CorviDoggo

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

It seemed that Sorrel decided to spend a little more time in the city… of course, as Sorrel— not Gamma-Burn. Instead of a haunting specter with a gas mask, he had a simple knit sweater with a patterned yoke in Icelandic styling. He had his dreadlocks half-up in a bun, and his feathers framing his hairline puffed out. The sweater absorbed his thin form, bunching over his hips and leaning to one side and covering his slim hands almost entirely. Those baggy jeans he chose to change into didn’t do him too many favors, either— each movement still showed just how much of a stick he was, and it made him want to peel his skin off. At least… the height was right..? The jeans didn’t sag onto the ground, instead stopping right before the heel of Sorrel’s trusty steel-toed boots.

He still felt like absolute shit. While he got his core back in control with a quick visit to the meta-doctor stationed at Ground Zero, a few minutes of little intra-venous drips and painkillers, he… was supposed to be fine. He wasn’t dying— that counted as fine, but Sorrel struggled to stand up or swallow food. Why did he decided that today was the day he had to air out a bit, to be in the city and be… among other people? Ground Zero is a wonderful settlement, a great community built upon the work of the people and ran by those same people. Everyone also knew exactly who Sorrel was, there. He was alone, in his double shipping-container house overgrown with vines and trees. He was alone, in the repurposed guts of the power-plant that became a perfect lab for him. He was alone, as he double-checked the tasks of the day and talked about nothing in particular with people who… tried to treat him like a god, for some reason. Long story short— he was alone, sitting in this stupid Mexican-American restaurant, but… sitting with strangers who just saw him as some dude with feathers and green hair was much calmer, for some reason.

His taco bowl started getting cold. Why did he come here anyways? He could cook! He was a great cook, he had fresh garden ingredients and fresh meats and a mighty set of recipes stored in his head, but… he frankly didn’t have the energy. That, and… Sorrel just wanted to feel normal for maybe two seconds.

Of course, he wasn’t normal. He wasn’t ever normal. He knew that, as he stared down at the stupid taco bowl as he sat at the very corner of this stupid restaurant in the center of town. He still felt like his insides were two steps away from becoming outsides. He still felt like his lips were stained red.

Sorrel coughed into a napkin, still staring at that stupid, overpriced, probably-full-of-GMOs-and-preservatives taco bowl. He finally moved his mismatched eyes to the brown napkin crumpled in his hand. Blood. Of course. Nine Hells, this day was the worst day his body could’ve chosen to just fuck him over so severely. For some reason, he still felt cold, despite that thick sweater and despite that pulsing core radiating an eerie heat from his solar plexus.

Eventually, Sorrel fought against his nausea and fatigue to take a spoonful from that taco bowl. It was… okay. The shrimp was obviously frozen, the cheese was from a bag instead of freshly grated, the tomatoes were maybe a week old instead of freshly-picked, the sauce was obviously from a mass-produced can— Jesus. He could say it was okay, but it cost him 12 dollars, and he could cook better at home for basically free. What the fuck?

He crinkled his green and blonde brows together as he glared down at his meal. Well… this was his fault, for wanting to try a new place. No matter. Wasting food is just plain bad. As he took a second bite, he looked up to the sound of the front door’s jingling bell. A short man with pink hair and horns entered, with large and pointed ears. Where did Sorrel see this man before? He could’ve sworn he knew those features from somewhere else. It seemed his two seconds of being normal had ended, because Sorrel literally just stared blankly at that familiar stranger, half hunched over his mediocre food.

Hell's Renegades: A chaos squad of villainous...rehab?

@rexgn IM NOT THE DM BUT I LOVE HER SO MUCH ALREADY??? And the potential conflict between her and Bezaliel is going to be so much fun omg

Hell's Renegades: A chaos squad of villainous...rehab?

I’m so excited hehehe

Hell's Renegades: A chaos squad of villainous...rehab?

