Dirty Dan — Roleplayer Guild

Michael Wesley
Chestnut Street - Starbucks

It was only the first few hours in town, and already, he had been ditched by a 63 year old man and a 56 year old woman. It made sense, though. They didn't get out much, and once he drove them over to one of the public parks, with the fancy dog tricks, crystal-like ponds, and the sunlight and shade, Grandma had shooed him off, while his Grandpa laughed. He didn't mind - not at all. He'd only got back into his truck, and headed off further into the town. There was quite a few sights to see, and he enjoyed the time to himself, despite the somewhat bad traffic, seeing as this was a pretty busy time of the day. In the end, he ended up parking his truck at a Starbucks, while he got out to enjoy free TV, cool AC, and a nice, piping hot...

"And what would you like, sir?"

"Chocolate latte and a club sandwich, please." Michael reached down, taking out his deer-skinned wallet, while the cashier drummed his fingers on the table in front of him, rather impatiently. Taking out a 20 dollar bill, Michael paid for his items, before pocketing his change. 

"Here you go, sir. Enjoy your stay." The cashier was a teenager, still pimply and lanky, and there was a certain rudeness about him - he didn't really like his job, it seemed like. Michael nodded his head, taking the offered cup of latte, and his place - which held a rather delicious-looking club sandwich, complete with toasted toast. While the smell was delicious, he doubted that it would live up to his Grandma's butter-milk biscuits and bacon...something he could eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Michael glanced around the cafe, taking notice of an empty booth near the windows. He made his way over, setting his food and latte down on the clean table.

"This is pretty nice." He sighed to himself, a smile pulling at his lips as he leaned back and took a sip of the latte. Damn it was steaming hot. This was a relaxing day;; he felt odd not moving around doing work, but he guess he deserved a break. His grandparents truly did. A few people walked around him, some giving him waves and smiles, which he replied with a nod of the head and a small, friendly smile. Nothing was out of the ordinary about a young, broad-shouldered guy wearing jeans, boots, and a white t-shirt.

Name: Alexander Finnel
Nicknames: Alex, Finn
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Place of Origin: New York City, New York
Occupation: Plans on becoming a Forensics Scientist in the Criminology division of the NYPD, but currently works as a part-time pizza delivery boy as he finishes college. This is not an occupation, but he is also the assistant to Mr. James B. Jones, the Forensics Criminology Professor of Avery University - his college - in New York City. This gives him extra credits in his chosen major, allowing him to have more free time outside of college.

Known EVO Abilities:
[Speedster Physiology] - Deep within his genes, multiple DNA strands have long since been connected to an unknown force within the universe, granting Alex, and anyone else connected to said force, abilities that all focus upon one specific nature - Super Speed. Currently, as it is now, Alex has the ability to run along the speeds of or below 'Mach 1', although he would have to run full-kilt to hit the pinnacle of that speed - which would result in a sonic boom. The natural side-effect that comes with this ability of super-speed, is himself having superhuman reflexes, agility, stamina, endurance, and perceptive abilities - allowing him to take in information and process it at much faster rates than a normal human, which is a must when moving at such high speeds. With his speed, Alex can do various things you'd expect someone with superspeed to do - such as running across water and up vertical, steep surfaces with the intensity of his speed, reading and processing things at super speeds, vibrating his body at super speeds, and henceforth. Due to his DNA strand's connection to the unknown force, and his own body developing his awakened power, Alex's speed and abilities will grow as he himself trains and uses said abilities - and discover more variables for his speed. On a sidenote, due to his speed, his metabolism is extremely hightened. He has to eat a vast variety of food to sustain himself, or else he experiences dizzy spells and fainting. Due to the pure amount of speed he moves, theres a chance that his clothing will catch fire/smoke due to the wind resistance, as normal clothing doesn't have the natural immunity to such, like Alex's skin. Due to the static electricity generated by his speed, and perhaps the unknown force that powers his DNA/Genes, Alex generates golden/yellow static electricity/lightning whenever he moves/vibrates at high speeds.

Psychological Profile & History: Unsurprisingly, Alex has lived a rather...boring and normal life, up until three months ago. Born underneath a Police Officer of a father, and a District Attorney of a mother, he was obviously brought up to be a law-abiding and authoritative young man - they got in, well, seventy-five percent of it. As a child, Alex obviously shown that he was a smart, bright-eyed young boy, getting straight A's and always getting that golden star for being a good sport, and a good student. However, like all small, skinny kids in public middle-schools, he was often bullied for his lunch money, or bullied to do someone's homework. He did it, at first, until he came back home with a bruised cheek, and his father took a trip up to the school. Obviously, this didn't really help, and the jeering got a bit worse - so Alex took to keeping to himself, and running the opposite way if things were looking bleak. While you would think this would make him a coward, it actually didn't. 

