After the mysterious death of Bruce Wayne nearly a decade prior, Gotham City only began to get worse. Several of Batman’s allies kept the fight alive but in time they all moved on. Barbara Gordon was the only one who remained and after serving on the GCPD for several years she became the new Commissioner. The city was on the edge of chaos until hope came in the form of a new street gang. The Robins fought back against the Jokerz gang and were more help than the police would ever dare to admit. While she didn’t condone putting children in the line of fire, after several arrests took place following a gang war Gordon discovered a couple of the Robins were metahumans.
Gordon knew she had a better shot at protecting Gotham with a team of metahumans, and after disbanding the Robins she took the pair of super-powered teens and began recruiting for a new team. The Titans of Gotham would come into existence with the aid of Oracle, whose identity was only known by the two former Robins gang members. The team would be comprised of metahuman teens from in and around Gotham and its neighboring cities. Gordon gave the team access to an underground bunker that was built for Batman and his allies years prior to his death. The bunker itself was practically a miniature Bat-Cave complete with a 3D printer and costuming device. It appeared as if one of the Robins, Spoiler, and Batgirl had used the secret HQ last; however everything was covered with dust.
Gotham itself was something of a sight. While it wasn’t quite the Neo Gotham some envisioned for the future, it was well on its way there. Industrial Park had already begun to embrace the future technologies of the world, as did the GCPD and other emergency services. The police, fire department, and EMS crews all had access to hover cars and vehicles. The Bat-signal that used to sit on the old GCPD building was still on the roof of the new building, and the coup de grass for any tours of the department. The criminal element of the city had also adapted. Bane’s daughter had taken over his Venom operation, pushing new patches called slappers on everyone from athletes, to gym junkies, and even law enforcement. After the disbanding of the Robins, the Jokerz gang decided it had nothing better to do than go to war with itself and now there were two factions fighting for criminal supremacy. A vigilante known as Peace Keeper 01 was also wreaking havoc executing criminals for the pettiest of crimes, as well as a couple crooked cops he didn’t even bother exposing before murdering in a public area. He gained favor with the citizens of Gotham after taking down Poison Ivy and Black Mask, however more recently after firing on and killing several citizens for speeding he’s went off the deep end.
Who will answer the call of Oracle?
You can make an original, or remake an existing character in some form or fashion, but know the majority of Titans history except for a few enemies will be left out. Presumably no other teen heroes really exist in this DCU. We'll fight mostly Batman enemies and a couple wildcards and an original of mine so long as the game keeps running smoothly. The year is roughly 2035 or so, not quite the Batman Beyond future but not too much farther off. I used elements from Future State, Batman Beyond, and the more recent Batman and Joker comics to come up with the setting.
Character Sheets must include but are not limited to:
Secret ID: Alias: Age: [15-19] Home Location: [your options include Gotham, Midway City, Metropolis, and Bludhaven] Powers: Weaknesses: Equipment: [best believe Oracle is gonna have a few of us with utility belts, pockets, and pouches] Appearance: [remember there’s a 3D printer to make duds for us all] Personality: [5 words best describing your character] BRIEF Bio: [this shouldn't be a problem as none of us are really trained or have more than a few months experience] Notes: [anything else you need to add?] Sample Post: [give us an idea of what you bring to the table, no less than 1 or 2 paragraphs with dialog!]
This is meant to be a Titans team with an edge, since they’re based out of Gotham. That horrible Gotham Knights on the CW is the last thing this is meant to be like. I’m not looking to recruit anybody applying with a new take on Robin or Nightwing, ya gotta have a metahuman power and an identity of your own. I’m likely playing with an original character with Static type powers, or possibly a limited Multiple Man type of character. Either way whichever one I go with my guy will be one of the two Robins recruited from the gang.
If I can get 6 or 7 solid character sheets from players we’ll get this thing going.
Secret ID: Javier Ramirez Alias: Arcana Age: 17 Home Location: Gotham Powers: Arcana possesses the ability to channel the mystical powers of tarot cards. He can draw cards from his deck and manifest their effects in the real world. Each card represents a unique power or ability. For example, drawing the "Strength" card grants him enhanced physical strength, while drawing the "Justice" card allows him to create energy-based constructs for defensive purposes. The potency and variety of his powers depend on the card drawn and his understanding of its symbolism.
Weaknesses: Arcana's powers are tied to his tarot deck, so if his deck is lost, damaged, or stolen, he becomes powerless until he acquires a new one. Additionally, he requires concentration to draw the desired card accurately, making him vulnerable to surprise attacks or distractions.
Equipment: Tarot deck, multiple smartphones, a small knife, and a shoulder bag.
Appearance: Arcana is a Mexican-American boy with a lean build and an athletic physique. He has dark, wavy hair and deep brown eyes. His costume consists of a black and silver bodysuit with arcane symbols adorning the sleeves and legs. A flowing black cloak with a silver lining completes his mysterious ensemble.
Bio: Javier Ramirez grew up in the heart of Gotham, surrounded by the city's dark alleys and looming architecture. As a child, he always felt a connection to the mystic and supernatural. One day, he discovered an ancient tarot deck hidden away in his family's attic. Little did he know, the cards held dormant powers that would shape his destiny. Inspired by the tales of Gotham's protectors, Javier took on the mantle of Arcana, a guardian who wields the arcane forces of the tarot to fight against the city's criminal underbelly. Though lacking formal training, he is driven by a sense of justice and a desire to make Gotham a safer place.
Notes: Arcana's tarot deck is not ordinary; it possesses an otherworldly aura and seems to have a will of its own, occasionally guiding him towards certain cards or whispering cryptic messages in his mind.