Number: 007
Code Name:The Angel
Classification: Volatile || Risk Level: Extreme Risk
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Legal Name: B̸̨̢̬͈̲̼͕͕̟̖̯͓͚̐̿͗̀̈́̃̏͋̚̕͜ͅe̸͇͖̰̺̖͚͈̹̓̽ź̶̠͇͐̑͛a̷̭̙͈̦̣͝l̴̢̩̗͉̩̹̔̒̀̿̔̏̿͊̕̕͝͝i̷͍̺̩̳̰̰͚͉͠ẽ̵͔͈̲̮̫̼͔̜̜͙͚̩͎̞̂ļ̵̧̨̝̯̪̰͖̓̎̓̚͝͝͝
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Preferred Name: Bezaliel
Age: “first-flight” stage of life, approx. 518 years || DOB: Not calculable to earth dates
Height: naturally 9’6” but morphs || Weight: natural 159 lbs but morphs
Sex: can morph, mostly stays X || Gender: unknown; it/they/he

Ability(ies):

• "Shapeshifting" - While an angel’s shapeshifting is not absolute or perfect, they can morph their natural body drastically. In Bezaliel’s case, it is able to appear near-perfectly human through shapeshifting and roughly mimic different people’s bodies and faces. Through shapeshifting, it can also mask its extra eyes and extra wings, or entirely shift to more “feral” forms entirely. According to Bezaliel, its shifting will get better when he “ages to the next stage,” which is apparently in a few thousand Earth years.
• "Light Manipulation" - As the rest of its species, Bezaliel is capable of emitting, manipulating, and shooting light in beams. Naturally, it gives a faint glow off its skin and feathers, with its eyes, horns, and markings glowing slightly brighter. It can either glow brightly if needed or dim itself entirely, and it can shoot controlled bursts of light from its “halo,” a pair of horns on its head that form an arch. It can also bend beams of light, both its own emitted light and light from other sources like lamps, creating rainbows or reflections. It seems Bezaliel holds a talent for this specific power, as it likes to create little “light shows” when it is bored— an impressive feat of meticulous and exact light control that usually only older members of its species can do after living through most “stages.”
• "Blink" - An angel is capable of moving short distances faster than humans can register with their own eyes, making this fast movement seem like teleportation. It is not teleportation, just a form of “sprinting” that this species can do.
• "Hunting" - Bezaliel is an avid and energetic hunter— being able to use its sharp teeth and talons to take down prey easily. It has extremely keen tracking senses, and it rarely loses track of prey. Angels, as far as we understand, are obligate hypercarnivores, and will hunt in packs. This explains why Bezaliel strongly prefers hunting with people it has deemed its friend. Bezaliel in particular will “share” its catches with others, as well.

Physical Description: Bezaliel can shapeshift, but has a “base” form and a few specific morphs it defaults to. Its standard form sports a dark purple-blue, translucent skin, light freckles and “starmarks” (lighter blue and cream colored cloud-like markings) as it calls them staining its skin. Its “hair,” actually a thick set of long and thin feathers on its head, is a pearly white, as is every feather on its body. It has a crown of horns on itself head, one small set of horns, one curlier second set, and one set that joints together to form a “halo.” It has two arms, each hand having a zygodactyl appearance to it: two “middle” fingers, and a thumb at each side, making for four fingers. Its legs are long, thin, tapered— the build comparable to a crane’s legs, and the feet presenting the same zygodactyl features as the hands. It has a long, prehensile tail with feathers, both long and hair-like snd short and fluffy. It has a set of five eyes on its face, and four more eyes down its chest. It has shiny golden eyes with dark sclera. When closed, the angel’s mouth is barely visible, but when open it has a row of extremely sharp, shark-like teeth.
The “human” form it takes has mocha-colored skin with light freckles and the same iridescent, white hair, usually in long braids. It has two eyes there, but its eyes still sport the dark sclera and golden irises. It has an ethereal face, its full lips naturally perked up to a slight smile and its button nose upturned. In this form, it shrinks down to 5’4 and weighs the same as it normally does.

