El Gato Naranja

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

Date/Time: November 11,2022
Location: Redline, Maine; en route to the Museum of Parahuman History

"I will defeat you with the power of friendship. Oh, and these stars! Hah! At your face!"

---

Alman simply watched their merry little party of crazy teens, endowed with frankly horrifying powers and less than stellar backgrounds. From what he heard from gossip during the introductions, some were straight up orphans, others were kicked out of their houses, and a couple were abused in ways more than one. Oh, and there are a few of those with stable homes. Including himself, he supposed, as he checked his phone and saw the latest series of messages from his parents. They kept asking him if he had already eaten, if he was well, if his companions were absolutely insane.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be fine," Alman said to no one in particular as he resisted the urge to conjure a star for the laughs. He really itched to see if he was well-practiced with his powers, but that was apparently going to happen once they got down to the ground.

Alman found the whole situation odd. What would any of the groups of... evil parahumans gain from attacking a museum of all places? What are they gonna do? Steal a retired hero's costume and then parade it around like a dog on crack? Take the outside underwear and then use it for themselves?

Maybe they needed money for their nefarious schemes, and wished to auction off some stale and unused spandex?

"Anyway, any of you played Dungeons and Dragons? Or, I guess, any RPG game with class roles in it?"

So, one of them, Wattson apparently, had begun to strike a conversation. Perfect, Alman thought, as he formulated an answer.

"I don't know if it fits. But I play... Eh... League of Legends," Alman said, shuddering with how the others might react to that information. One of their group, belonging to one of the most toxic gaming communities out there? What if they thought he fit the bill of 'a typical League player?'

Another, named Bastion, asked what they could do. She makes forcefields... huh, neat.

"I... blow up stuff. And melt stuff down," Alman continued, creating a sphere of crimson light. "I make these little spheres of plasma, which I guess you can call miniature stars. Anyways, you lot can just call me Alman. 'Astromancer' might be a mouthful to say after all."

Pariah

"Right- Now lets scramble. Mind dropping me in Bywater?"

"Sure, my good sir," Murder Express answered with the same echoing voice. The swarm of spectral ravens returned to him, melting back into the black mist that permeated his eldritch body. Strangely enough, though, one of them stayed, flying in a circle before perching itself on top of Murder Express' head.

It would appear that Zah liked his pets, even if they were but pale imitations of himself that are made out of shadow, imagination, and spite.

"Bywater, huh," Zah remarked as he began to lift off from the alley, blowing dust and other nasty particulates at Ruby. He took a moment to hover over the Scourge Variant, whom he had no love for.

"You really like ruining things for everyone else, don't you?" Zah grumbled at Ruby, his tone sounding as if he was her disappointed father. Considering the fact that no one actually knew who Murder Express was, a theory like that might have a lot of support backing it, though it would ultimately be proven false.

"The rest of us are just trying to live honest lives, and yet, here you are, doing the opposite of laying low. What part of 'lay low' and 'keep a low profile' don't you understand, anyway? If he were still alive, Imrahil would be fuming!"

Imrahil was his late brother, of course, but it's not like anyone else in the Underground knew their exact relationship. Most would just assume that they found a reason to bond when one turns into a giant tentacle monster, and the other is a titanic raven.

"Anyway," Murder Express croaked, "Congratulations, on being the reason why we're screwed!"

With that, the giant raven and his two passengers flew off, heading to Bywater.

"Oh, right, you," Zahariel looked down at Graphite who was firmly in his grip. "Goodbye!"

Graphite landed with a resounding plop as he got dropped into a pile of mud as Murder Express flew past. Zah knew that he can't really hurt Graphite, so he decided to simply inconvenience him as much as possible.

"So," Murder Express began, his lone spectral raven intensely staring at Grassbones. "How are you, Grassy?"

Pariah

Seeing that Sear had decided to leave the field of battle, Zahariel reconsidered his stance in the fight. It was now just Grassbones facing off against the two Scourge members; he doubted that Grassy (as he had come to nickname the skeletal Variant) would be able to ever defeat or even delay them. Giraffe… Graffiti, no, Graphite would just keep backhanding him back and forth with those stony hands of his. Sure, he wouldn't get hurt, as he doesn't have a nervous system to feel any pain with, and no flesh to speak of (though Zah wondered if a fractured bone could make him feel something?), but he's just a smoking skeleton.

As for Zah, he's an eldritch raven, and he has a surprise of his own.

