takes it off when she assumes the identity of Darkspire.
A p p e a r a n c e D e t a i l s
Morrigan is a slim woman of average height who's barely noticeable at all except for her eyes. It is obvious to most that know her well she is a parahuman, however she was always known for wearing colored contacts and as such is often overlooked. Her wardrobe is rather bright when she is our of costume, with bright pinks, white and gold being the main colors. In costume, she wears all black and has a hazy shadow that obscures her features making her unrecognizable by those who see her. Her voice also comes out in a soft, barely noticeable echo that sounds ethereal in nature. Wisps of soft black light roll off her dress, which flows even when no wind is present. Her general aura is menacing and she has been described by many as The Queen of Night.
P e r s o n a l i t y
Morrigan has an extremely vain personality. Her beauty is only accentuated by her parahuman status and she uses that to her advantage, coming off as sultry and seductive. After witnessing the murder of her brother, the hero Vector, who had been instrumental in helping bring about peace, she turned dark, her white outfit being dyed black and her powers turned cruel. She tolerates no disrespect and during the full moon suffers from bouts of madness many call the Witching Hour. She barely tolerates the Lorne Corporation as their experiments and the events of the Tower caused the problems in the city, and she views them as hypocrites. She is known for being one of the few who refused to kill Monarch, instead she forced her way into her cell and broke her mind with her powers, in vengeance for the murder of her brother. She is incredibly spiteful to those who wrong her and will always seek vengeance, though she is patient in the plot.
C h a r a c t e r S y n o p s i s
"Before the Tower, I was celebrating my Tenth anniversary with my husband, Jack, at the Skyview Hotel. It was also to celebrate my first pregnancy, a child which we would lose, as well as to celebrate Jack's promotion to Commander in the Marines. We had planned the event months in advance and it was supposed to be special for us. Then that damn explosion happened... And in the resulting couple of months after, my brother was killed by Monarch. He had a bright future as a Marine and a Scientist. Now they seek to destroy us to "clean up their mess." No. I will make sure they suffer for their transgressions. It will be a pleasure to destroy them."
Born Morrigan Leah Lefontaine, she is the daughter of two normal scientists, Issac and Artoria Lefontaine. The youngest of five siblings, all boys, she grew up mild and spoiled. Her family was well off, living a very opulent lifestyle due to her grandfather owning several patents. The LeFontaine name is very obscure, as Issac's father, Martin, was rather notorious for being against the megacorps that ran the city.
At age 7, Morrigan won the Science Fair with a sculpture made of metals and magnets of the Milky Way Galaxy, a sculpture she would expand on during future presentations and into her college years. She was fascinated with how the world worked, both physically and socially. She became eager to see herself as a renowned scientist like her grandfather had been.
She graduated High School two years early at age 16. By now, she'd had six boyfriends, none of which she liked as they could barely hold a conversation with her. She threw herself into her college coursework, taking as many hours as she could while leaving a bit of time to relax and see the Marlon City Fashion Week every year. She became somewhat of an Idol, a figure many at the school regarded with awe and envy as she aced her classes. The fame went to her head, her vanity and pride only increasing with each grade. It was here where she met her husband Markus. He too, was as prideful as she was vain, and their relationship spiraled into marriage when she turned 24.
She landed a position as a paid intern in Lorne Tech, eventually finishing and working at the University, Markus visiting as often as he could. They had decided to wait a bit before having a child, but found that it was difficult for them to conceive. She finally got the good news a week before the events of the Tower, planning to tell him on their anniversary that day.
Only, due to complications, she miscarried. During the same attack that left her eldest brother dying in her arms, glowing tears dripping onto his face as she cried, her husband doing his best to console her, only to see her crumple into herself.
When order returned, Morrigan swore to see to the destruction of the Lorne Corporation, not for creating the Paras, but for sweeping them under the rug and labeling them all as evil, and for being the root of the cause of her brother's death. She will be patient, since she can't do it alone, but she will see the company fall, one way or another.
A b i l i t i e s & S k i l l s
//Abilities:
Astrokinesis | Nebulae New Moon-Nebula: Subject has been noted during this time to have gravity manipulation, though only within her direct line of sight and focus, with it being interrupted due to lack of concentration as well as small balls of multicolored light that swirl around her that she can use to strike with. Testing reports these as “Stardust” suggesting they are the beginnings of stars.
Crescent Moon-Yellow Star: Subject’s gravity field expands into a constant well within 1(one) yard around her at all times that grants a hovering ability as well as allows the subject to walk on vertical surfaces. The luminous cloud settles into larger yellow balls around 4 inches across that deal thermal damage and seem to emit nearly undetectable traces of UV light, about 1/1000(0.001%) of the radiation received from the Sun. The rate of replenishment is slower than the previous state’s but the damage is higher from them and they orbit around her inside the well. Subject is seen to generally use 12 orbs at this time.
Waxing Moon-Red Giant: Subject’s gravity well expands to five yards and she gains the ability to fly at speeds up to 30 mps along with the ability to react faster, seeing as she can avoid sniper fire. Though it appears that rapid fire weapons can outpace her at this time, causing her to use her new mini-stars, now large red balls that orbit at incredible speed around her, clocking in at 80 mps. She seems unaffected by their heat, and they radiation given off by them increases to 1/100(0.001%) of the Sun’s. She can now generate them outside of the well, as long as she’s looking at where she places them, and they generate in 3 seconds and can be moved for 10 seconds before imploding.
Full Moon- Supernova: Subject is able to control gravity in any place she can see, preferring to keep a well around her in several rings. Her flight speed increases to 70 mps and she can fully negate gravity on objects she touches, lifting them with ease. The balls of light shrink down to 0.5in in diameter and explode with a radius of 3 yards when striking an object. When in mid-air, one can see orbital rings of the new objects with five in the first ring, seven in the second ring and nine in the third. The radiation level hits a peak at 1/10th(0.1%) of the Sun’s causing minor sunburns to those who are easily susceptible to them. At the very height of her power, the subject has been see to call up a black hole with a maximum attraction zone diameter of 20 yards lasting for 15 seconds before it explodes into a twin beam of ejectional energy causing an explosion with a radius of 30 yards. She has only been seen using this ability once and vanished promptly for a week, confirming that the more energy she generates and expends during this period, the higher the recovery time becomes.
Waning Moon- White Dwarf Star: Her powers are much weaker than before, and her abilities seem sluggish as she recovers from the crux of her ability. It is noted at this time she rarely appears on consecutive nights. It is seen as a general reflection of the previous states, with the number of objects she can summon heavily limited, and the miniature stars are much smaller and white. They are also noticeably cooler as well.
Waning Crescent-Black Dwarf: Arguably the weakest point following the Supernova aftermath state. The only ability she seems to have here is the small stars and only a minor lightening of gravity around her person. The balls are also seem to have a solid effect, and have the same density of osmium with only a very warm heat.
Weakness(es) Overexertion: After the Supernova state, the subject is extremely weak to a point of which, using her power excessively exhausts her and she often cannot fight for more than thirty minutes at a time, needing to recharge.
Raging Flames: Morrigan's powers are directly tied to her emotions and when angered, if she isn't careful she'll emit sparks of light. This makes it extremely difficult to hide in modern society, forcing her to be out of sight during the high end of the lunar cycle.
I'm above you: Morrigan's vanity and sense of superiority towards others has only heightened, causing her to not care for the ones Darkspire hurts. She often underestimates her opponents, leaving her open to sneak attacks as she doubts they could pull one on her.