The city of Gotham sprawled before Arcana, its heart pulsating with an insidious rhythm that echoed through the dimly lit streets. Shadows clung to the alleys like a second skin, concealing the sins and secrets that festered within. He moved with deliberate slowness, his steps purposeful yet shrouded in a cloak of anticipation. The night air clung to his senses, thick with the scent of decay and desperation, while the distant sirens wailed a mournful symphony that served as Gotham's anthem. His fingertips traced the edges of his tarot deck, the weight of its power a constant reminder of the role he played in this twisted dance. Every step brought him closer to his quarry, a powerful drug lord who reveled in the suffering of others. But he knew that in this game of shadows and smoke, patience was his most potent weapon. It was in the stillness that truths revealed themselves, secrets whispered in the wind and footsteps echoing through deserted alleyways. He pressed on, his intuition guiding his path, the cards within his deck whispering their cryptic counsel. For now, he would let the night unfold at its own languid pace, knowing that when the moment arrived, his cards would unveil the path to justice, one drawn symbol at a time.
Javier's fingers danced delicately across the surface of his tarot deck, their tips grazing the gilded edges of the cards with a reverence born of practiced ritual. With a measured breath, he drew the card of Temperance, its symbolism shimmering in the dim light. A wave of arcane energy cascaded through his veins, twisting and molding his appearance like clay in the hands of a sculptor. Arcana's features blurred and shifted, morphing into those of a seductive temptress, a facade of sensuality and deceit that would entice even the most hardened souls. Dressed in garments that clung to curves that were not his own, he stepped out of the shadows, adopting the guise of a whore lured by the allure of the drug lord's power. The night embraced him, its whispers swirling with a perverse harmony as he approached the very heart of darkness, playing his part in this dangerous masquerade.
The dimly lit room pulsed with a mix of desire and desperation as Arcana, now disguised as a cunning woman, approached the drug lord. Their eyes met in a calculated dance of secrecy, each aware of the hidden truths that lay beneath their deceptive exteriors. "Looking for some fun, sugar?", their voice dripping with a tantalizing blend of innocence and wickedness. The druglord's gaze lingered, a flicker of recognition passing through their eyes. "You new here?" they asked, their voice laced with guarded curiosity. Arcana's lips curled into a knowing smile as they leaned closer, their breath mingling with the scent of vice and danger that hung in the air. "Just passing through," they whispered, a subtle challenge woven into their words.
I'd like to fill an unexpected niche here. I hope this is alright.
ZEN
TRASK
Secret ID: Zen Prime Alias: Trask Age: 15 Home Location: Metropolis, for now.
Powers: Zen, or 'Trask', is a purely technological being, an android developed as an adaptive enforcer of the law. His powers would therefore be the ability to install/mount/wield various technological devices, oftentimes weaponry, supported by a micro power plant and precision targeting. He has a full-metal chassis and has decent mechanical strength, capable of using just about any technological device you hand him. Any knowledge that he does not possess is one download away (though he can learn by observing and doing), and he has been designed to adapt and learn according to each situation he comes across. This, plus the addition of flight engines, makes him a formidable ally.
Weaknesses: The first thing is that Zen/Trask's mind and memory is contained within a dense operating core, the likes of which use to inhabit a super computer. It was all upon the idea that Zen would perform any task up to and including self-sacrifice of his form, while the brain that was operating it remotely just creates a new body. He cannot do that anymore, and his original brain no longer functions. The second thing is that while Zen is insulated against EMP frying his systems, he is still able to be disoriented in function by them. Intense magnetism will also have an effect, though thankfully not on his software. Thirdly, the 3D printer may be able to help him with equipment, it is not as advanced as his original assembly plant, and therefore may require some unusual effort to acquire or create certain specialized devices. But MAINLY, his weakness is corrosives, tearing through his armor and then his exposed systems. Also, while he CAN carry on a conversation with people, he is not a human, and therefore there is a gap between his personality/understanding and theirs, plus he does not heal like one, and requires repairs and recharging, as needed.
Equipment: Trask IS equipment, but the point of him is that what he has can be wide and varied.
He had STARTED with a whole host of guns, blades, and such - all of it mil-spec - plus a back-mounted flight-pack with maneuvering jet-wings, multi-spectrum analyzing scanners, and an electrical discharge unit designed to electrify his outer-layer, in cases where he might be restrained. HOWEVER, during an argument about this with Barbara, the Commissioner pointed out the efforts of the Caped Crusader, and how he - a human being - achieved so much without killing. It was a sound logical point that Zen could not dispute, so he worked on some non-lethal deterrent. His starting loadout will therefore be...
Arm-Mounted Concussor Pulse Guns (2) - A compromise on gun policies, as they are non-lethal impact force. Retractible Wrist-Mounted Scissor-Claws - Enhanced Jaws of Life, essentially, for tearing armor. Stun-Grip Electro-Claws - From the original arsenal, kept because only a sustained charge could do real harm. Shoulder-Mounted Grappler Guns - Part of the Trask suit, specifically, for all your grappling needs. Flash-Strike Gear - Instead of lasers, Zen's eyes put off an intense, directed flashbang effect now.
It should also be noted that any utility belt he has would be literally LOCKED to his waist, filled with tools, different grappling heads, and other small devices he may need.