The dark mist that exuded from his form intensified, spectral ravens coalescing from the black smoke. With a single thought, the flock of forty shadow ravens flew forth, pestering Ruby and Graphite. Mostly Ruby, because Graphite has stony skin and wouldn't get affected by their attacks in the slightest.

With his partner sufficiently distracted, Zah set his eyes on Graphite. Without a word, he spread his vast wings, casting a shadow in the moonlight. He flew down with the grace of any bird of prey (nevermind that ravens are carrion birds…), talons seeking out Graphite. He sought to take hold of the stony Metamorphic Variant, and fly with him in tow. Zah wondered what he'll do. Maybe they could have a little chat before he drops Graphite to a garbage disposal, right where he belongs?

"Oh, hello, Grassbones," Zah said as he tried to clamp down on Graphite, his voice echoing as if there were a dozen speakers in his avian throat. He sounded pretty serene, at least. "The authorities draw close. Care for a joint departure?"

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

.

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

Alman Kastrati, the Astromancer

---

---

"Sometimes, the stars gaze back."

---

---

Name: Alman Kastrati

Alias: Astromancer

Nicknames: Alms

Age: 17

Gender: A boi

Personality: Alman has a generally pleasant demeanor, and seems to be "chill" most of the time. He is noted to be highly enamored by ‘cute, fluffy animals’, and possesses a keen sense of intuition of trustworthiness. Alman is pretty protective of those folks he happens to like, though those that he had a bad experience of could expect to be suddenly abandoned in the middle of a fight.

Aside from that, Alman is incredibly petty. Ruin his day, or his property? He’ll do the same, but he’ll try to make it a bit worse for whoever pissed on his parade. He is pretty much the embodiment of karma in this regard; actions will come back around, so better be nice to the guy, or else you’ll find yourself randomly inconvenienced by small, but infuriating things. Rule of thumb with Alman, then, is that he always returns to sender.

Appearance:

My Hider

Alman is 5’3” in height, with markedly Caucasian features, though he gravitates to the somewhat tanner side. His pupils are amber in color, accompanied by black framed glasses. Those glasses are auto-darkening, and react accordingly whenever he summons stars. His clothing choices usually gravitate around cloaks and other comfortable, flowing garments. Apparently, he sees it as ‘liberating’.


As a Cape, he uses a suit that is shielded from the effects of his own stars, such as bright flashes and radiation. The cape on his back has a star pattern on it, which seamlessly blends into the starry sky at night. The vital areas are covered by protective kevlar, while a high grade helmet with a wide visor keeps his head safe. Overall, it is quite comfortable to be in, just as he prefers all clothes to be. It is not the most mobile of outfits, but it serves its purpose.

Biography: Alman wasn’t from Redline originally. Nor was he originally a citizen of the United States, either. His earliest memories, at least as far as he is willing to admit, traces back to their apartment in the city of Pristina, Kosovo, as the firstborn son of Selim and Jelena Kastrati.

Either way, Alman doesn’t remember all too much of his home country, as his family left it when he was five years old due to the highly volatile situation that it was in. They first arrived in New York City, and then moved up further north into Maine, where they finally settled down, somewhat. Now, they faced a whole new world.

As a child, he had the dream of becoming an astronaut, and reaching out towards the stars. Every night, he would look through the telescope, thinking of impossible dreams as typical for someone of such a young age. He knew every famous star and constellation, recognizing them as they shone in the night sky. Alman had quite a few difficulties with the English language, and was as such bullied for it in school, though that was simply the first reason. Other causes arose, namely because of his lack of aptitude for sports, and other generic reasons. He was passive though, and simply took it without telling anyone else, as he knew he couldn't fight back against the likes of them. Not like this. He would just get beaten even more. To make matters worse, his mother had been feeling unwell a lot of the time, but she always said that it was just her getting tired at work, which just made Alman worry to the point of being nearly physically sick. It seemed that the sorry state of everything was going to stay that way for a very long time.

One day, however, everything changed. Alman' mother had fallen ill. All those headaches weren’t just from the stress of work; it was a brain tumour. Alas, they didn't have the money to pay for the medication/medical bills to aid with her situation. She was, in all respects, dying.

In desperation, Alman’ father and uncle went to a dangerous, but deceptively friendly connection. They did not know what price they might pay in the process of getting the funds they required, but surely any sacrifice was worth it, if only her life was saved? By this point, Alman’ mother’s cancer was close to getting to a terminal stage, and there was little time left before it would begin to be difficult to dislodge.