A fractured soul: Dark whispers surround her as the moon rises, urging her to carry out darker desires. The grief of her brother is intense, causing her to be emotionally distant at the height of her power, and when she does reach the apex, she is lost to herself, completely dissociating from reality.
//Skills:
Focused Mind Morrigan has a bright mind that enables her to calculate at greater speeds, only enhanced by her Para status. While she remains a normal intelligence, she rather thinks faster.
It's Called Culture, Dear Morrigan is high society. She comes from old money and is rather well off, her husband only contributing to the overall wealth. Due to this, she has access to people in high places and those with influence.
O T H E R
It was a lovely day out. Morrigan smiled as her driver took her from her workplace at the University to her home, a penthouse estate worth several millions that Markus had been given as a gift for their wedding. A simple voice command had the television turn on the news as she changed.
"Shocking news today as Willy Pete's Donuts was vandalized today by a parahuman. Police say he's in custody now. I'll turn it over to Jamison who's there now.."
A man standing in front of a cordoned off area talks into the camera as Morrigan mutes it. She lets out a hmph when she sees the familiar face of her husband outside the shop next to a cop eating a donut. He'd always loved that place, his little bit of deviancy from the High Society life they'd lived. Their empire now, stood upon shaky ground, as suspicions ran high everywhere as the various groups clashed. When it had come to the test, they'd let them go, since neither showed any inkling of uncooperation with the Corporation, going in for their tests or showing any advanced traits. She was glad that they had taken place at the beginning of the month, so that she'd been able to avoid letting them onto her real ability.
But she knew it wouldn't last. As Darkspire became more of a threat to their precious bottom line, their efforts to find her were stepping up. Her façade wouldn't last too much longer she feared and she was having a hard time finding real support.
A ringing brought her attention to the door, as it opened to reveal her husband with a bouquet of flowers. He had changed into a nice suit, giving her a kiss. "Hey Morri." His grin beamed at her and she scoffed.
"I saw the news. Such a shame these children are.." She sighed as she continued to get ready.. "How was work?"
"Sealed the contract. MPD wants more weapons and gear to take on the Threat." He sighed. "Is it too much to ask Darkspire to lay off a bit so I can actually sleep with you at night?"
"Darkspire is her own woman, Mark." She chuckled.
"Mhmm." He looked at something outside the car. "You ready to head to the Cottage this weekend? Get a little fresh air, relax?"
She smiled. "Of course. I'll be able to work on my tan while we get free from the crowds. Hopefully you won't be called in, hmm?"
"Yeah.” He poured himself a glass of whiskey.
She hung up, walking to her closet. "Now where are my Rasa heels."
“Left door of the closet.” He sat on the bed. “Are you sure you have to do this tonight?”
“Mmm.” Morrigan strapped on her heel. “It’s a necessary venture, Markus. The whispering has been nonstop and I’ve not gotten out in a while.”
“I’m just worried... “ He looked down into his glass. “You seem oddly indifferent towards it is all.”
“Someone must be the necessary evil to spark change.”
“It’s about, revenge not change.” He shook his head. “I don’t like it but I will follow you.”
“I would break them if they tried to harm you, Markus.”
“Heh. I know.” He finished and looked her over. “Stunning as always, you ready to head out?”
“Of course.”
Adjusting the slim mask over her face, Darkspire stood on the top of the building overlooking the bay, eyes turned towards the waning moon. Bright red orbs danced around her, swirling lazily as she stood there. A quick calculation of time and a smirk appeared on her face as she leaned over the side before dropping. The flowing material and orbs created a visage of a falling meteor, though with a single thought and outstretching of hands, she angled herself away from the side of the building, picking up speed as she neared terminal velocity. She knew her limits, and was fairly confident in her ability to weave through the city, eventually slowing herself down as she left behind her orbs, her dark clothing blending in as she entered the poorer districts. It was far from ideal, but it was here where Darkspire was to meet up with the contact.
She grimaced as she noticed several rats but a wave of her hand with the well of gravity swelled, keeping her aloft as she drifted through the building. She came to a stop as she saw the figure hunched over, muttering to themselves. They seemed deformed, as if the mutation didn’t agree with their body at all, extra limbs and tumorous plant growths all over. Darkspire kept her distance as she observed them turn around and with an all too human face, grin, showing off sharp bloody teeth.
“Well, well, well..” The voice cracked and rumbled as if small rocks wer being ground together, Darkspire figured at some point it must have been a young woman before the ability got out of control. “The Dark Misstress is here..”
Darkspire huffed, disgust taking over her features. “I have been called many things, peon. I was expecting Atom.”
“Oh the Father sends his condolences... “ She laughed again, obviously a bit touched in the head. “But she sent us… Little Alice... “
Darkspire barely noticed the shimmer before jumping back several yards as the world around her fractured, a photokinetic unleashing an attack, sending a wave of light cutting through the air, slicing a pillar in half, a loud rumble sounded as she dodged another one, this one heading out of the building and past the balcony, revealing a mutilated corpse on the ground. The attack faded as it went.
“You’re not with him.” Darkspire summoned her orbs, calling them to her as she stared the monster down. “You killed whoever he sent.”
“Ahahaha...AHAHAHA!” Alice cried out. “We told her you would be smart… But you aren’t at full strength… We can take you she said…” She moved, vines sprouting from all over her body and into the ground, racing towards Darkspire. “Alice and Chessy can take anyone."
Thinking fast, Darkspire sent a few orbs at the plants, burning them away while she looked for the other para. She had no idea who would send these two after her of all people. Finding the near invisible lines reflicting her orbs’ light, she attacked Cheshire, blasting him with two of her orbs as a vine slammed against her back, Alice screamng at her as she slammed another orb into his face, watching the horrified expression with a grimace as it burned away in the heat, his body twitching before going sill.
“You wITCH!!” Alice’s plant skin roiled as she went berserk, Darkspire doing all she could to avoid the attacks by jumping, using an orb to block or flying out of the way. This pair was strong, and she’d have to act soon before the MPD moved in. Summoning as many orbs as she could she combines then, using her gravity well to assist her in increasing their strength before darting in towards Alice as she left an opening and slamming them into her gut, a horrid shriek sounding as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Darkspire made her escape just as a officers rushed in, using the dim lighting to drop off the edge and into darkness below.
Breaking News:”A fight in the lower marina ward resulting in the death of two parahumans believed to be caused by Darkspire. A third, half eaten body was found with the iconography of the Church of Para. It is unconfirmed if contact was made as Darkspire escaped into the Ninth ward. Her Threat level has been increased to Level 4. Any information on this horrible villain should be given to the proper authorities. Good Night, Marlon City.”
Para Category: Omega, Category 3 (currently) Powers/Abilities: Taylor's body is no longer even somewhat recognizably Human. Rather, it is now a somewhat solid, though mostly energy-based being. Physically, it is resilient. It does not have flesh and organs and cannot be killed just by targeting a weak point. However, Its body can be damaged through most mundane means. Shooting, cutting, crushing, and other physical means of attack can damage its physical form, but it will regenerate quickly from its store of energy. Killing it requires draining or forcing it to use up all of its energy. As it loses energy, it weakens until it eventually dies.
Taylor's physical size and strength depends on how much energy it has available. At high energy, it can be quite strong, while it weakens the closer it comes to being drained. The physical parts of its body are partially amorphous and are able to expand, contract, and move with the flow of its energy. Although, its most natural, stable state does form its tendrils into the form of a body with arms, legs, and a head. It survives by consuming energy. In Taylor's captivity, and likely the city beyond, its most common source of sustenance is electricity, though it can absorb other types of energy like intense heat or radiation, which makes Taylor strong against energy-based attacks. If it consumes a great deal of some form of energy, then it can become supercharged and may be able to violently expend some of the excess energy in energy-based attacks. Although, it cannot stay supercharged forever, and will eventually shed off that energy even if it does not use it.