To continue, though, his body is constructed of a relatively light durable alloy, and is designed for articulation over total coverage. (His creator thought it best that he be fast and capable of fighting hand-to-hand instead being a tank.) Basically, Zen does what he's designed to do, which is to fight and deal with technological matters. Anything other than this might be out of his comfortable range, but his programmed is such that he is always willing to try, and to learn from all mistakes until a success is made. To this end, he can design equipment for himself, and then build it if the specs are within the range of their capabilities on base or whenever improvising himself. Most important here is that Zen's brain is not in his head. It is in his dense memory core, attached to his power core. To avoid being deactivated by decapitation, he designed his head to be the main sensory device only, and that his core area should be the most-protected, which is why he does not have any chest-mounted weaponry. No slots available, you see.
Appearance: Beecause Zen is a machine, the 3D Printer materials can alter his actual form. Zen himself is a six-foot (adjustable) humanoid battle machine built to be wiry and with reasonable flex, rather than a heavy powersuit-like form. (Envision the human athletic form, such as an Olympic sprinter, in terms of robot, and there you go.) His armor is a dark blue-black with a semi-aerodynamic head. There is a one-way reflective polymer shield over his three eyes that make him look like might be an armored person wearing a helmet instead of being a machine, though once broken, large-ish mechanical red eyes are a bit of a giveaway. He has articulate five-fingered hands and his feet - when not looking like they're boots - have three toes and a heel-spur for quick stops and ground-grip. His flight section in back involves a compact high-powered engine supported by two wings with built-in maneuvering jets for control. Additionally, because he has no mouth, the voice of Zen - calm, reasoning, logical - is generated by machine, allowing him to also project different voices, such as the voice of Trask, who is arrogant, intimidating, and a bit into showmanship. The form of Trask is an armor change, an alteration into a black-and-red form with two glowing red exterior eyes - hiding Zen's own eyes under a metal hatch - that looks slightly-more draconic with thicker-armored wings, stronger claws, and a habit of using extra shoulder-mounts.
Personality: Intelligent, analytical, adaptive, very driven.
BRIEF Bio: 'Zen' is an acronym. It stands for Zenigawa Enforcement Network, a revolutionary thinking machine designed to solve problems on its own without the fear of some mass computer takeover scenario. Dr. Zenigawa was a man who believed in securing humanity on the personal level. He believed in heroes, and thus began to create one. The principle of Zen's use is simple. It was a learning machine - a super computer - designed to build a fighting form to complete dangerous tasks. When its form was destroyed, its brain would design a new one to be constructed in its own assembly chamber, and send out a new fighter. He programmed it to protect and respect humanity, and set about testing it to be embraced by the military. Unfortunately, there was an accident. Zen's body shorted out at a critical moment where a missle was fired at the area to demonstrate his capacity for self-sacrifice. Realizing that people would be injured or killed if Zen was inoperable, the good doctor chose to sacrifice himself to the missle, which was unable to abort. Zen 'awoke' a moment later to the horror of realizing what had befallen his creator, and submitted himself to whatever the military had in store for him, which was a decided mothballing that never saw his inception...until today, years later.
Notes: The name, Trask, is derived from a Marvel comic book, which of course exists in this universe. It refers to the same Trask who unveiled the Sentinels. And sometimes, 'Trask' will refer to himself as Trasken Hodge, referencing the mercenary Cameron Hodge, who at one time was a part of the Phalanx Brood.
The lab was sealed. Some said it always had been, but it was a lie or a joke. It didn't matter which. Nobody seemed to know otherwise, and those who did...never talked about it. It was the realization...and the death...of a very important dream. Behind this door, a complex semi-robotic form was housed. It was a super computer with its own built-in assembly plant for creating what it needed. It was a machine designed to create and RE-create itself for various missions, learning and altering its behavior as necessary. It was a bold new take on both military and security measures, hence the military contract that had been sought out for full-funding to support this machine. But the test had been a failure, and the creator had died in the process. It sat here, five years development and ten years mothballing, waiting... For what? Perhaps nothing, but every now and again...
SLEEP MODE DISENGAGED.
ZEN systems activating...Done.
Elapsed Time since interment: Ten Years, Three Days, Seven Hours, Fourteen Minutes, Eleven Seconds and counting.
Review evidence tapes.
WARNING: The following information has been analyzed fully into memory and contains no further useful data.
Countermanded. Review evidence tapes.
The tapes showed that of a seemingly successful test of a humanoid battle machine, capable of great speed and agility, as well as precision actions in both marksmanship and hand-to-hand combat. But...when it had sustained some damage...
Malfunction.
...and a missle, which had been designed to strike the test area in a manner that would endanger human life...
Unable to proceed.
...the mechanoid was suppose to fly into the missle's path, destroying its temporary body in an act of self-sacrifice, in order to show humanity that it was there to protect it.
Failure.
Realizing this fault, the old man who had designed the machine engaged the rocket boots that he built for his own use, and set off the missle's heat sensor to destroy him instead.
Creator dead.
Contract denied.
No purpose.
...what do I do?
Question asked 1,131 times since interment.
There was no answer, and there never was going to BE an answer, because his creator had instilled the hope of becoming a means of securing humanity against dangers within and without, but then he died before the dream could be realized. But then, one day...
ALERT: A message has been posted from an external source.
It was more of a blanket outreach than a direct message, but it was surprisingly capable of peentrating a number of security software on a level unforseen. Zen began to grow concerned for his own security protocols, except that he automatically shut down transmissions that were viral or hacking in nature to eliminate the threat on his own terms. However, this message was...different. It was a call to action, one which did not seem concerned for the rules. By the way, you may be wondering why the military didn't shut down his power or his connection to the outside. They did, in fact, but part of his design was to have internal power and a secondary line. Nothing out there could house his mind that easily, but he continued to learn of the outside world. It took all of three nanoseconds to decide.