Procedure: Two trackers are implanted into Bezaliel’s body— one at the back of its neck where it connects to its shoulders, and one at the base of its tail. The reason why there are two trackers is because the distance between the two can also show if Bezaliel has shifted and is a different stature than it is naturally. The handler assigned to the angel has a GPS connected to both trackers to monitor it with. Besides the tracker, a small device wrapped around Bezaliel’s halo prevents it from generating light intense enough to cause harm to others, but it can still make gentle light. Bezaliel, like all angels, is an obligate carnivore, and must be supplied a live animal for food as it will deny cooked meals on the premise “it tastes weird.” Unless the handler is someone Bezaliel knows, it will deny prepared, raw meat because, in its words, “I don’t know you well enough for you to share your hunt with me.” It must be allowed to hunt in free air at least once a week, or else it gets antsy and will start to lash out and be violent towards almost everyone.
The Angel should not be left alone at any point in time, as it will get irritable, anxious, and/or violent when on its own. Bezaliel often tries to break out, under the pretext of “wanting to go home,” but can be calmed down with books and music. Handlers are encouraged to interact with it, but be careful— it readily attacks “threats” and lashes out extremely violently to discipline and attempts to sedate it. Bezaliel usually perceives prayers, chanting, any talk about religion, loud sounds, and any flashing lights as threats. Thus, handlers are also advised to remove shiny jewelry and speak softly.
To stop Bezaliel from constantly trying to break out, a regular supply of “nest supplies” must be given to it. Nest supplies include plush materials such as pillows and stuffed animals, along with blankets of different thicknesses; it responds particularly well to string-lights.
Important handler notes: Bezaliel particularly enjoys fish. It also likes the texture of squishmallow fabric, and would respond better to blankets if they are perfectly square or circular in shape. It deeply dislikes the texture of Sherpa, coarse wool, and absorbent/moisture-wicking microfiber.

History: Bezaliel first arrived on Earth through a inter-dimensional tear of the fabric of space-time. Supposedly, that was entirely on accident, as Bezaliel was in the process of having its “first flight” through “the highest sky-planes” of its dimension and fell through the wormhole. The Angel landed in a maple-syrup orchard, and subsequently hunted the cattle of a nearby dairy-farm before wandering to a small town. Shortly after arrival, Bezaliel burned the small town to the ground and attempted to build some kind of contraption out of various metals and gems from bits of jewelry— most likely something to open another portal.
Soon after, the angel flew to a nearby city a few hours away, and proceeded to hunt people while trying to “form a nest” out of concrete, rebar, and any fabric he could find. When the army came, Bezaliel proceeded to hunt and “play with” the army.
As months passed and Bezaliel continued to occupy and destroy a portion of downtown, a gigantic, ethereal-looking statue built from metals and precious stones and bent wood was built upon the clearing that used to be a large roundabout. The Angel guarded the statue with fervor as it continued to build and destroyed infrastructure, almost completing some kind of circle with prongs atop a tiered pillar before a tank managed to get close enough to blow it up. By that point, a 20-mile radius was entirely destroyed and “rebuilt” into pillars and strange, pointed structures that all faced the central circle. One flat-topped building was left mostly in tact by that Angel— its nest made from whatever it could find on top likely being the reason why it didn’t tear the building down yet. During that time, those few months, it hunted hundreds of people and pets, and apparently ate two pastors who tried to communicate with it.
Soon enough, someone learned that Bezaliel, despite making mostly chattery bird sounds and layered, echoing noises, could speak some approximation to basic English. Through this, the DNCC learned that Bezaliel was “trying to go home.” And, of course, instead of letting the strange outlander to open another portal, another person was sent to trick it into captivity. A military general spoke to Bezaliel and promised it that if it came peacefully to the base, the government would open a portal to its home realm.
Of course— they didn’t have that technology that Bezaliel was trying to create, but Bezaliel didn’t know that and fell for that trap. That’s how the Angel was contained. Bezaliel still holds out hope to get home, though, and mentions it hopes they’ll send it home soon.

Hell's Renegades: A chaos squad of villainous...rehab?

Giving an obligatory update
I’m making a lad. Callin dibs on #007 ehehehehehe

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Sorrel knew how pathetic he looked as he wiped the blood onto his poncho and adjusted the mask on his face again. He needed to move, Stag King was surely nearby, all that stumbling and coughing and pain was just slowing sorrel down. That little nuclear stunt he pulled— it just made his body hurt more and more and it made him feel like he was dragging maybe half a ton of lead on his back.

The area cooled as Sorrel tried desperately to calm himself, but he flinched at this big CLANG! sound right behind him.

A half-melted streetlight. A chunk of concrete slammed into it. The streetlight bent away.