Weaknesses:
Perceived Threat - Though somewhat amorphous by nature, Taylor cannot take any other forms. As such, its frightening, inhuman appearance makes it entirely unable to operate normally within Human society. Even if behaving benevolently, others may approach it as if it is a much greater danger than it actually is.
Energy Draining - As a mostly energy-based lifeform, Taylor is particularly weak to any attack that can directly drain the form of energy empowering it (for instance, it would be weak to the cold if empowered by heat).
Depression - Since the explosion, Taylor has been betrayed by Lorne and subjected to horrible and painful experimentation. It has given up hope of a cure, and has even separated itself to some extent from its former Human identity. It feels lost and confused about its future, and even survival itself does not feel like a strong motivation.
Stun from Physical Trauma - Taylor no longer has a physical brain. Rather, its neural patterns are imprinted across the whole of its essence. While the imprint itself cannot be permanently damaged by attack, dealing enough damage to its body at once can interrupt Taylor's conscious thoughts briefly until it regenerates and restores itself, causing it to act purely on instinct and impulse for the duration.
Energy Dependence - Taylor's relative strength depends entirely upon the amount of energy it is able to consume. When at low energy, its ability to move, fight, and even think are dulled.
Hunger - Taylor has something of a voracious hunger, and must periodically consume substantial amounts of energy in order to sustain itself. As such, even should it escape its captivity, it cannot easily hide itself away from people for an extended time.
Skills: Taylor was once a person and retains the knowledge and education it received growing up in the city. However, apart from basic knowledge, all of its former Human skills have been rendered pointless by the transformation. [Relevant skills PMed to Sep] History: [Human background PMed to Sep] Taylor was once Human. It still has those memories, still clings to them no matter how much it wishes to get rid of them. However, in its eyes, that version of Taylor died with the explosion at the Tower. After the explosion, it was transformed into its current, horrible form. Frightened and confused as it was after the incident, it gave itself over willingly to Lorne corporation in the hopes for a cure. However, that decision is one that has made its new life into one of suffering.
Taylor had, at first, consented to the experiments, not that it likely would have mattered. They did not begin terribly, and Taylor did learn more about itself and its abilities through the process. However, after they learned more about how its body functioned, how to sustain and support it, they started to see what would happen if they tried to break it. They have starved it, shot it, stabbed it, shredded it, and even detonated it. Granted, most of their experiments are not so violent, and they are yet to find any sort of drug that even affects its body in the slightest, but Taylor has spent hours upon hours screaming out in pain to deaf ears.
The pain and betrayal Taylor has suffered at the hands of Lorne corporation have almost changed Taylor as much as the tower's explosion. It sees itself as almost as much of a monster as it appears to be, and has started to abandon the notion of ever being Human again. Even just trying to hold onto a Human identity feels like a painful reminder of what it will never have again. At this point, Taylor even refers to itself as an "it", and is only barely willing to hold on to its name. It no longer holds on to hope for a cure, and if given the chance, would be willing to escape from its prison. Angry cop outside a doughnut shop...yeah, this doesn't fit naturally anywhere in that background.
The four walls of its cell. The door, its hardened translucent window, and the limited view it gave out into the part of the lab it could see from within. That was Taylor's entire world now, all it could experience aside from what was pumped into its cell. More accurately, the scientists referred to it as a "mobile containment unit", though it still never moved from this spot. Taylor had been moved between units a few times, each stronger and more specialized than the last, but it was always in this room. Its current cell had to have been constructed specifically for it. Taylor had damaged some of the past cells, but this one was strong, it was insulated, and it had specialized nozzles and other equipment to pump chemicals and energy into it, all without even opening the door. Most of what Taylor could see through the large, translucent door was computers and sensors to collect data on their experiments.
Right now, Taylor could see some of the scientists outside, calibrating equipment, making notes. Those in this particular group had never spoken to it, though the nametags on their lab coats meant that it knew all of their names by this point. There had been a time when Taylor had tried to talk to them, tried to reason with them, but it knew now that was a pointless endeavor. When it was time for their experiment to begin, the covering of a nozzle on the back wall of the cell opened, immediately spraying and igniting and incendiary fuel that immolated the whole of the chamber in an unavoidable flame. Far from harming Taylor, however, it could not help but to absorb the intense heat of the flame into its very being. By the time the last of the flame was gone, Taylor had grown considerably in size and mass, towering over the average Human. The dark tendrils of its essence danced excitedly upon the surface of its loosely-formed body, and its many eyes glowed in a brilliant white. For Taylor, it felt amazing to have that power surging through its essence, but it had been through this enough times to feel only dread at what was to come.
Taylor found it hard to be sure exactly how much time passed. After being immolated in fire, its cell was now chilled well-below freezing. There was no day or night, no way of judging for how long it was meant to suffer. It could have been hours, or days, though the latter likely would have killed it. All Taylor had was the constant hum of computers and sensors collecting their "readings" on what its body was suffering. It did not feel merely like being cold, but rather like its lifeforce was being slowly, but viciously torn out of every tendril. Taylor was now somewhat smaller and leaner than a Human, hardly moving, and most of its eyes were not even visible any longer. Taylor had been through this torture half a dozen times in the past few weeks, in all likelihood so the scientists could collect a better sample size on their observations. It wished it could sleep, if only to be given some reprieve from the pain.
It was hard for Taylor to even notice when the cell started to warm, as the pain lingered on across its body. It was only some movement outside that caught Taylor's attention. It crawled slowly towards the door, looking up at the woman that had come to check up on it. She was the one welcome sight that Taylor had in this hell in which it resided. Her name was Marian Allen. She was the only one who had given Taylor her first name, and the only one who really talked to it at all. She wore a similar lab coat to the scientists, but she was a nurse. At least, that was the best way Taylor could describe her. She monitored its health, and presumably the health of other subjects, based on what she had told it in the past. She was the only reason that Taylor was even aware of the existence of other subjects. She had freckled, pale skin, red hair, and was still slightly overweight, despite having been on a diet for the past two months. She represented the final shred of hope that Taylor had in this place.
Marian knelt down in front of the clear door and looked directly into Taylor's eyes, something that all of the others tended to avoid, consciously or not. "It's okay, it's over. The experiment is over now. It's going to be alright."
As Marian was just about to stand, Taylor lifted one of its limbs suddenly up and pressed it against the window, its tendrils forming the shape of an open hand. "Please..." Taylor began. It did not have a mouth with which to speak, but its energy could simply form the sounds directly. Its voice had an otherworldly, echoing quality to it. Marian did the same, pressing her own hand right up to Taylor's.
"...let me...die." Taylor continued, sounding just as weak as it looked.
Marian swallowed as she closed her eyes and lowered her head. Taylor did not doubt that she would grant its request, were it in her power. Her tears told it that much. But, those tears were all Marian could give for now, as she had no choice but to stand and go to the control console, pressing the button that gave the entire metal interior of the cell a powerful electric charge. Taylor absorbed the energy, revitalizing its body and mind up to its former strength.