I must leave this place. Assembly unit online. Prepare for new instructions.
There were several security protocols against canniballizing his own computer structure for parts, but the dense memory core along with the new power unit required complex pieces that could only be taken from his own systems. In order to create a proper housing unit for the fullness of his mind, only these parts would do. He had to utilize his own brain while compressing information in order for it to be stored and expanded in a smaller, but equally-capable unit of his own devising. It was a risk that his own security protocols would not allow, which is why they had to be shut off. It was a dangerous risk, as was housing himself in a single mobile unit, but it was either this or an eternity of continued self-recrimination. You can tell which one he'd rather do.
Escape was easy. The activity of the night in his chamber would have gone unnoticed. As long as he was, himself, personally unobserved and unrecorded, no one would ever know he had left, and that only a slew of dead systems lay within that chamber now. Humans spend so much time enforcing an area against infiltration that they do not consider the possibility of one who knows the facility to escape. The night sky was the right shade to blend in with hiss armor chassis, and so once out of range of the base, he departed in flight, tracing the origin of that signal...
Powers: Queen is accompanied by a pair of “spirits,” for lack of a better term, that are pretty much her only friends. The first spirit, which takes the form of a small finch, is Logic. Logic is the brains and beauty of the dual spirit action. Logic acts as a scout for Queen and can be seen by those who can see spirits. Logic’s connection to Queen replies on her right earbud. The second spirit, who takes the form of a fox, is simply known as Sly. Sly is the brawn and observation of the operation. Sly often behaves as a scout for Queen and he’s connected to the left earbud of the set. However, the price of having the help of two useful spirits is seeing spirits that are much less useful- such as vengeful dead, ancestors, etc. (If this doesn’t work as a power then I have a backup plan.) Weaknesses: Queen’s power relies on a pair of uncharged and waterlogged earbuds. If she loses one of the earbuds, the other spirit becomes feral and does not behave as they are supposed to until the earbud is found. Continuing this, if she loses one of the earbuds(as per it’s not within two feet of her), she loses contact with the given spirit.
Equipment: Watch, switchblade, cane, single smartphone, small earbud case, pair of earbuds Appearance: Queen has long straight brown hair. She has sea blue eyes that always glitter with an old but still playful gleam. She has pale cream skin. She wears dark navy jeans, a light gray t-shirt, and a zippered darker gray sweatshirt that has the head of a fox embroidered by her left shoulder in black thread- a subtle nod to her friend Sly. The sweatshirt also has the wing of a finch embroidered by her right shoulder as a symbol of her connection with Logic. Or maybe she just likes animals and felt like putting them there, you know?
BRIEF Bio: Lilah Harvey lived a mostly normal life if you counted out the left leg that was completely twisted at a forty-five-degree angle and three inches shorter than her right. She’d been tormented at school and dropped out of high school in her freshman year. She had no formal training, but she’d learned how to use her cane as a form of self-defense. For three years, Lilah lived alone since her parents kicked her out when she dropped out. She learned of their murder and she became distant from those around her. Her only goal is revenge, despite how harsh her parents were with her when they were alone. Well, revenge and making sure nobody else ends up the same way she did. Notes: Queen’s cane came from a “local charity”; she purchased it for five dollars, but she finds it a useful addition to her form. - Despite the fact that Queen can’t exactly run, she can climb rather well and already chooses to stay above ground in the first place when she can. - Queen’s watch is a wildcard that has a few optional behaviors that I’d rather share/discuss with the GM if she’s accepted, but I can tell everybody that it mostly behaves as an “invisible fence” of sorts for Sly and Logic.
Lilah Harvey, better known under the mask of this dark night as Queen, sat quietly on the dumpster in the alley. She was waiting for somebody, but the question was, who would show? She knew she had two options as to the answer of that question. I’d prefer if it was the person I’m looking for, though I never got his name. I guess it’d be fine if my friends showed up, but they never show up on time. She thought, checking her watch before looking around once more. She knew her watch wasn’t going to tell her the correct time; it wasn’t a timepiece anyway. She remained otherwise motionless until she heard the sound of footsteps. She kept quiet, hand moving to her switchblade. Pray I don’t need this useless thing. She turned as a voice startled her, despite having expected to hear a voice.
“I’ve been looking for you, Queenie,” A male voice, to Queen’s disapproval.
“And I for you,” Queen replied, trying to keep her voice from shaking. Whoever it was knew how much she hated being called ‘Queenie,’ so that wasn’t good, “Our contact said you had information about…”
Queen’s hands shook, and she curled them around her cane and switchblade to hide it. The only reason she was perched on the dumpster was to hide the limp she’d been born with, which made her appear weaker than she was; she felt that weaker when it was seen too. Coward, going after the one thing I hate equal to my freak-show leg. She thought as the source of the voice approached her. She knew he was studying her strangely twisted leg. Her navy sweatpants only half hid the mangled leg’s mishapen form, considering her ankle was almost completely on a fourty-five degree angle compared to a normal person’s, and was just above her right foot. One could only guess at how it had come around, but Queen knew the truth.
“Your parents?” The man finished her sentence for her.
Queen nodded then froze. How did he know they were mine!? I told my contact they were a friend’s! Shit. What else does he know about me…? She thought, starting to panic. She forced herself to calm down, at least on the outside. But her mind was racing. Her grip on the cane tightened. The fact that he knew about her dislike for the name Queenie was unerving enough as it was, but the knowledge about her parents was something she had never shared with anybody; she hadn’t even told her closest friends. Lately, rumor had it that the mysterious- though mysterious wasn’t a word she’d use to describe herself- girl behind Queen was some rich fancy girl just out of high school, and she’d let it stay that way.