Gamma-Burn braced himself with his single blade— what was that? Some petty attack? Did he— fuck! He couldn’t control himself enough, huh? There were definitely innocent people caught between him and his escape. Maybe that throw was from some miracle survivor… he could understand why. That person probably wanted him dead for being so careless. That person was probably going to die in the next, what..? Hour? Day?

He had to go. He really, really had to book it, before he caused more damage, before he collapsed from his own issues.

Another crashing sound— that stupid giant bug. What was he doing? Sorrel squinted, but he just saw the green blob continue to crash through a nearby building. That was his chance for an escape. He just—

Bingo. A manhole cover. It was hot, warping, but it told Sorrel where the city sewers were. That was his key to getting back to Ground Zero. He’d be able to run to his home and go into a rootpath and he’d be safe, and he’d be able to do this again another time, when the world needed his extreme services.

He grit his teeth as he pulled out the manhole cover. Why was it so heavy? Why did it have to be so hot to the touch? Sorrel’s body didn’t burn, but… it still hurt. He bit down on his lip so hard, trying desperately to hold in noise, that he cut part of it with his sharp teeth. Sorrel jumped in the second there was a space big enough for his small body. Gamma-Burn made a clean escape. Another fun thing for the papers to talk about, he guessed— but despite his pain, he couldn’t help but smile, knowing he rid the world of another tumor. He leaned on the walls— fucking hell. He needed to rest.

Slowly, supporting himself with the wall of the sewer, he hobbled through the winding tunnels and disappeared into some leafy overgrowth in there.

Hell's Renegades: A chaos squad of villainous...rehab?

Meowmeow
Time to do a thing

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Sorrel Azrael Geiger

Gamma-Burn, The Angel Of Death, Vengeance, The Wrath of the Earth

Click image to see full-size artwork

“You should be angry.”

〘 BASICS 〙

« AGE and BIRTHDAY »
25 ─ Febuary 21st

« IDENTITY »
male ─ masculine ─ he/him, they/them accepted

« STATISTICS »
5’11” ─ 131 lbs ─ B-

« ALIGNMENT »
Lawful Evil with good-aligned motivations

〘 APPEARANCE 〙

« GENERAL »
Sorrel’s appearance changed significantly since the incident— he stands out about as much as any other Numan would. His skin is the same, soft, oaken color of a fawn— a lighter brown shade, splashed with milky white patches on his face and neck. A crown of feathers frames his forehead and prominent cheekbones, most an iridescent minty teal, one patch of feathers matching the white splotches of his face with a pearly sheen. His dreadlocks, once an even coppered tone, are now green like glass bottles, platinum blond streaks built into them following that same pattern of vitiligo. Even his eyes are mismatched— one, on the milky white skin, is light blue, and the other is a green so bright it could glow. His ears are sharp and pointed up, long enough to be poking through those green dreadlocks usually tied into a loose ponytail. Whenever sorrel smiles, sharp teeth show through his plump lips, and his crooked nose crinkles a little each time he laughs.
While it may be unfair to call Sorrel spindly, he’s definitely sickly and thin, most of his shirts and sweaters bunching around him with extra fabric instead of laying neatly on top. He prefers baggy pants, ones with many pockets, and simple steel-toed work boots for everyday mishaps. Many of his pockets in his pants have bloodied tissues from him coughing on them, but he tries his best to hide them until he can throw them away. He presents as somewhat messy and incredibly sleep-deprived, no matter how much rest he gets.

« METASONA »
The infamous Gamma-Burn. Layers of colorful fabric hide his body from head to toe. That thick, hooded poncho has crossing in bright oranges and blue-green shades, sewn and knit together and finished with a simple creamy fringe at the end. The pants are draped and pleated, baggy and resting over some older, modified steel-toed boots. The darkest part of the whole ensemble is a simple, loose-fitting turtleneck serving as an undershirt, and matching fingerless gloves.
The most prominent part of Gamma-Burn’s appearance, though, and the most haunting part— that gas mask with a radioactive sign spray painted on it, and the repurposed goggles with one glowing, green eye. As destruction and rebirth surround the villain, the green glow of that mismatched eye trails through the rubble, hidden under a thick hood but bright enough to warn everyone of just who is behind it all.

Work in progress!!