Pause: Holly has the ability to overdrive her mind, boosting her reactions to the point where the world is almost stopped for her. A second for the world would be an hour for her, for example. It allows Holly to make a new, fully thought through course of action in a position where she has more information or she needs to quickly figure out a way to get out of a sticky situation. Doing this also boosts her thought processes to match, making her slightly smarter in this time. Limited Probability Advisement and Computation: Holly can look at a course of action and calculate her probability of managing to commit to and complete that action, but cannot calculate the effectiveness of that action. A harsh but accurate example is that she can calculate how much of a chance she has to break someone’s arm, but cannot calculate if breaking the arm would put him out of the fight or if he would just keep swinging. For the effectiveness, she has to just use her own head to figure out how effective something will be.
Skills:
Escape Artist; Holly will always have a plan of escape, even in situations where everything is fine and dandy. Backing out of an awkward conversation and picking her way out of cuffs are both the same to her; she needs an out, whether that is claiming she needs to go to the bathroom and then slipping away or working out a route of escape for when the opportunity arises. Intelligence: Holly knows when it’s time to break or if she can stay just a little longer, and has the common sense to suspect what may be around the corner without having to peek first. She doesn’t need her ability of probability advisement to know when something is a stupid idea. Street rat: Even in places she hasn’t been before, Holly knows what a good place is to hide and a bad place. She knows the places where the cops roam little and the places that the cops keep on lockdown. She knows the druggies, she’s familiar with the gangs, and she has her badman contacts, couple human, few para. She’s street-smart.
Weaknesses:
Criminal: Though not at the status where every cop would recognise her, a cop running a check on her would probably not find an innocent girl. Because of this, Holly avoids going to the police for any reason, and tries to keep somewhat of a berth between herself and them if she sees one in the street. Caught in a Daze: Holly can sometimes end up stuck in a daze if she is thinking too much whilst using her powers. The probability of many actions can confuse and distract her until she snaps out of it. Someone smart can stick her in a bit of a loop if she falls for it.
Brief History:
Nothing was very good in the early points of Holly’s life. She was what many would call born into the life of crime, under the parenting of a father and mother who mugged, stole and robbed for their lives. Her parents becoming criminals to survive was their choice, after refusing to go to university, to college, to schooling. Holly’s was not her choice - it was how she was raised. She knew that being a criminal was bad, was evil, but after she started committing crimes she found herself in a hole that she couldn’t dig herself out of - but didn’t necessarily want to get herself out of. What kept her onboard for slipping into homes was the fact that she could come out with phones and money, and she would get away with it. Sure, she may have been noticed once or twice on CCTV, and may have been hunted by the police (as well as competitors in the criminal business) a few times, but that was a part of the risk to her, a part of her lifestyle. There wasn’t a way out.
Holly found herself orphaned at the age of nine and placed in an orphanage after her parents were killed in a robbery gone wrong; the owner had been home, and he was not happy about the unexpected intrusion. It was often forgotten that she even lived in the orphanage by those caring for the children as she would spend long days and nights outside. As she grew up, the times that she spent away from the orphanage grew longer, until she left for good, preferring the streets to the stooges who claimed they were good at taking care of children.
From there, Holly began her criminal activities again - by thirteen, she was partaking in small crimes, such as shoplifting to keep herself alive and afloat, selling stolen bits and pieces from electronic shops to gangs to give herself a little money. She was barely touched by the gangs not because she was unique or of high stature with them, but because she was a reliable source.
It was at the age of fifteen that the top of the Tower exploded, and the already tactful Holly was given a gift to help her in her criminal ventures. Ever since the explosion, Holly found herself more calculative about situations she placed herself in, putting more planning into her moves. Finding an advantage came with a scare for her, however; she found that she could pause whilst on the run from the police. She had wondered if she had been caught for she could not move, however she realised that nothing else was moving, either. It took her some time to figure out that she was moving, just at an extremely slow pace, and even longer to figure out how to make everything move normally again. Once she had escaped and time had passed where she was not on the run, she practised controlling the power by watching birds and people, and then triggering a Pause so that she could see everyone and herself slow down. With her new abilities unlocked, she used them to further her criminal activities, and used them to her own advantage, not anyone else’s.
“You just sit back, alright kiddo? There ain’t nothing Ingrid don’t like more than someone interrupting a meeting, so don’t be kickin’ shit around, yeah?”
The girl took a moment to process what her friend was actually saying, but she nodded her head in the meanwhile. Holly was always amused by Alessandro’s wording, which she felt was good as if she wasn’t it would be quite hard to talk to him every time she paid a visit, or rather, he paid her for a visit to hand over whatever she had nabbed for him. As it was, he was a friend to her, and helped keep her up and afloat when she needed it.
“Holly, you gotta tell me you understand, yeah? I don’t want the boss kickin’ my ass.”
“I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” Holly replies, holding her hands up in surrender for a moment. She wasn’t too happy that she wasn’t getting paid immediately, but Alessandro needed to get the cash from his boss to pay her this time, and his boss was going to a meeting with a dealer who operated in the gang’s area and needed to pay the racket fee. Once Holly got the cash, she was going to buy a few candy bars and then screw around in a park somewhere.
Holly and Alessandro strolled down the sidewalk together, making their way to what Alessandro claimed was the meeting place. Holly knew these streets well, and made it a mental game to try and guess which alleyway that Alessandro’s boss had picked to meet in. It always interested her in what the casual citizen would think if just off the streets a whole different world took its place in the darkness of the space between streets.
“Deputy Fatboy is out of his cage again,” Alessandro commented, nodding his head across the street. Holly couldn’t help but giggle as she looked over to the opposite side of the street. The deputy Alessandro was speaking about had all sorts of different names, all of which began with the word fat, but everyone knew who was being spoken about whenever he was brought up. Alessandro had told her that there was a betting pool within the gang on whether Deputy Fatboy was actually a deputy or just some security guard from a small office somewhere that loafed over to the donut shop every day. Holly, though an established criminal, was still learning about some stuff such as criminal culture. When Deputy Fatboy was around, there was sort of an unspoken rule that nobody does wrong, that they let the man take his donuts and go on his way. He was a treasure of the area, some had said.
With Fatboy bellowing through the door about a lack of sugar-coated donuts, Holly was not one to disagree.
“We’re here,” Alessandro said suddenly, and turned into an alleyway. Holly followed, immediately spotting the bulky man that stood within. She recognised him, having met the man a few times before, but she always felt a little unsafe around him. He creeped her out, but so far they only had a working relationship, with most activities conducted through Alessandro - Holly had no doubt that the bossman had others like Alessandro that acted as middlemen to others like herself.
“About time. Got your guns?” Bossman said, his voice booming. Alessando flashed his instantly, with Holly hesitating before showing her own. She had received it one time instead of money, by her request, from Alessandro. Holly was not confident in using it, and had never drawn it so far, but she wanted it as a safety tool, something to use if she needed to defend herself. Even then, she wasn’t sure she could shoot someone. She may ruin someone’s day by snatching their phone or wallet, but she wasn’t sure she could end a life.
It was a short walk from there to the main meeting place, where one lonely woman stood with her arms crossed and waiting. The trio approached the woman, and it was Bossman that took the lead. “Your time is up. That means you need to pay up.” He commanded, simply holding his hand out. It looked to Holly that Bossman had been through this kind of process plenty of times already, and fully expected the druggie to hand over the racket fee.
Things went to hell immediately. There was a flicker of movement from a little further down the alley, and before anyone could say or do anything about it, a shot rang out. Bossman fell instantly, and before Alessandro or Holly could get their guns out, the woman was already on top of him, stabbing and cutting him with what looked like a butcher’s knife. The screams began and then ended instantly from Bossman, and Holly held her pistol with shaking hands, not able to work up the courage to pull the trigger, and then triggered a Pause.