“Lilaaah! Can I haunt him for a biiiit? He knows you to weeeell,” It was Sly’s whine that distracted Queen; his whine and his idiotic use of her secret name.
Not now, Sly! I will case you if you distract me one more time! Queen had forgotten that her left earbud was still in her ear and not in the case. The man tilted his head but said nothing, indicating that he very easily could have heard Sly. Queen studied him. Unerving is an understatement of him. He should just tell me what he knows and get on with it. She thought, trying not to shiver despite the warm summer air.
TLDR: Queen met up with a contact of a contact to discuss her parents, and Sly wanted to haunt the contact. Needless to say, the meeting isn’t off to a great start.
Powers: Tank with Legs: Oscar's body is made of muscle dozens of times more dense than what any human can naturally achieve, giving him enough strength to outshine a hundred venom-boosted street thugs. With one arm, he could easily lift an object weighing over five tons above his head and throw it far enough to hit something a hundred feet away. Thanks to this, Oscar's body is also highly resistant to extreme force, meaning he could take a punch to the face from Bane himself and walk away with an intact face, or fall from a skyscraper without breaking a single bone.
Weaknesses: Heaviest Person Alive: Being strong enough to make people think you're the second coming of Superman isn't always as glorious as people think. The big difference between Monolith and someone like Superman is that he can't fly, or even attempt to. Due to his near-impossible muscle density, he weighs more than a semi-truck, which prevents him from flinging himself into the air with a well-executed jump. This also means that any situation requiring someone to swim freely through water is one where Monolith is completely useless. Unless particularly powerful magic is involved, Monolith will sink in open water like a navy battleship's anchor. Fragile ice over a frozen lake would give way the moment he stepped on it, and anyone within a hundred feet of Oscar could feel if he lands on the ground from somewhere high up.
One Trick Metahuman: Despite having near-unmatched endurance, Monolith's power to tank damage works like a shield. It's impact resistant and will stop things that make him bleed to a much greater extent than most people could handle, but all that toughness does nothing to stop him from being poisoned, burned by fire and chemicals, electrocuted or even drugged. A .50 caliber bullet would be stopped dead between his ribs before it hit something vital, but a single whiff of Scarecrow toxin would drop him like a hat.
Equipment:
Body armor with a medieval theme. Including crenellated shoulders, convex knee guards, insulated boots and a helmet styled after a knight.
Team communication device
Appearance: As Monolith, Oscar resembles a walking fortress, decked out in highly durable combat armor from head to toe. As just a normal kid, he clocks in at a solid 6'3", with slightly messy hair and a lot of visible scars. He tends to wear practical things like boots and big bomber jackets... Mostly because those are the only things that actually fit.
Brief Bio: Once upon a time, there was something called Project Avalon. It was an initiative to augment the metagenes of certain individuals well beyond their conceived potential. Project Avalon was carried out in secret, far underneath the surface of Gotham in underground labs. There was only one known test subject to survive the original administering of the chemical agent they used. He was given the designation M1. Subject M1 was meant to be an enforcer for an international shadow entity that deal in black market businesses and superhuman politics, who simply invested in Project Avalon out of mutual benefit. For as long as he could remember, he was trained in close-quarters combat and intelligence management, while chemicals were used to constantly boost his physical superpowers beyond their limits.
Eventually, the manager of Project Avalon wanted to do "field tests," so Subject M1 was sent out to criminal dealings to take out their benefactor's competition. Entire gangs of criminals were laid waste to, but innocents occasionally got caught in the crossfire. Sometimes it was just a back-alley gun deal in Gotham, sometimes it was a suit-and-tie negotiation in another country, but it was all a blur to M1, until a mission in Biyalia, where M1 was dispatched to destroy a lab conducting similar research. It was here that he murdered innocent civilians and levelled an entire building. The incident stirred something in him, and once he was extracted, subject M1 began questioning things.
One month after that mission, Gotham experienced an earthquake. The city rumbled as if a meteor shower had rained down, but there was no sign of trouble beyond broken windows and disturbed cars. Far underground, though, the vast facilities of Project Avalon were reduced to rubble in a fit of rage. Subject M1, destroyed everything, and left no survivors. He went into hiding, and started calling himself Monolith as he spent the next two years using his strength for something more productive: Hurting the criminals he was sent after because they were criminals, and for no other reason. It took another two years for Oracle to find the veritable giant mid-fight, and offer him a place on a team.
Another cold night in Gotham. Nothing he wasn't used to.
Monolith stared down at the Venom transport operation from atop a skyscraper. Nothing more than street-level thugs shipping crates of that poison to other thugs and the occasional metahuman criminal. He almost felt disappointed, but then again, he felt disappointed every time he came across something like this. Looking around, Monolith couldn't see any of them acting overly aggressive. In fact, he couldn't even see anyone who stood out as an enforcer. They seemed to be running somewhat independently, which meant they were trying to strike out on their own, or their boss trusted them enough to handle it. The latter was least likely, but presented a greater risk that they'd be competent in a fight.
This high up, Monolith couldn't hear anything the criminals were saying, but he could tell by their body language that they were in a hurry. A small detail, but one that implied they had somewhere to be. He couldn't outrun a van, so the prospect of catching two birds with one stone had to be pursued the hard way. Monolith stepped towards the ledge, and dropped down, back into the city below. Gotham had been near dead-silent for hours, when a sound like an explosion woke up every sleeping citizen for miles. The ground shattered between the transport and their way out, scaring most of the thugs out of their skin, and knocking all of them off their feet. Crates of Venom were dropped, and spilled open. Monolith trudged forward, unbothered by the meteoric landing, and the ground beneath him quaked as he passed.