〘 PERSONALITY 〙

Righteous ─ Diligent ─ Selfless — Sharp ⤄ Prickly ─ Bitter ─ Self-loathing — Stubborn

Rage motivates Sorrel. Rage against bigotry, rage against hate, rage against cruelty, rage against society itself. He has a strong sense of what’s right— and that late-stage capitalism, that political horse-race he keeps witnessing, that bribery, that jerk-circle of congress… that’s not right. What’s right is saving the people from this bullshit, from the companies destroying the land they live on to the lawmakers burning books and passing disgusting laws. He’s been quick enough to see these problems as a child— the unfairness, the unreasonable destruction, the… wastefulness of everything. With his quick tongue and quick wit, he’s spoken out and marched a path to a better future. Now, he has to forge that path with blood— that corruption he needs to burn away, it… festers so deeply that it takes root in a common man’s mind, and the only way to fix that is pulling the roots out.
He doesn’t let people close to him— not only is he a walking nuclear reactor, but he’s got too many things to work through. He often snaps, barks, shoos people away— as courteous as he tries to be, he still hisses and growls for others to move out of the way.
Under that exterior, that motivation, that unbending moral compass, Sorrel is… scared. He feels pain every day, suffers every day, coughs up blood and faints— just by doing nothing. He feels his life is as worthless as the ants people squish beneath their feet, that he’s only existing to be a vessel, a means to a better world. Murder, despite him killing for the greater good, is still bad, and all the innocent things that died by his hands— he can’t really handle that, and the weight of all the things he resigned himself to do crushes him further.
This path he took isn’t a good one, but he’s the only one who can take it. He’s the only one who knows how to right the world, in his eyes— the only one who has both the guts and the ability to make real change happen. In the past, he always pushed himself, pushed his wits, pushed his body— all just to be accepted by the people who made him. In the present, he pushes everything further to give others a world he feels like he’ll soon be too sick to experience. It’s… the only way, after all.

« ORIENTATION »
Demisexual ─ homoromantic ─ Polyamorous

« LIKES »
Books ─ plants ─ biology and genetics — singing — cooking big meals for others — bees — natural fabrics — debate — thunderstorms — animals, mostly birds

« DISLIKES »
Police ─ capitalism ─ authority — big business — small-talk — society as it is — literally himself — loud noises — large, open spaces

« THEME SONGS »
Here just have the whole Spotify playlist open.spotify.com/playlist/3gWXa4epS2J…

〘 STRENGTHS 〙

« EDUCATION LEVEL »
Double-major in political sciences and environmental sciences

« SKILLS and HOBBIES »
sewing ─ cooking ─ gardening — genetic engineering — debate — stealth

« ABILITIES »
Radiation ─ That’s what made Sorrel a super villain— that radiation he absorbed, that core in his body. With it, he can do vast amounts of damage— melt things, vaporize things, heat things, cook things, kill things… but, when he controls it further, he can force plants to grow at an extremely fast pace through mutating them, and he can make entirely new plants as well from mutating genes. In general, this power is extremely versatile, and can be used in many unexpected ways.
Genius Mind ─ Sorrel has an incredible head on his shoulders. He’s good at making quick decisions and he can solve complex problems and other issues with ease. Due to his love and knowledge for plants and genetics, he’s been able to apply his radiation ability in specific ways to modify plants. He’s even trying to find out if he can do the same with animals— but… experiments often fail, and he doesn’t like messing with innocent little things so carelessly.
Flexibility ─ Sorrel’s hypermobile joints mean he’s got some good flexibility. He can fit into tight spaces and he can more easily dodge attacks. Aint that neat?
stealth ─ unless you’ve got a 6th sense or a Geiger counter, it’s hard to find Sorrel until he makes his position known. This means he often gets the first move, and often escapes undetected.

〘 WEAKNESSES 〙

« ABILITY LIMITS »
Radiation ─ While Sorrel’s never been healthy, his radiation ability gave him new things to worry about. He often can’t hold a meal down, faints, coughs up blood, feels dizzy… essentially, he’s constantly experiencing radiation poisoning from himself but without actually poisoning himself. He and his doctor decided to just label it a chronic metacondition.
Intelligencre ─ Sorrel may be extremely smart, but… he never socialized with people properly. He’s socially inept, and while he can debate well, he can’t hold a casual conversation to save his life. His intelligence basically does NOT extend to any form of interaction.
Flexibility (also applies to stealth) ─ Sorrel has hypermobile EDS, a genetic issue causing his joints to be unstable due to his connective tissue not forming correctly. Essentially, his joints pop out very easily, and he’s not able to lift much or do much direct combat. He won’t be able to stand for a fight, or take a direct and solid hit.