It was almost like a still image in front of her now. Blood halting it’s spread from Bossman’s throat and gut, the woman’s blade buried almost unmoving in Bossman’s chest. A figure down the alley holding what looked like a pistol of his own, and she saw Alessandro’s gun in her peripheral vision. Taking a little time to calm herself, she began looking for places to hide or take cover within her line of sight. Mentally, she automatically calculated her chances to reaching the positions before the gunman turned to engage her.
When she was ready, she unpaused, diving for cover behind a dumpster. Alessandro shot the woman atop Bossman, before receiving a shot to the chest, going down. Holly stared wide-eyed at Alessandro’s unmoving body as she heard footsteps creeping closer to her. She froze up, not sure what to do, barely feeling the strength to lift the pistol that she still held in her hands. Just as the footsteps landed next to her, Alessandro let out a sudden roar, lifting his own pistol to shoot the gunman three times: Holly flinched as the body dropped down next to her, and then quickly ran over to Alessandro, kneeling next to him.
“Holly, I’ll be fine. Bug out, call the guys and tell them what happened,” Alessandro says to her. Holly clutched his hand, letting a few tears drip, before wiping them away and nodding - she was confident when she wasn’t in the immediate threat of death. From where the trio had originally came from she heard sirens, and quickly got up to bolt after a whisper of goodbye to Alessandro. She ran all the way down to the end of the alley and waited there at the corner, to see who was coming. After seeing that none-other than Deputy Fatboy was running into the alley, Holly continued her escape, knowing that at least Alessandro was going to get help. She knew it wouldn’t be his first rodeo in prison.
Appearance: Surprisingly, Rabbit only stands at about 5' 8" and does appear to be quite slim even if he is quite athletic. He is almost always wearing his signature outfit. A black shirt and dress pants combo with a white skinny tie. However his most striking feature is the helmet on his head, which resembles a rabbit. In fact, the ears can droop and perk up, emoting with Rabbit. The voice modulator, instead of being threatening and deep like the MPD, comes off as a more calm tone. Almost creepily so in fact. The Helmet gives him a HUD as well as heightens his audible senses, able to pick up smaller footsteps or a gunshot from far away.
Age: Unknown (Appears to be Mid-20's)
Para Category: Gamma 3
Powers/Abilities: As well as his helmet, Rabbit deploys his power of Vector Manipulation to aid his fighting style. To put it simply, he can choose a direction to "dash" at high speeds at any time. This can be used to strike from the shadows, wall jump. As well as that, he can slow down his speed to make landing as soft as possible, giving him a short moment to calculate his next move.
Skills: White Rabbit is an assassin trained in Ninjutsu, and can deploy all sorts of tactics to use stealth as his main method when completing a contract. He is also a master of the blade, using a High Frequency Katana and Ninjato. By creating an electronic current through the blades, they vibrate at such speeds that it can destabilise the molecular bonds.
Weaknesses: Rabbit doesn't use any ranged weapons, meaning he has to get in close and personal which can always be risky. As well as this, Rabbit doesn't really have any cybernetics yet. Underneath the helmet and behind the blades, Rabbit is completely human and is just as delicate too. He's very confident in his abilities, even overly so. This ends up getting Rabbit in way over his head and this arrogance can land him in a myriad of sticky situations.
Brief History: Not much is known about White Rabbit, and it's not like he lets on much either. In fact he doesn't even use his real name anymore. Before the mask, Rabbit had a pretty unspectacular upbringing. Born in one of the rougher areas of Marlon, it wasn't hard to get into trouble or it would find you. Constant fighting and gang warfare. It was a matter of survival. However, when Rabbit was going around casually thieving, he found a tape... a few of them actually. He took them home and found an old player. In his room, he watched over and over some instructional videos for Ninjutsu and Kenjutsu. Rabbit watched these over and over again, and even beginning to replicate the moves.
Eventually, he began to use these methods on the streets. Turns out Rabbit was pretty good at it, and over practice his talent became sought by many "undesirable" employers. However, the money was too good to turn down. It started with stealing certain objects. However, one time he was forced to fight his way out. Despite taking a few bruises and cuts, he managed to dispatch his opponents with ease. Soon he became better at that too. It was time to seek out some upgrades. Rabbit went to one of his childhood friends, a Prodigy regarding technology. This was how he gained the mask and the swords. Now the White Rabbit is born, he seeks out bigger and better contracts while swearing allegiance to no one but the American Dollar.
"So by pressing the button on the hilt of your swords, you can activate the HF. You got all that?"
"Yeah, I got it... Time to test out this new Gear. Thanks, Marcus..."
"Just remember my cut from this job this time, okay?"
Atop one of the residential complexes, the White Rabbit chuckles behind his helmet, looking down upon the alley below. "Alright, alright! I'll remember... Later..." Rabbit dismissed the voice call and looked down below. An Arms Deal was taking place between two local gangs. However, one of them contracted Rabbit to take down their rivals making the 'transaction' void and they get away with the guns. Rabbit activated his Heads-Up-Display, giving a read out of the situation. Five allies with five enemies. Seemed it would be better to attack from behind.
Silently, he re-positioned from four floors up. The plan was already formulating in his head. The plan was already formulating in his head. He can land from behind and cut his enemies down. Nothing too hard. The alley was a dead end so it wasn't like they would be watching their backs. Below, the gangsters were loading the weapons into the trucks. A variety of guns and explosives that would boost the Gang's standing on the totem pole. This kind of firepower... it could make them reach the very top if they played it right. Rabbit unsheathed his katana, watching it catch the moonlight. Guess it was time to test the new toys. With a barely audible click, the blade shimmered to life, a stray spark of electricity crackling up the length of the sword before residing within the blade. Rabbit looked down to the scene below. The weapons were loaded. It was time. With an exhale, Rabbit took a step off and dropped.
The velocity would've been blistering if it wasn't for the helmet. However, it the rush of air was short lived as Rabbit activated his powers. He crouched down as he landed, looking up at the backs of two of the targets. In one moment, he was already upon them. The slicing of flesh echoed throughout the alley. The blade cut through the bone like it was nothing. With one slash, the body of the first victim slumped to the ground and another swift motion fell the second. The other three began to turn around in an instant but it was too late. Rabbit dashed between the three, making instant cuts as he did. In the brief five seconds, the end result was two gangsters split apart, one with his throat slit, one slashed through the stomach and the last completely decapitated. Rabbit calmly stood up and faced his employers, flicking the blade and sheathing it.
"Heh, good work Rabbit. You're gonna make our boss very happy. Y'know, we could use a guy like you. Whaddya say? I'll put a good word in for ya?"
Rabbit shaked his head as he began to walk towards them. "That's not necessary. If you require my work, then make the highest bid." He explained. The man shrugged and began to tap away at the screen attached to his forearm.
"Whatever you say, man..." The gangster sighed. A notification popped up on Rabbit's HUD, indicating his payment was made. The White Rabbit nodded before kicking off from the wall, dashing from one side of the alley to the other before he disappeared over the building. Meanwhile in Marcus's room, the rapid clicks of a keyboard rattled off as one of his screens dinged. "Guess the upgrades worked..."
Para Category: Omega Threat Level: 4 Powers/Abilities: As an Omega class Parahuman Robert has two distinct abilities; Extended Tactile Senses – A kind of extrasensory ability which allows Robert to feel things using any surface within 100 feet of him. If nothing is happening he does not have a sense of what those surfaces are or what they are currently in contact with, it does not give him a 3D map of his surrounding environments or give him any clues as to its layout. However, if something comes into contact with a surface within his range he will have a sense of where that contact occurred in relation to his current location, i.e. direction and distance. He will also be given a sense of what the surface is and what the object that came into contact with it looks like and how forceful the contact was; all information he does not have when things are still.