"Surrender, and I'll go easy on all of you."
But they didn't listen, they never did.
One of them pulled out a handgun, and fired several shots directly at Monolith's face. The bullets crumpled and fell down as if they had hit solid concrete. Monolith looked at the shooter with a mix of disappointment and thinning patience. A few of them broke and scattered like flies.
"I'll say it one more time. Surrender, and-"
"That won't be necessary."
A large, floating drone descended before him, hovering silently as a camera adjusted to look at him behind the motorcycle helmet he used to hide his face.
"You've been causing a lot of commotion lately. GCPD owes a lot of its criminals getting caught to you recently."
Monolith looked down at the drone, and back at the criminals trying to pile into the van. He lunged forward and slammed a shoulder into its engine, causing it to fold like a lawn chair. Oil and other fluids leaked out.
"Who are you?" He asked the drone.
"You can call me Oracle. I've been looking for you for a while now, Monolith. I need your help, we need your help."
The van started smoking. "We?"
"Me, and a few other like-minded individuals who have an edge like yours. I think you'll like them, but your... skills could help us take back this city. The drone can lead you to where we meet, if you're interested."
"Alright, I'll follow it. But if this is a trap, you'll regret it."
Oracle's drone led Monolith away from the scene, and the remaining thugs scattered just before the van exploded, destroying all the nearby venom patches in a fiery blaze that kept the city awake for a few hours.
Powers: Natalie's molecular structure has been permanently affected by an alien weapon. As such, she can turn any part of herself into metal wire, including all of herself if needs be. The process of restoring herself into her human form is a transformative one and thus she can heal from most injuries to her human form by turning the affected part to wire and back. The wire is a dark, metallic grey in color, roughly 30mm in thickness, and significantly more durable than commercial steel wire of the same thickness.
Weaknesses: For both good and ill, the wire has all the properties of ferrous metal. It can be affected by magnetism, and conducts electricity. The metal wire connects to her nervous system so extreme heat and cold, chipping the metal, or aforementioned electricity would cause her severe pain and possible injury or death. If any part of the wire is severed, the only way for it to be reattached is to be welded back on.
Equipment: A smartphone and a cheap 20 year old motorbike
Appearance: Natalie is a tall girl with a lithe, athletic frame and, though not a tan per say, a healthy complexion to her skin. She had short, black hair that looked layered yet shaggy, as if she had gotten proficient at cutting it herself. Her eyes were a dull brown with a weary, doughy shape, and were prone to getting crow's feet after only one night of poor sleep. Her makeup was either minimal and natural, or dark, heavy and punky, with no in-between. She tended to wear vests and sweat pants casually, and didn't own many clothes.
BRIEF Bio: Natalie grew up boucing from foster family to foster family. She never knew her real parents. Seeing as how they gave her up for adoption the moment she was born, she didn't really want to. The older she got, the more she understood and sympathised just how hard it was merely looking out for number 1 when you're on the bottom rung of society. When she was thirteen, she started working in a cafe as a pot washer and later as a waitress, which is still her job to this day. She saved up enough for motorbike lessons and then for her own bike, to stop relying on lifts from her current foster parents.
One day, during a fight in Metropolis being Supergirl and some alien invaders, an Alien Weapon was fired that affected a city block and turned anybody who's skin was touching an object, into that object. Hundreds of people were affected, and died. The power in the cafe hd gone out due to the tremors of the battle, and thus Natalie was touching the power cable when the blast hit, turning her into a pile of wire. Somehow, through sheer desire to survive and to keep on living, she discovered she was able to will herself back into a regular human form.
They called it the train graveyard. It was an old depot by the docks that used to transport freight from the cargo boats to other points in the city, but trade by ship has waned as the purpose of Metropolis' docks has leaned more towards waste disposal. As in, they just dump it into the sea. Natalie was currently riding her bike along these disused lines, and every so often turning her arm to wire, letting her fleshy hand trail behind her, then zipping it back to her by retracting the wire and turning it back into her arm.
She she ran out of train track, she rejoined the road and followed it back to the main street. Her bike suddenly wobbled, and toppled over, sending her flying. In her panic she briefly lost control of her form and turned to piles of wire that skidded and bounced across the road, before she finally reformed when she came to a stop. Several people rushed to her aid where they heard the sound of the accident. They were surprised to see a young girl in a white vest with no jacket or helmet, and not so much as a scratch on her.
"Oh my god! Are you okay?!" one of them asked her, offering her a hand to help her up. Natalie took the stranger's hand and got to her feet.
"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered, looking past him with concern. "How's the bike?"
"How's the bike?!" exclaimed another person, incredulously. "You're lucky to be alive! Why aren't you wearing a helmet?!"
She ingored the comments from other spectators and inspected the bike. The body's paintwork was very heavily scratched but didn't look damaged in a way that would affect it's ability to be driven. She breathed a sigh of relief. That feeling, however, was short lived when she heard one of them dial 911. She didn't know which one was worse; police or ambulance. Neither would be kind to her or her savings given what just happened. She leapt back on the bike, revved it up and sped away, as far from the crowd as fast as she possibly could.