« FEARS and PHOBIAS »
Fear of being submerged in water ─ Agoraphobia ─ fear of being close to anyone — fear of being inadequate

« OTHER WEAKNESSES »
He’s sick, essentially. In many ways. Physically, he’s got multiple chronic issues that can flare up and cause him pain. Mentally, he has multiple unmanaged problems… extreme and poorly-processed trauma just the smallest. He’s just… not okay. He’ll definitely hide it in the short interactions he has as Gamma-Burn, but… he suffers, and he tries to do it when no eyes are on him.

〘 RELATIONS 〙

« RELATIONSHIP STATUS »
Given the fact Sorrel’s never experienced what it’s like to be loved, and he’s never had a fucking friend!he’s probably not even considered a relationship yet

« POSITIVE FIGURES »
None he can properly name. Maybe his debate leader who helped him organize and brought him with a team to win tournaments, maybe some teachers in highschool who tried to help him… but he can’t name anyone. Just his own will to keep going.

« NEGATIVE FIGURES »
Mason Davis ─ Foster Father ─ Awful, abusive towards Sorrel
Karen Davis ─ Foster Mother ─ Awful, abusive towards Sorrel
Reighfelle Davis ─ Foster Sister ─ no-contact
Keighler Davis ─ Foster Brother ─ no-contact

« ASSOCIATIONS »
Ground Zero ─ The base and settlement ─ he’s the founder of the base named Ground Zero, and is thus on good terms with all the people who moved in there.
Dr. Gerard Schmidt ─ Sorrel’s metadoctor ─ Makes sure he’s not dying or in so much pain he can’t do his work, so that’s epic
Followers ─ his social media followers and generally people who follow his ideological standpoint — self explanatory LMAO