It is a complicated sensation; one that Robert is still growing accustomed to and one that he has difficulty explaining to others.
Imbuement – Robert has the ability to empower items that he touches with a variety of different Parahuman-like abilities, expending a limited amount of energy in the process. The abilities are varied but usually take the form of different Beta or Gamma class powers such as elemental control or enhanced attributes. The item is usually given a number of charges or a set duration for the power, depending on if the ability needs to be activated or is passive; once the charges or duration is expended the item returns to normal.
The activation of the power is something only Robert can do, meaning that the empowered items cannot be handed to another Parahuman or non-Parahuman to use unless the ability is passive in nature. Once Robert of expended his daily allowance of energy he can no longer imbue any other items with abilities until he has next slept, which seems to recharge whatever internal battery this power works on. At the same time, any items that have been empowered by Robert lose whatever power they had when Robert falls asleep or otherwise loses consciousness.
Skills: • Leadership – Robert has been a leading figure in both the anti-Lorne groups he used to be a part of and the Parahuman Protection Society he has since joined for over fifteen years at this point. He is very well acquainted with being in a leadership position both at an operational and at a strategic level. • Urban warfare tactics – For years Robert was a member in what could easily be described as an insurgency within Marlon, taking part in and leading operations that often brought him into conflict with the police and with Lorne’s private security. He has a good understanding of urban fighting and the tactics it requires. • Weapons training – Robert’s experience with the group Citizen has given him ample opportunity to learn how to use a number of firearms in the field.
Weaknesses: • Wanted man – Seen as the successor of William Grace, once the most wanted man in Marlon, Robert is also highly wanted by both the authorities and Lorne. This would already be a problem were it not for his prosthetic arm making it very difficult for him to blend into a crowd in any meaningful way. • Power-induced headaches – With the large amount of information it can provide him, Robert’s sensory ability can at times overwhelm him. If he focuses on what it is telling him rather than pushing it to the back of his mind as he usually does it can lead to painful, even debilitating, migraines. • Age – To put it bluntly, Robert is too old to be a rebel any longer. He is slower than he used to be, weaker, and tires more easily. Rebelling is a young man’s game and it seems like every fight is another reminder of why this is the case.
Brief History: There was a time, before Lorne moved in and took over everything, when Robert was a normal guy. He was an only child growing up in a bad neighbourhood, poor, but his parents were good, hardworking people who raised him to be the same; his dad taught him how to fix things, how to drive, how to fight and things like that while his mom taught him morals and ethic and life lessons and helped him with school work. He was luckier than most.
He went to school and worked hard, even though he felt it wasn’t his thing, because that was what he was taught to do and because he wanted to rise up out of his humble beginnings and he needed an education for that. After graduation he tried college for the same reasons only to drop out after a year and a half and enrol in a trade school instead; his parents were a little disappointed and he felt like he was disappointing them, but working with his hands just suited him better than books or exams ever would. After that he went to work in a factory, repairing machines and equipment and helping to keep the place running smoothly.
Five years later the building he worked in and the company that owned it were bought out; Lorne moving in a taking over like they did with everything. People were apprehensive about a large corporation buying the company they worked for, but there were no layoffs and assurances were made that no major changes were to be made. For a while at least business continued as normal, with the only difference being the name that appeared on Robert’s bank statement when his pay came in.
Over time however, Lorne made their presence known. New management and oversight was brought in, a Human Resources department established and filled with corporate suits, people were fired and no replacements brought in as work crews were stripped down and corners cut in important areas in the name of profit. Where before they were judged for the quality of their work, they were now being judged for their quantity; people that weren’t productive enough were fired and more pressure was put on those left to pick up the slack. Accidents and injuries became more common, as did repairs as the number of breakdowns rose and Robert and his colleagues were having trouble keeping up.
People complained of course. Overworked production line men and mechanics and shift managers who predated the takeover, they all voiced their own concerns and made their own stink about what going on and every time they received the same generic response about how they were being heard and that this was just a transitional period and how things would get better. Things never got better of course and anyone who made too much of a nuisance of themselves or who tried to get others involved, especially anyone who spoke of a strike, would coincidentally fail their next review and find themselves out the door.
Robert wished he was one of those people. He should have made more noise when he could.
He was twenty eight when a routine repair finally went wrong. He was repairing a machine that should have been replaced years ago, that had been pushed too hard, when a safety mechanism failed while he was elbow deep in its inner workings. His forearm was crushed, the limb barely recognisable as anything other than ground meat by the time they managed to free him. Of course the investigation found that he was the one at fault and the corporation denied him medical costs or compensation, instead firing him for negligence and leaving him crippled and unemployed. He blew through his savings covering the costs of his amputation and recovery and only managed to avoid homelessness by moving back in with his parents.
He next few years were a blur of short lived jobs, alcohol and becoming increasingly depressed at his current situation. Lorne, the company that drove him towards his current state and then kicked him to the curb, seemed like an ever growing presence in the city; their fingers reached into every facet of his life and the more he cared to look the more he could see their influence and their wealth. It disgusted him. It was at this point that he found other like-minded people who had similar reasons to dislike or even hate the Lorne Corporation; protesters, activists and other outspoken individuals who objected to Lorne for any number of reasons, whether they were personal like his own or simply objecting to any entity growing as powerful as Lorne had.
Robert took part in the protests from that moment on, joining the marches and waving the signs and telling his story to people who would listen, but in the face of the juggernaut they were trying to fight it was pointless. They were too few in number, their voices too small, to deal a significant blow what Lorne had become. They had entire PR departments working to drown them out and counter their message, while telling the same lies and handing out the same false promises they had always given; activism could only do so much when Lorne’s influence had reach the levels of local government, the police and even the courts.
At some point a small minority of those in the anti-Lorne group began to take more direct action. Otherwise peaceful protests would erupt into violence against the police or Lorne’s private security, vandalism and destruction of Lorne property and buildings became more prevalent and even attacks against Lorne employees weren’t unheard of as some people grew dissatisfied with the lack of progress they were making. There was one man in particular who was the loudest voice calling for greater action against Lorne, one man who stirred up the anger into violence and who organised the angriest and most hateful into a pseudo-rebellion; William Grace.
Robert was one of the people caught up in William’s growing movement, as his personal loss at the hands of Lorne made him especially vengeful towards them, and the two struck up a quick friendship. With his arm there was little Robert could do to help take action, but his story was an easy way to demonstrate how ruthless the Corporation could be at times and Robert used this to help recruit people to William’s cause. There numbers grew and with the increased manpower their actions escalated, organising themselves and planning larger attacks against Lorne’s holdings in the city, while continuing the riots and disruptive actions from before. More people meant more funding, money that they put towards weapons and equipment that they could use to further their cause. Things were growing at a dangerous pace and soon William Grace was the leader of a fully-fledged militia within the anti-Lorne factions of the city.
This did not go unnoticed of course and the group, which had yet to be named, soon became public enemy number one under the less than subtle influence Lorne exerted over the police and the mayor. William and the other leaders of the group were wanted criminals and any affiliation with the group at all became a crime in and of itself. All the while Robert remained a close friend of William’s, helping him organise his people and plan the group’s efforts. Somewhere in the middle of all this William got Robert the prosthetic arm that Lorne had denied him almost a decade ago, so that he could finally take part in the growing rebellion.