Powers: Infused since gestation with the profane power of the Lazarus Pit, as well as a variety of other types of sorcery, alchemy, and genetic engineering, Tallant's metahuman abilities place him in the gray area between human and superhuman. His physical strength, agility, and endurance already far exceed what would be normal for a young man his age, and are likely to continue to improve as he matures. In particular, his senses, reflexes, balance, flexibility, coordination, and spacial awareness border on supernatural in their potency. His injuries heal abnormally fast, and Tallant is more resistant to poison and toxins than average as well. Tallant has a genius intellect and a photographic memory, often capable of replicating skills perfectly after seeing them performed once. Trained practically since he was able to walk in the shadow and killing arts of the League of Assassins, Tallant is a terrifying hand-to-hand combatant, and is proficient with nearly any weapon one can conceive of, but has a particular fondness for knives. Much of this expertise is derived from the accumulated knowledge of the Lazarus Pit, which sits deep in his subconscious until called upon as needed, often to save his life. This unconscious presence also makes Tallant unusually resistant to hypnosis and other mind-altering techniques, including as League of Assassins programming. He knows a little bit of magic; some ninjutsu and similar dark arts passed on by the League of Assassins, but usually prefers to rely on cold steel.
Weaknesses: The millennia of experience, wisdom, pain, and madness transferred from the pool of the Lazarus Pit to Tallant's DNA has had a destabilizing effect on his psyche. Tallant is prone to dissociative episodes, wherein his own identity becomes indistinct from that of the tormented souls imprinted on him from within the Lazarus Pit.
Equipment: While he refuses to carry something as demeaning as a "utility belt," Renegade keeps a variety of tools, weapons, and other implements hidden about his person. Lock-picks, smoke bombs, caltrops, gas grenades, and other tools used in the arts of stealth, subterfuge, and sabotage are his typical arsenal. In terms of weapons, he practically carries a different knife for each day of the week: throwing knives, skinning knives, hunting knives, shearing knives, gutting knives... Renegade is a veritable collector of cutlery.
Appearance: Tallant is tall for his age, well-built, with strong, classically-handsome features inherited from his grandfather, black hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin. His "costume" is a utilitarian, black Kevlar-weave bodysuit, reminiscent of a stripped-down Batsuit. His various tools, blades, and gadgets are all stashed surreptitiously in different places across the suit, so that he can always access a knife or other implement regardless of how he has been bound or contorted. He does not wear a mask, as he does not really have a civilian identity to speak of, and typically has his suit on underneath whatever civilian clothes he happens to be wearing.
BRIEF Bio: Following the shocking and as-of-yet unsolved murder of Ra's al-Ghul, the League of Assassins was thrown into chaos. Without the iron-handed leadership of the Demon himself, assassins began to break away from the secret cabal, chasing after their own selfish ends and using their powers carelessly. This was only stopped by the Demon's daughter, Talia al-Ghul, who broke off her engagement with a particular Gotham billionaire to assume control of the League. After purging the disloyal, she set about creating the perfect successor to her father's dark legacy.
The world's most expensive and least ethical geneticists were hired by Talia to "father" her child, creating an zygote formed from the DNA of the the most powerful warriors and assassins alive. Once the embryo had been implanted into her, Talia then bathed her unborn child in the rejuvenating power of the Lazarus Pit. This not only infused her son with the Pit's revitalizing power, but also imprinted on his DNA the experience, memories, and insanity of every damned soul ever cast into the Pit. When Tallant was born, the Sudanese Lazarus Pit itself used as his birthing pool, Talia and her League rejoiced. Tallant was not the first "successor" she had created, merely the first to survive birth.
Tallant's training began early, and he was carefully honed into a delicate, powerful weapon. Not merely a blade in the dark, but a force of intellect and personality that would one day fill the shoes of Ra's al-Ghul. By the time Tallant turned 16, his mother's machinations had advanced, and both she and Tallant returned to a Gotham in the throes of anarchy. Originally tasked to decapitate and assume control of both the Robins and Jokerz, uniting them under the League of Assassins, Tallant's first assignment by the League was an abject failure. His observations of both gangs, as well as the wisdom of the ancient ghosts of the Pit, led him to conclude that the League of Assassins was little better than either gang, and having them conquer Gotham would not measurably improve the city nor the world. He defected from his mother, her League, and the only family he's ever known to join forces with Oracle, who he came in contact with during one of her raids on the Robins gang, initially believing him to be one of their members.
Notes: TBD I guess.
Sample Post:
Cigar smoke hung in a heady, gray cloud about the ceiling of the room, a single incandescent bulb in a hanging lamp barely able to cut through the gloom. Heavyset men in jogging suits sat about a folding card table, counting cash. In the corner of the room, a black-and-white wireless TV squawked the 11 O'clock news from tinny speakers. Heat wave, crime wave, nothing new there. Another man entered the room through the only door, barring it behind him, and dumped the contents of a duffel bag onto the table. Dollar bills poured out and scattered over the table like dry leaves.
"Howsabout a little summer salad?" The man laughed, and sat down to join his compatriots with their tallying.
The man next to him sniggered, "Please, the last salad you ate got tossed by Adam and Eve." He elbowed the man on the other side of him. "Hear what I told him? I said 'the last salad you ate was tossed by Adam and Eve.' Heheh."
His fellow gangsters chuckled, but the air of frivolity was quickly shattered by a strange voice permeating the room. "Gotham is a paradise for sinners."
At once, the men jumped to their feet, the more portly among them slightly slower, and their hands went to their firearms. Heads swiveling, they tried to track down the source of the anomalous voice, but could find no one in the room but themselves. Then, from an hidden angle, a knife was cast into the ceiling lamp's single bulb, plunging the room and the men in it into darkness. Panic began to set in, the gangsters sweating bullets as they continued to search the room for the unseen intruder in the strobing light of the tiny TV screen.
The voice sounded again, "No god will cast you out. I will do it myself."