〘 HISTORY 〙

Sorrel didn’t exactly have the standard starting package that most people did. He had no parents, no home, no family to take him in… Well, actually, he had that for the first maybe two years, but it seems things didn’t work out. Sorrel never questions about that, never had any memories of his biological family— why would he? They put him in the situation he had to live through.
Foster care wasn’t really kind to him, passing tribal law to place him in a white-picket-fence family and never looking back. All he knew is he was different— in a lot of ways. That affluent family was white like snow, and he was Afro-indigenous. That family was entirely human, and he was quite obviously at least somewhat angelic, with all those feathers and those ears and those teeth. The Davis family was, well, already a family— a strong Police Chief husband and a stay-at-home trophy wife, two unruly kids, and then the free paycheck that was Sorrel Geiger. Maybe if he was a bit luckier, he’d have landed a family that… cared for him just a little bit more than the extra government money, that taught him about his culture, that taught him how to socialize, that actually cared for him and nurtured him instead of touting him around like a toy and pretending they’re saints for fostering some kid of color.
Actually, the paycheck wasn’t the only thing the Davis family cared about. They also cared about religion, and preached constantly to their two children and to a young Sorrel who didn’t exactly like the way angels kept being idolized. Was… he supposed to be like that? Why treat him like trash when no one’s around if he’s an Angel, while all those stories from the big book always displayed on the low table talk about how cool angels are? Each question, each doubt, each word was beaten out of him by the family meant to protect him, all until he just sat pretty and listened. The older he got, the further he clawed through that Christian school his fake family threw him in, the worse he endured from his “dad,” the more he realized— he was actually entirely alone. He had no family, he was just a source of income and someone to fulfill the Davis’ social status just a bit more. They paraded him around like some exotic pet, each Sunday getting him to recite verses like a fucking parrot, each weekday just ignoring him and leaving him to study and stay quiet.
Highschool came around, and Sorrel got to blossom. The Davis family decided to throw Sorrel to public school instead of wasting more curriculum money on him, and while it was a decision sprouted from greed, Sorrel got to feel what it’s like to be comfortable in his own skin for once. His intelligence made itself clear with every college-level course he aced, and debate and biological sciences became some of his passions. He entirely threw himself to his work— all of his “friends” were made not by socializing but by some mutual class or club with said work. After all, Sorrel learned early-on he was all alone, even when he sat in a giant cafeteria full of other people. Highschool was also around the time Sorrel started to use social media to talk about justice, science, and debate— his page snowballing into an extremely popular activism page dedicated to discussing the wrongs of the world in its current state, including the decay of the earth itself caused by greedy people.
Sorrel inevitably aged out of the foster care system and was thrown away by the Davises who couldn’t make more money or social status off him, but he was lucky enough to gain both a full-ride scholarship to a local university for his gifted mind and a modest living out of his social media that was enough to cover his other expenses. Most people may have spent college partying, living life, actually making friends and experiencing what it’s like to be independent— meanwhile, sorrel just threw himself harder at his work, getting a double-major in for years and being the top three of his whole school.
Of course, he had more than just his classes. He was part of a debate team— and, to top it off, he fully bloomed into an activist calling for the safety of all humankind and the earth everyone lives in. He’s attended, organized, and led many rallies and protests, to the point of… being arrested multiple times, and standing face to face with the “father” who neglected him, the police chief. Even after chief Davis broke Sorrel’s nose, twice, he still pushed further, now brandishing proof of injustice and corruption in society.
The summer after Sorrel freshly graduated, a day that changed the course of his life was set to happen. Sorrel planned a protest to shut down, or at least stall, a nuclear power facility that polluted extremely important water sources and damaging the environment, causing illness to the poor people who lived close and had to work there, and causing permanent damage to the ecosystem that the land relied on to keep stable. This specific power-plant was known to be poorly managed, poorly made, and, for lack of a better word, a… ticking time-bomb without the safety measures this level of facility should have. It was just made by a private company, desperate for a hand in the nuclear power industry. Sorrel may have been just 22 at that time, but his words pointing the flaws of this death facility rang like gospel music and his call for action spurred hundreds of people to come.
That day was when, according to the news, a brilliant young mind was lost and never found again. That day was when, in reality, Gamma-Burn, the Angel of Death, the Wrath of the Earth, was born. Sorrel, as he stood before everything happened, had copper-toned hair and honeyed brown eyes, with soft blue feathers crowning a young and strong tanned face. A particularly cruel guard grabbed that copper-haired young man and… threw him into the reactor’s pool as he came towards the building with the rest of the protesting group. And Sorrel sank down to the still-running reactor.
He should’ve died, and— in a sense, the old Sorrel did die. His curly hair turned a blue-green shade, and patches of white skin formed and bleached parts of his hair, feathers, and even one of his eyebrows. Those yellow-tinted eyes now are a mismatching blue and green. Along with that, his body developed a… core. He absorbed the radiation, became that reactor, and caused an absolute disaster from the panic. As he swam back up after the ordeal, he obviously took his new body with him, and his pure fear! and… everyone got cooked with a wave of radiation, and the room melted down before his eyes.
The entirety of the United States was incredibly lucky this tragedy was contained in only one room, that by some miracle that radiation didn’t spread and explode, and just… retracted itself. That was Sorrel.
A guard, one of the people he was trying to help, pushed him to what was supposed to be death, and because of that… everyone at that facility but him is dead. Sorrel didn’t know cruelty and corruption came so far down, that one underpaid worker can be so desperate to keep a dangerous job that they’d kill and then be killed for it.
Maybe the curse was a gift. Maybe, now, he finally had a way to act instead of speak. Obviously, every action he took… it wasn’t enough. He had to take drastic measures to save the world from that corruption he keeps witnessing, and now he had… a means.
Sorrel adopted the name Gamma-Burn, wiped and deleted his old accounts back when he wasn’t some abomination, and started to speak again just a few days after he was reborn.
As far as the public knows, despite all the evidence of the dead/missing Sorrel Azrael Geiger being Gamma-Burn, no one knows what Sorrel currently looks like, and no one knows the face under Gamma-Burn’s mask. All everyone has is coincidence, theories, and a haunting fable of an abused genius turned supervillain that no one knows how to prove is real.
And now, a traumatized man stands entirely alone, trying to carry the world’s problems on his shoulders and trying to solve them in permanent ways.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

“OH what the FUCK?!”