There is not much to say about the next few years other than that the group continued to operate as they had, damaging Lorne properties and assets and attempting to disrupt their operation as much as they could. Lorne continued to grow larger and more powerful and William and Robert’s group did the same as the Corporation continued to make more enemies during their expansion and how their at times heavy handed approach to quashing protests and riots was viewed by the public. It was during this time that the group finally adopted a name; Citizen, to reflect their goal of championing the rights of the common citizens of Marlon over the greed of a private entity.
In 2046, William Grace was killed during a raid on Citizen’s headquarters in which many of their more senior members were either killed or arrested. The remaining leadership of the group, Robert included, were torn on how to continue, whether to pull back to avoid further retaliation or to step up their attacks in revenge, or to continue as they had been doing. The disagreements eventually turned into a schism that split Citizen into smaller factions with Robert becoming the new leader of what was probably the closest to his and William’s vision.
Three years later the incident at the Tower occurred and Robert became a Parahuman. Lorne established themselves as a staunchly anti-Parahuman entity, even convincing the government and police to crack down on them and a new faction arose in the city in retaliation. Robert allied what was left of his group with the Parahuman Protection Society, becoming a member of its leading council and a figurehead among the more militant members of the group.
“Tell me again how it works?”
Robert peered over the rim of his cup of coffee, the acrid scent attacking his senses as the young man sat across from him caught his eye. It was just the two of them in the room at the moment, sitting together in what passed for a lounge in what passed for their headquarters; most of the others had better things to be doing in the middle of the day than sit around and passing the time. “How what works?”
“Your power.” The other man leaned forward on his elbows as Robert let out a groan. It would be that, it was always that. “The… what did you call it, ‘tactile extension’?”
Letting out a weary sigh, Robert lowered the cup in his hand onto the table. He looked across the table, staring at the other man in silence and receiving only eager curiosity in return as he weighed up the pros and cons of going through this again. The young man, who wasn’t so young in truth, was someone who had joined Citizen some five or six years ago; in his early thirties by now, but Robert’s threshold for ‘young’ seemed to get lower by the day, and someone who had avoided being caught up in this whole Parahuman mess until Robert had dragged him and the others who followed him into the ranks of the PPS. His name was Tom if Robert’s memory wasn’t failing him.
Robert leaned back, hands lifting from the table and waving through the air as if trying to conjure the right words into existence only to give up and let his hands drop back down with a thud. “It’s hard to explain.”
“You said it was like echolocation, right? But with touch? You see people when they touch things, instead of by the sounds they make. I just want to know what it looks like when it happens.”
“Something like that.” Robert ran a hand, his real hand, through his beard as he tried to put his expanded senses into terms that made sense to someone who didn’t have them. It wasn’t an easy task, especially when he didn’t fully understand them himself. It was like trying to explain colour to a blind person, or pitch to a deaf person. “It doesn’t look like anything. It’s like my sense of touch has been expanded outside my own body. When someone touches the floor or a wall or a table the next room over I can tell. If I close my eyes and stop thinking about it, it doesn’t feel any different than if someone tapped me on the shoulder.”
Tom nodded along, apparently understanding or at least going along with the explanation so far. He seemed like the kind of person who wished he’d gotten powers along with everyone else, one of the few who was enamoured with Parahumans rather than being scared witless of people with dangerous abilities popping up at random. Robert wasn’t sure if he was smarter or dumber than the average person for it. “So does it hurt? Or can it hurt, if someone blew a hole through a wall and you could feel it.”
Shaking his head, Robert picked his coffee back up and took another swig before continuing. “No pain. No heat, no pressure, no itches or anything like that; just a plain old sense of touch. It’s not an extension of my body, just that one sense; I can’t tell it’s there until something happens. There’s no awareness beyond that. There’s no proprioception. Do you know that word?” He got a shake of the head in response and so continued to explain. “It’s a word one of the people in the council used, when I tried to explain this to them. Proprioception is like your awareness of your own body, like how you don’t lose track of where your arms and legs are if you can’t see them or you close your eyes. You still know what your own body looks like and how it’s positioned even if you can’t see it. I don’t have that, I don’t know what the room next door looks like or where anything behind me is just because. It’s not a part of my body, but I can feel through it.”
The glazed over eyes and blank stare was a familiar response, but still a disappointing one. A shame, Robert felt like he had done a pretty good job this time. “But you said you can see things right.” A nod was enough to get Tom to continue. He looked over Robert’s shoulder towards the door behind him, seeing something through the glass and having a flash of inspiration. “Someone just walked past the door. Did you feel them?”
“Yeah it was Charlie.”
A crease of confusion formed as Tom tried to process the quick response. “But you said-“
“I don’t see everything, but I see some things. When something touches a surface I know where it happens and I can see the general outline of what it was. I know it was a person who walked past; I know their general height and weight, their build, what kind of shoes they’re wearing. That sort of thing. In this case I know where they came from and where they are going and I know they have a limp. Charlie has the same limp, he’s about the right height and build for the impression I got and he was over on that side of the building earlier, so it must have been Charlie.”
Tom was scratching his head at this point. “That sounds like a complicated power.”
Appearance: Owen does not cast a physically imposing figure, he stands around average height at five feet and ten inches with a lean slightly athletic frame. His hair is a dark brown shade and at a medium length. A scruffy beard evident on the bottom half of his face and neck. His eyes are green in color, often staring off at his surroundings or stuck in thought. He tends to dress in non eye catching fashions and shades, all part of the goal of blending into crowds when he needs to. He does not carry any weaponry on him or special equipment.
Para Category: Beta, threat level 4.
Powers/Abilities: Owen is technopathic, which grants him control over manmade machinery and crafted metals. He can technokinetically mold, alter and reconstruct these to his will. For example a car could be molded into a robot guardian, crafted and twisted until its been given a humanoid shape then fights in his defense. Or he could strip that same car of its metal sheeting and mold that into a suit of armor for himself or others. One common usage of his power is to strip metals and create a barrier or a walkway. In the past he has ripped guns from the hands of opponents with his mind, then crumbled the firearms like piece of paper. He's also hacked into mechs and turned them to his side. He can interface into computers, cameras and other types of electronics and manipulate them to a degree. Highly protected and encrypted systems give him a lot of trouble. The potential upper limits of his abilities are frightening especially in a world filled to the brim with machines, metal and technology.
The power is not without its limitations or drawbacks though. He is only able to manipulate machinery, metals and technology within his vision and it must be man made. He can not control natural earth occurring metals unless they have been first crafted by human hands. He believes he may one day be able to use his powers to that extent but has been utterly unable to so far. Prolonged usage of the power or at massive capacities tires him. A particularly stressful experimentation of his powers nearly led him to blackout.
Skills:
As a talented engineer even before gaining his powers Owen is very creative and detail oriented. He's a resourceful man with a focused thought process. As well as an intelligent, college educated man with years of experience in a difficult field. It is difficult to catch him off guard.
Owen has taken it upon himself to learn a few forms of martial arts in the name of self defense. While he is not a deadly unarmed combatant he can hold his own in a brawl against less trained opponents.
In his time as a parahuman he's put it upon himself to do whatever it takes to survive. He's ruthless in his ways and actions, doing anything needed to thrive, prosper and evade capture/death. Nothing is out of question when his own status is on the line.
Weaknesses:
Other than his technopathic powers he is entirely human. He bleeds just the same as every other person.
Owen's mental stability is in question due to recent traumatic events, the state of the world an his status as a wanted parahuman. He's much less trusting of people that he once was and is suspicious of others true intentions. He has no qualms with turning his back and fleeing as self preservation registers highly for him. He's had to resort to some worrisome deeds in order to survive.
