Basic InformationExcerpt from the Criminal I.D. Sheet #05166, Verthaven Police Department.
Name: [REDACTED]
Nickname/Alias/Etc: "Tormentor"
Gender: Male
Age: N.A.
Height: N.A., approximately 190 cm / 6,23 feet
Weight: N.A.
Home District: Unknown; his hideout is believed to be located in Rosalina Isle Strip, between Las Palmas and Eagle-Rock Row, but the precise location is uncertain.
AppearanceExcerpt from witness interrogation #[REDACTED] of day ██/0█/20██; witness name: ████████ ████.
Officier █.: Did you see his face? Could you describe it?
████████ ████: No, I...I didn't see it. He was wearing a...a...
Officier █.: What? A hood, a mask...
████████ ████: Yeah, a mask. Shaped like a skull...
Officier █.: A human skull?
████████ ████: Yes, but with horns, like those of a goat...and there was some kind of symbol, on his forehead, like an inverted cross, or something...I couldn't see it very well, it was covered in blood.
Officier █.: I see. Did you see his clothes?
████████ ████: I think it was a regular suit, like all the other guests. He was also wearing a kevlar vest beneath it, I think.
Officier █.: Wait, you said he was dressed like the other guests? Is there a chance he might have been there for the whole time, and then put on the mask?
████████ ████: Shit, yes, I think it could be.
Officier █.: Think about it, perhaps you could have seen his face before [REDACTED]. Was there a guy nobody knew, or who acted weird?
████████ ████: Listen, I...I don't know, there were too many people. It's six in the morning, my head is spinning, and I still have blood all over my shirt. I think I might need some sleep.
PersonalityExcerpt from newspaper article from Under the Sun, ██/1█/20██.
MASSACRE AT THE ZEROThe Zero, popular club in the centre of Knightdale Rows was turned into a human slaughterhouse by the gangster and serial murderer known to the V.P.D. as the "Tormentor", believed to be a metahuman. According to what the police says, the skull-headed psychopath entered the main hall after entering from the back entrance and leaving a bloody trail across the staff quarters: many security guards and other staff members were found brutally butchered by what the police identified as a machete. [...] Once there, he opened fire with an assault rifle (believed to be a H&K G41 by the police), firing indiscriminately on the patrons and guests of the club. Confirmed deaths are 67, including Marcus Ryder, first son of the magnate Valerius Ryder, found lying on a couch with eight bullets in his chest, surrounded by various strippers, which were also shot dead. Additionally, three girls have been kidnapped: the heads of two have been already found in various locations around Eagle-Rock, while one, Alexandra Lukjianova, last winner of Miss Isabella Isle contest, is still missing. [...] As the police was called, the assassin escaped through the back entrance and rapidly fled the scene through unknown means: officiers arrived only to find the massacre. See also the interview at page 43 with Professor Einhardt of Verthaven University: "Metahumans: A threat or a menace?". Also, take a look at our special contest! "Where will the Tormentor strike next?" Answer and more questions on our site, and win fantastic prizes every day!
AbilitiesExcerpt from the V.P.D. Metahuman Criminal I.D. Sheet #0███.
Power Class: Super-System.
Power: Enhanced speed, reflexes, and agility.
Limits: #0███'s abilities only surpass slightly those of a peak condition human body.
Weaknesses/Drawbacks: Despite being extremely dangerous, #0███ tends to "tire quickly": he has never attempted to sustain a prolonged firefight, and always preferred to use hit and run-like tactics. Also, whenever our man managed to engage him in what could have become a long-lasting shoot-out, #0███ always escaped, reinforcing our belief that he is not capable to fight for long times. Also, robotic systems such as drones and turrets, as long as advanced enough to have greater speed and reflexes than him, seem to hinder him greatly.
Other: Sample Post: The doors of the elevator stopped with a ringing sound, and a 9x19mm bullet flew through the now open doors, stopping inside the brain of the man now lying down in front of it, his mouth and eyes agape in an idiotic face, blood and brain matter oozing from the hole in his head, running down his face and staining the green carpet. The Tormentor stepped into the pool of warm, dirty, black and gray blood, before quickly turning around, still holding his gun in front of him. His steps lightly echoed on the hotel's moquette, occasionally interrupted by the booming shots of his handgun and the screams of the security guards. One turn right. One turn left. One right. Stairs. Stairs. Ninth floor. The Tormentor put the pistol back in its holster, and drew a machete from a sheath strapped to his belt. He turned left quickly and thrust the blade between the ribs of the guard. When he attempted to scream, blood and pieces of lungs fell out of his mouth: the blade sliced what remained of his lungs before being removed from his body. While he was laying down choking on his own blood, the Tormentor, his machete dripping blood on the ground, kept walking. Corridor eightysix. Room 117, Suite Imperial.
The Tormentor stopped, and put his machete back in the sheath, the sitting guard looking at him with a weird grin, his viscera leaning on his blood-splattered legs. With a swift movement, the Tormentor kicked the door open, and instantly fired his shotgun into the room. Two naked whores were already mauled on the floor before the roomers, too busy with fucking like wild rabbits and snorting coke, realized what was happening. The shotgun roared again, and again, bits and pieces of meat, wood, bone, glass, limbs, cloth, brains, eyes, tits, fingers, all crashing and flying around the room, the product of a maddened butcher. One of the gangsters, naked and drenched in blood, managed to pick up his gun and fire at the assassin, before flying from the large window, having a good look at his entrails before hitting the ground nine floors below. Soon, only the whimpering sound of a blonde, blood-soaked whore could be heard in the room. The Tormentor turned to her, gagged her, tied her hands behind her back, lifted her above his shoulder, and got out of the room.
The doors of the hotel opened, and the Tormentor found himself bathed in the floodlights of at least one third of Verthaven's police forces. The Tormentor held his shotgun in one hand, the whore, now passed out, with the other hand, keeping her over his shoulder, and his black and white suit was now blood-soaked and torn, revealing the kevlar vest beneath. "You are surrounded" boomed the voice in the speaker. "Release the hostage, and surrender now." The Tormentor looked around, two choppers looming above him with their miniguns ready to fire, and let his shotgun fall to the floor, raising his hand. Then, he moved his thumb ever so slightly, touching the trigger of a small remote control concealed in his hand. In that moment, eight TM-46 anti-tank mines exploded in the square beneath the hotel. As shrapnel, pieces of police cars, and bits of policemen flew around, the Tormentor quickly picked up his shotgun, ran past the barrage of fire and explosions, the two choppers firing and only managing to massacre what few policemen were left alive in the hellfire of the explosions. The Tormentor turned into a side alley, threw the woman into the backseat of his car, and began to drive, the rust-red vehicle speeding on the narrow streets of Isabella Isle, chased by the remaining two thirds of Verthaven's police forces.