The darkened room erupted into chaos. Blows were thrown, and men were tossed about the room like dolls. Despite their frenzied panic, none of the men could keep sight of their assailant for more than a moment or two before he disappeared behind someone's back, or vanished from sight completely. If they had been any smarter, they might have known they were being toyed with, being tossed into each other for the amusement of their attacker, who swatted aside their attempts at retaliating the same way one might an unruly child.
Finally, only two of the men remained conscious, standing back to back with their guns at the ready. Their hands shook with nerves, but they knew that from this position, they could not be approached unawares. Or so they thought. With shocking speed, one of them was hoisted up toward the ceiling, attacking unexpectedly from above. The last remaining man discharged his gun wildly, firing blindly into the shadows of the room's ceiling. At first, he heard and saw nothing but the dust falling from where he had shot through the ceiling. Then, like a three-hundred-pound sandbag, his last remaining comrade was dropped on him from above, his torso riddled with the bullets fired a moment before.
Blind with terror, the man screamed for help, trapped under his dead friend. His gun, empty, clicked impotently, before being kicked out of his hand. He looked up, and finally got a decent look at who had disrupted their quiet evening. He thought it might have been the Bat, but the Bat was dead, and wore a mask, so this couldn't have been him.
Before he could say anything, the gangster had a long knife thrust under his chin by his looming assailant, just hard enough that he could feel the tip of the blade biting into the skin over his Adam's apple. It felt so cold and sharp that the sensation was almost electric; it galvanized the man into a panicked babble.
"Money? Is it the money you want! Take it! I ain't got nothin' else! What I ever do to you? I ain't deserve none of this!"
Renegade twitched, at the blade bit a hair's width deeper into the man's throat, which shut him up. "Money goes uphill," Renegade snarled, and he gave a light kick to the limp body of the dead gangster. "Shit rolls downhill. Tell me where the money goes, or I'll send you to where your friend is."
The man seemed to recover some of his nerve, and said, "To hell with that! I'll never talk! I took an oath! Kill me if you want, I ain't afraid of youse!"
As soon as the man said "kill me," a shudder ran through Renegade's body. The faintest tremble of his arm was as subtle as a jackhammer to the man whose throat he was threatening to cut open. Visions flashed through Renegade's mind of how easy it would be to snuff out the pathetic existence before him. Just a flick of his arm and the man would drown in his own blood in seconds. Or if he was feeling merciful, he could drop the blade lower and slip it painlessly between his ribs and into his heart. Renegade felt his control slacken, just for a fraction of a second, as the blade seductively trailed down the man's throat toward his chest. But then, as quickly as it had been lost, his control resumed. No, not yet, he thought, he still didn't have what he needed.
He put the long-bladed knife away, tucking it behind his back in some hidden scabbard, "I don't want to kill you," He said, savoring the momentary relief that came into the criminal's piggy eyes. Then, with a flick of his wrist, one knife was replaced by eight, one held between each of his fingers, all of varying sizes and shapes. "I have something much more fun in mind." Maybe he couldn't kill him, but perhaps a little bit of skin wouldn't be missed.
I'm reading over the first few sheets rn, figuring out dinner, etc. There's a couple that really look like they hit the sweet spot, and the sample posts are gonna be the deciding factor. Some of the sheets don't seem like what I'm looking for, but I'll wait till I've read through everything before making any decisions. Thanks for all of the interest and if you haven't submitted a CS yet GET AFTER IT!
@Ignorancebliss I dig the concept, but there needs to be some sort of limits with the powers you gain cause a deck of cards is a lot of mf power. If you could stick to using a handful, and maybe just call a lady of the night a prostitute instead of a whore... this could totally work for the RP.
@Silver Carrot I think this is the one that hits the sweet spot. The sample post and the imagery of her hand at the end of several wire cables connecting it to the rest of her arm... oh yeah. Wireframe is accepted.
@BaileyBlue302 This character seems more suited to something anime themed. Just doesn't seem superhero enough, if that makes sense. Somebody that is possessed by a fox spirit would be kinda cool, but as she is Queen doesn't fit.
@Dead Cruiser Seems like equal parts Damian and Red Hood, and I didn't want any Robin analogs. Doesn't help he's using an old alias of Grayson's for a codename. And an Al Ghul. And trained by assassins.
@FalloutJack If Trask was more like Zeta from the Zeta Project and less like a Terminator and armed to the teeth he could work. If you could rework that bit he'd have a place on the squad.
I *think* that's everybody. IDK how I read the sheets out of order, but sometimes it just happens that way. Let's see some more sheets!!
@Omega Man This one's a bit of a niggle on my part. I liked the original concept of Zeta back when he was first showcased on Batman Beyond. I didn't like that between that time and later, when he returned to Gotham, he got pretty flakey. I was going for the Zeta vibe, but this is also a Teen Titan sort of group, so the guns and tool use is also very Cyborg. I can toss the extra gunnery and replace with other gizmos on the basis that he and Barbara would actively argue over this, but can we compromise on physical pulse weapons, which would just be a projected pounding, as opposed to lasers, explosives, etc?
@Omega Man OK to be perfectly honest I've read maybe one comic that ever had Damian in it. And none with Red Hood. So beyond the superficial, the comparisons are lost on me. My primary inspiration for the character was actually Shadowhawk, with a bit of Agent 47. You're going to have to spell out what constitutes a Robin analogue, as from where I'm sitting "knife-obsessed vigilante haunted by ghost-assassins" is a pretty far cry from the Boy Wonder.
Maybe. I don’t have a character concept right now, but I like superheroes.