That connection that they went to, it turned out, was a group for organized crime, who had them meet outside at night, where the Milky Way itself was visible in the sky. They were apparently willing to provide the money that the Kastratis needed, if only they would do something in return. That something, however, was heinous in its nature. Murderous, even. The boss wanted someone dead, and the assassination was their price. Alman father and uncle balked at this. They had expected something that would involve them and themselves alone, but it now seemed that this would be a life for a life. Now that they know who was the target, though, they cannot leave. Not until they say yes to the deal.

And so, the gangsters took hold of Alman’ father and uncle, and began to beat them to submission. The crime lord made him watch, forcibly keeping his eyes open even as he tried to look away. Here, he felt rage, and chaos. Rage at his father for believing that it was a good idea to plead the mafia for aid. Rage at the mafia for what they were now doing, and what they would make them do in exchange for a promise they may never carry out. He managed to close his eyes shut, if only for a moment, and heard only the chaos from his surroundings; the laughing of vicious thugs, the cries of pain, the sounds of blunt implements impacting against flesh. Rage. Disorder. They were all his to bear.

At that moment, an entity that skirted in the dimensions far above the ken of mortal perceptions found a suitable vessel. A shard unraveled, and in a split second, Alman was enlightened. He could now create the shiniest of lights, the fiercest of flames, the purest manifestation of starfire. And so, instead of his family being the victims that night, the gangsters were annihilated. Orbs of starlight burst into existence, setting clothing and flesh alight. The chaotic constellation that ensued wiped out the gangsters, purging them from the face of the earth. The gang were all dead, and the Kastrati clan still lived. The money, which had been in a suitcase as a fleeting proof of the deal they could have made, was now theirs for the taking. His mother will live, but at what cost?

Later in the morning, as the Kastratis recovered and spoke to one another about the events of last night, PRT investigations found traces of ionized gas within the area of concern, as well as charred bodies belonging to some of the most notorious gangsters in the state. Investigations pinpointed just who these gangsters were supposed to meet at the night, which led them to this moment. Self defense was cited as defensible cause for such wanton destruction, but such an ability was still extremely dangerous for public life.

The PRT caught wind, and showed up in the Kastrati doorstep, having found that he had obliterated around two dozen or so 'people'. It was clear that Alman cannot remain in regular society like this. His parents were somewhat resistant to the idea that their only child is to go away from them, but they relented after about a week as the ultimatum became heavier. In exchange for around the clock protection for them, Alman was to enter the Wards Program.

Powers:
Classification: Blaster 6
Astromancy: Alman produces and channels plasma energy. He is as such able to create and maintain up to four miniature stars at a given time, with three distinct modes that operate in a sliding scale of heat and light. They can move at around 7 to 8 meters per second, with any turns requiring pauses in movement.

Mode 1 (Searing Star): Capable of melting through most metals, as well as turning sand into glass at physical contact. By far the dimmest, but the most potent in terms of destructive potential. These can immolate most materials that they may come across.

Mode 2 (Blinding Star): Little to no destructive capability, but the brightness emanating when it is created acts as a powerful flashbang, temporarily disorienting and blinding those who had not protected their eyes.

Mode 3 (Main Sequence): Seemingly unremarkable, these main sequence stars, as he calls them, are able to sear wood and stone, and can be difficult to look at for prolonged periods. This is the foundation from which the other two derive from in their creation.
Skills: When he was still unpowered, Alman was noted to be a great painter.
Other: No girlfriend since birth, sadly.

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story (Rebooted!)

@The Man Emperor

Alright, I'm finally running through and reviewing the stragglers to get this started. Not much to say about Alman here, except, uh...Isn't this just his original power? Y'know, the one we had ya change? xD. Point is, though, firing several hundred-feet spanning heat beams of death is a tad extreme. If what we came up with last time isn't to your liking anymore, we can figure something else out, but this one can't run as-is.