Sorrel adjusted at the longer fall, his reaction time fast enough to twist his body and roll on the now mossy ground. He’ll… just have to run some other way. If he tried to go vertically, that lumbering buffoon with an exoskeleton definitely would catch up. That left… trying to go under. This stupid beetle-man abomination was huge, and he was rather slim and flexible— he might be able to run with the undergrowth.

It worked, for a time— he disappeared under the cracks and crevices of dense trees and metal and concrete, like a rat scurrying through its little tunnel. Eventually, the great Gamma-Burn popped into a nearby bit of what used to be parking space, a clearing with a particularly large piece of painted concrete and steel that somehow managed not to be broken to shreds by all the plants rapidly growing.

Sorrel quickly looked around— it was just trees, green and growing and fresh. His ears rang too loudly to hear any buzzing or calling out, and while he still felt the disgusting shiver down his spine of beetles and worms tracking his ass down, he… he just couldn’t take it much longer.

Gamma-Burn, the invincible specter of the earth, broke out into a coughing fit to the point his signature gas mask dripped down blood onto the concrete slab he was pitifully hunched on. He had to take the mask off— he had to breathe, just a bit, just a little longer to get somewhere safe.

His entire torso burned. His core felt like some withered stick forced to carry a mountain, his chest was heavy and his heart figuratively beat out of his chest. He took the mask off as he keeled over and kept coughing up blood. Sorrel’s face, of course, was covered by the large hoodie, but… it still was the most vulnerable thing he’s done on the job. It’s not like he had a choice— his body just betrayed him at that moment, his chronic issues flaring up at the worst possible time.

He can’t go down like this. He could only let himself have a few seconds. He had to get somewhere, anywhere else but where he currently was— maybe to a sewer, to find a root-path back to Ground Zero. He already finished what he needed to do! Mission complete, a step closer to the world the people deserve, but if Gamma-Burn gets caught… well, that’s far too early for each wave Sorrel made to have lasting effects.

He had to keep going. He just… kept stumbling to the ground, and he started to panic to the point of letting out gigantic and reckless bursts of pure, hot, nuclear reaction style radiation from his own core.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Gods, Sorrel wanted to roll his eyes into the back of his skull. The most cookie-cutter hero, with a hint of squirmy ick and a chitin shell pulling him aside from the others who just focused on fucking fame and power and money instead of doing the right thing.

That self-absorbed beetle wasn’t a target, rather a burr clinging to his leg and causing some inconvenience with honeyed and valiant words meant for the public. This was the championed hero? This man, this selfish worm is the paragon of greatness? He already knew the world was upside down, and that he was here to right it. Though… it still made him a bit more bitter. He’s the villain for making the world a better place? He should be apprehended? Not the disgusting chairmen that fell with the building?

With a flick of his wrists, he… stumbled. He wanted to hold his daggers in a better way, but… his body hurt. A dagger dropped to the ground next to his sturdy boots as he supported himself against a mantle of tree bark. His throat… felt dry, and prickly. And then, he tasted iron at the tip of his tongue as he coughed.

Fuck. He was out of time. People couldn’t figure out Gamma-Burn was sick, as sick as he was. That’d make him weak. That’d be the talk of the town instead of his goals. It’d… get in the way. His body always got in the way of this monumental task on his shoulders.

“Ahaha…” Two more coughs. He… he just felt so sick. Sorrel needed to go home, take some medicine, tell the doctor his symptoms are still getting in the way. His fist that still held a blade tightened, and the metal heated up with a menacing, nuclear glow. It hurt so much.

He bit back the cry of pain, and he shouted hoarsely to the King Stag. “Catch me, beetle bitch!”

Gamma-Burn, with the signature green glowing eye forming a streak across the apocalyptic scene, sprinted towards the great hero. That beetle was pitifully slow compared to him, with all that chitin… he jumped, his feet landing squarely on the elytra of King Stag’s back, his hand burning a radioactive imprint on the shiny carapace. A split second later, he jumped.

Gamma-Burn used the great hero King Stag as a fucking vault. His dagger didn’t hit any skin, he didn’t use it to kill— it instead dug into the giant, fleshy vine hanging over a steel support beam. Sorrel grabbed that vine with his other hand, quickly put his remaining blade away, and jumped to the nearest branch— he had to get to safety, and quick.