Since his bullying became something of the past, the bullies took to messing with other people. Little girls with pigtails, the one kid that ate his boogers - they were pushed, slapped, and stole from, and it was his fault. So, Alex stopped running, and helped out the other kids. He took the hits, sure, but he was getting a bit better at talking himself out of it, or simply getting the Hell away once he helped the other victim. It became a thing of the past as they got older, and the teachers became wiser. He was still getting really good grades, and was skipped up one grade, which put him into a class with slightly more mature students. Most of them saw him for what he was - a bright, if not slightly geeky student that enjoyed speaking about science, physics, and the latest comic book. Time passed, and eventually, high-school was over. He was talked about by colleges extremely highly, and went to Avery University after getting a rather nice apartment in Downtown NYC. He knew what his goal was - the NYPD, in Forensics - that was always his favorite type of subject back in high-school, after all. 

In college, there was no bullies. Sure, there were jocks, but Alex was a friendly guy, and no one really felt the need to try and beat him up. Some training with his father gave him a bit of hand-to-hand knowledge, so he was sure that he could defend himself, regardless. More time passed, and his life was looking good. And then...that happened. Afterwards, he tried to play it off, and had even stopped running whenever he could. But, it would pop up whenever he was doing some sort of task, off and on, and eventually, he decided to settle down, test it, and see what the Hell was going on. He wasn't stupid. It was super-speed;; unnatural things happened, especially with the stuff that happened those years ago. He had to keep it on the down-low, however, and try to control it. People didn't like strange, and he was getting as strange as it got.

First Known Manifestation:
He had been taking five boxes of pizza completely across the city, to one Old Lady Palmer's apartment, when he heard the gunshot. It was pretty late, but not too late - around 10 PM, which was the usual time people began ordering the delicious Yorkshire's Pepperoni Platter for dinner. Delivery boys were given slow little mopeds to traverse the streets, so, a bit spooked, but concerned, Alex had turned the moped right and began heading towards the place the sound had blasted from. As he got closer, no longer very concerned about delivering the pizza on time, two more gunshots sounded, and he jumped what felt like 3 feet into the air, dropping the pizza and the moped - and, just his luck, right into a pothole. The back wheel popped on a piece of concrete, and the pizzas had spilled against the pavement. He had cursed, pulling the moped up, when he heard the sound of a slow moving car coming closer and closer to his location. A similar gunshot - something he now recognized as a standard Glock 21 round - blasted from the car's slightly opened window, and he could hear coughing and rough laughter. Two thuggish-looking guys exited the car, and it was obvious that one was packing heat. At this point, his heart was pounding, and he realized what had happened. They'd led an innocent bystander to a shitty part of town, and had planned on mugging or shooting him. God damn it.

The first thug, the one with the gun, pointed it lop-sided at him, a joint hanging from his mouth, and Alex cautiously put his hands up. He could still remember the scene, to this day. "Yo, looks like we got a pizza boy this time, Josh." The gun-toting thug smirked, and it was obvious by his slightly lurring words that he was pretty high. His friend, Josh apparently, grinned, walking forward to look down his nose at the slightly taller, lankier, and scared-shitless Alex, who was still froze. "You hear that, pizza boy? Give us ya' pizza!" Josh laughed, shoving Alex. This snapped him out of his daze, and Alex swallowed, stumbling back clumsily and crouching down. "Okay, okay, just don't shoot." He cursed his luck underneath his breath, grabbing a warm, non-dirty box.

"We don' want your shit, dumbass!" The gun-toting thug laughed, kicking Alex in the back, sending him falling onto the pavement, scraping his chin. Alex grunted as the wind left his chest, and he heard, rather than saw, the Glock being cocked back. "We're just lookin' for time to kill." He could hear the grin in the voice, and damn it, he did not want to die, yet. He still had that report to turn in tomorrow, that comic book to finish reading, and he still had to finally beat Shane on Counter-Strike. He still wanted to see his mom and dad. He still wanted to be the one to give his dad the forensics detailing of a complex crime. He wanted to see them look upon him as an equal, and not as their nerdy, lanky son. He wanted to be someone.

It took him a few seconds to realize that he wasn't dead.

He turned around, and to his surprise, the thug was still cocking the Glock back. Alex stood on shaky legs, and narrowed his eyes. Time...was moving slow? No...wait...was it adrenaline? Regardless...he had to get the Hell away...he didn't care if it was adrenaline, or what. He just knew...he had to get away before the trigger was pulled. With all of his strength, he clumsily dashed forward, stumbling over his feet, before he regained his footing and began sprinting. And, sprint, he did. Everything around him was a blur as he suddenly shot down the street, arms pumping as he simply began to run as fast as he could. No, everything else wasn't a blur. He was the blur. His mind seemed to instinctively know when to turn and move around every obstacle, parked car, and corner, as he blurred through the city, heading for the first safe location in his mind - Old Lady Palmer's apartment. However, as he twirled around a speeding car, electricity arcing off of his blurring form, his head began to catch up to what was happening, and his stomach dropped.

Alex skidded to a stop right in front of Old Lady Palmer's door, tripping over his feet and slamming head-first into her wooden door, causing the door to splinter open with a loud crash. Behind him, his skid marks were melted black marks in the concrete, still smoking.

Good thing was, he wasn't fired from his part-time job.

He did have to pay for the door.

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