He's a bit of a loner, he does not make many friends or allies. His lack of trust comes into this very strongly.
He's a known parahuman, having committed several crimes to get by and further himself. The general public may not know his face but the authorities do. While he has done nothing sadistic or inhuman he has been connected to multiple break ins, robberies and hostage takings.
Brief History: Owen was born into a poorer family in the slummier districts of southern California. As an only child raised by a single mother he had an at times, rough childhood. His father was never in the picture and he can't recall a single memory involving the man. His mother, Jocelyn told him his father took off for the east shortly after Owen was born and never heard from again. His mother worked in a factory and did everything she could to give her son a happy life. He repaid his mother's devotion for him by focusing intently on schoolwork. Even though he'd often come home bruised from being frequently bullied. He never had many friends in school, or was ever the most social of children. He'd find his sanity in machinery, a deep fascination with robotics from a young age would serve as an ironic sign of his future self. He finished near the top of his class and was given a scholarship to the prestigious Stanford University where he'd enroll in their engineering program.
The future seemed ever bright to the intelligent Owen. College was much the same as high school, minus the bullying, thankfully. He put his head down and focused strongly on schoolwork until the day he walked out with his degree. Tragedy would strike a few days after his graduation as his mother was killed in a mugging. The event had a profound effect on the wide eyed Owen, affecting him deeply for months. He'd push himself forward and get a job at AeroVironment, a robotics company which manufactured unmanned robotics for several of the world's militaries. Owen would play a strong hand in the progress and development of multiple projects, earning himself a reputation within the company and within the field. He'd move on from the company in 2042, taking a higher paid position across the country in Marlon in 2042 for the Lorne Corporation's robotic's division.
His work with Lorne would earn him more accolades, though being employed by such a massive company in a cutthroat city would change him. Still the job was good and filled his wants in life, he'd even fall in love with a fellow employee, Bethany Robinson who he'd maintain a romantic relationship with for a few years up until the catastrophic event at the Tower. Owen was struck by the wave of energy, finding himself embedded with strange powers. His experimentation with his newfound abilities both intrigued and frightened him. He did not seek out to become a hero or cause trouble, instead he continued to try to live his normal life and hide his technopathicness. Bethany never approved of the powers, they frightened her deeply. It would be the cause of several fights between the two.
After one rough confrontation between the two Owen angrily lashed out and released his powers. He shifted the inside of his apartment, molding and shaking every piece of machinery in it. Windows shattered and the door launched off the hinges as the enraged Owen was not able to control his still newfound abilities. Bethany ran away terrified, tears streaming down her face as crooked pieces of metal jutted from the walls, floor and ceiling. As Owen ran after her, trying to get her back the police were called and he had to flee. He lost his job at Lorne Corporation and found himself wanted by the authorities. Since then Owen has has had to live a much different life, moving from place to place constantly. He's begun to dip into using his powers, seeing how far he can take them, how powerful he can become. All while remaining angry at the world.
Plain black and white sneakers clicked against the sidewalk as Owen walked calmly through the bustling streets of Marlon. One of his hands moved towards his head, adjusting his baseball cap as he continued his silent stride, careful to avoid walking into any passerbys. The moon sat high in the sky as the megacity's lights flooded the skyline. It was never truly dark anywhere in the bustling Marlon. Traffic blared by on the streets, a horn honking loudly at a near collision between two cars. The parahuman gave a short glance at the scene as he continued his night time stride. The bus stop was in sight, not even a block away. A smile of relief came to his face as he was a few minutes early. He'd be able to relax then take a ride through the streets, into a safer part of the megacity. He picked up his pace slightly, side stepping two conversing denizens smoking cigarettes leisurely.
Owen tucked his hands into his sweatshirt's pockets, a cool fall breeze tapping against his exposed hands before he tucked them away. He could hear the sound of a guitar beginning strummed nearby as a street musician played an old rock song. The man's fingers danced across the frets as he picked up the pace, a small crowd having gathered around him to watch. An open instrument case sat by him where some of the audience had placed dollars before continuing to go about their day. The parahuman narrowed his eyes as he tried to recall the song, it might have been an old tune by the Eagles. The song struck a tone inside the wanted super powered man. It caused him to think of better days. He took a moment to watch and listen as he removed two dollars from his pocket. Then he dropped them wordlessly into the case before continuing on his way. The musician giving a thankful smile and nod as Owen turned back towards the bus stop.
As he emerged from the small crowd he unwittingly locked eyes with a person standing to the side. Then he felt his stride pick up slightly as he realized it was a policeman. The officer moved as the two met gazes, recognizing Owen from the profile on the police database as well as the occasional plastered wanted screens around the city. The man spoke out a few words as Owen kept the walk, so very close the bus stop. He felt a nervous chill go down his spine as he understood the officer's words.
"Hey you, slow down. Come here for just one second!" The words caused the parahuman to blink, and against his better judgement he stopped in his stride. He could've booked it and dashed into the crowd, gotten lost in the city's lights and continue his vigilante escapade.
"Can I help you officer?" Owen calmly replied as he turned, hands coming out of his pockets. He could feel his heart rate rising slowly as the officer took another step towards him.
"I know you. You're that metal bending para." The policeman said forcefully, taking another step closer.
"You're mistaken, I'm not one of those freaks." Owen said, reacting with a false confusion and disgust. It did not stop the officer as one of the man's hands went towards his hip, resting momentarily on his sidearm.
"No I'm sure of it. You've done a lot of bad things, your face is in our parahuman database. I'm gonna have to ask you to come with me." The officer replied as his other hand went for his handcuffs. Owen began to raise his hands upwards.
"No, no I'm not. You're wrong. This is all a big misunderstanding, I don't know what you're talking about." Owen shot back, his voice evident with nervousness. It was at that moment he took notice of a metallic mailbox on the sidewalk, the insignia of the post office evident on it.
"Come with me quietly. I don't want this to escalate." The officer added, still not having drawn his pistol. The man was hoping for a diplomatic, peaceful situation. Sadly, no such thing would occur. He'd never let himself be captured. He'd heard horror stories of the parahumans that had been taken away and caged.
The mailbox shook forcefully, lifting off the ground and drawing the immediate attention of the policeman and all the surrounding pedestrians. The gun came out of the officer's holster, clenched in his hand, finger on the trigger and pointed at Owen. The metallic mailbox launched towards the man, hurling through the air as it slammed into his side and sending him to the hard concrete ground. A bullet shot off with a scream, a reaction shot that hit nothing but the air. The scene had exploded into chaos within a split second. Mail spewed across the sidewalk as the mailbox skidded to a halt, released from Owen's control. The sound of metal screeching against pavement only drew more eyes to the scene. The pistol had also slide across the floor before it levitated upwards, floating in front of the parahuman in his control.
"Please, don't. Please." The downed man begged as the parahuman looked down at him, several of his ribs cracked from the collision with the mailbox. Owen breathed heavily, briefly considering putting a bullet between the man's eyes so that he could not radio to the others. The tension hung in the air heavily.
Then the parahuman acted with the eyes of the crowd upon him. He ripped the police radio from the man's belt, then reduced it to pieces, along with the gun. Both fell apart like a puzzle losing its pieces, leaving a crumbled mess of formerly assembled pieces on the sidewalk. He'd shown mercy and solved the momentary issue of more authorities coming for his capture. But they would arrive soon regardless, he had to move. Then Owen ran, sprinting as fast he could down an alleyway. A few moments later the crowd followed, finding a dark alley and a bent fence in which the parahuman had manipulated then scaled over.