@RBYDark

This looks promising, but let's touch base on a few things; firstly, backstory. The main thing that strikes me as odd is how, er....Emotional his spiders come off as? That was my best way of describing it, but my point being this. End of the day, they're still spiders, so beyond being piloted by his intents (which is what some of this could be viewed as, but it's put forth in a kinda odd way), they're still very simplistic creatures. As for his power, the ability-copying needs to last for a far shorter frame; I'd say at most is perhaps 10 minutes, to prevent him from simply having access to a massive collection of powers of his choosing that can last him for potentially a whole hour lol. Oh, and also, how exactly do these 'power transfusions' work when it comes to giving him multiple Parahuman abilities at once, or when (theoretically, given this is not dismissed in the Power section itself) granted to other Parahumans? Does it simply not work? Or does he gain those multiple powers, perhaps at some cost, like the duration, potency, or control of said abilities? Some things to think on that I'd like to see handled before I fully accept him, but overall, it's lookin' good. :)

@LostDestiny

I honestly don't have a ton to say here, which is a good thing, cuz it means the sheet is really solid lmao. Accepted! Bring Fuse on board. It's not directly mentioned, but I suppose he's going to be apart of the Redline Guardians, correct? If so, no complaints here lol

@Crusader Lord

Aight Crus, apologies for the wait, but Luna is accepted!...Unsurprisingly, I mean ya personally worked with me for like 3/4ths of this sheet xD

@Mintz

Oh I see. I'll just use the old one then XD

Pariah

Murder Express

Zahariel smirked as Shawn left the shop at last, his lone employee disappearing into the night. He took his time, taking the cash register's contents and placing them into his bag in order to deposit them in the bank later on. A few hundred dollars

Today was a good day for business. An elderly couple came in, looking for the biggest and baddest cactus Zah had in sale, so naturally he directed them to an absolutely enormous specimen in the back of the shop. It was easily as big as the average person, and the spines could be used as deadly weapons. Zah mused that they wanted to use it for self defense as well as house decoration, but alas, they bought it along with some of the water lilies.

Anyway, Zah had been looking at the news. The Scourge seemed to be pretty busy nowadays, seeing as how they had just burned down a laboratory. Plus, they've stolen some chemicals.

Zah sighed. Why can't they be content with living in isolation from the rest of humanity? Why must they pull these antics and ruin the lives of everyone else in the Pariah Underground? Things are bad enough as is…

Taking his cane, Zah walked to the back of his shop. It was open and had a telescope in it, lending him a view of the stars. Sometimes, he'd catch a glimpse of his old homeworld, the Red Planet, glinting in the night sky. He remembered how he lived underground, and only ever got out of that little world on a world with a suit on.

Now, here he was, on Earth. He could sense that his body was still having trouble with the gravity, even after a whole decade. Zah quickly downed one of those pills with a glass of water, making sure that he didn't suffer any health issues when he got home.

Speaking of which, it was getting dark. And so…

A dark mist surrounded Zah. Out of the black smoke emerged his transformation; an eldritch raven, exuding pure shadow.

The news reported that the Scourge members went in different directions. He didn't want to deal with Flea, as she could jump up and catch him in mid-air, so he'd rather deal with Graphite and Ruby. True, his raven swarm cannot harm Graphite, but he didn't need to harm them- not yet, anyway. They needed a good talk.

"Well that's relieving," Zah thought as he witnessed a bunch of small shapes fight in the dark alley below him. Let's see, a pyromancer, a smoking skeleton, then those two. Must be… Sear and Grassbones.

Zah flew down, perching on one of the nearby rooftops, deciding not to interfere- yet. Though to those four, he's not exactly hard to miss.

"Cute…" Zah simply mused, watching Ruby and Graphite's irritation.

---

The Collector

"Sir. SIR! Please step away from the-"

"Step away or you'll, what, shoot me?"

The Collector stood in front of the set of jewels, his eyes filled with greed and exquisite taste. The glass box was an easy matter. He could just take it along with the set, as the Tesseract Labyrinth would have no trouble swallowing the whole thing into its unfathomable dimensions.

Either that, or let his pets break it.

"Uh…"

"Darling," the Collector said, stepping forward while Satan and Lucifer, those mechanical centipedes, crawled beside him. "I tell you this. Are you implying that you, a man who in most likelihood, has a family to feed, an ambition to reach, will willingly fight me? And for what? How much do these people pay you anyway? Minimum wage?"

Collector lazily tossed a black cube at the jewel set, causing the precious relics to disappear into a pocket dimension. "Word of advice, my dear. You shouldn't do for others what they aren't willing to do for you. For instance, fighting to the death. You know who I am, no? You know what I can do? Bullets simply… stop."

The security guard whimpered, though he still pointed his gun at the completely unfazed Collector.

"You know, with a face like that, my parents would be telling you to marry my sister," Collector said, giggling. As if in cue, Gloriana Hellas and Sol Invictus floated towards from elsewhere in the mansion, bearing news.

"Gold plates and vintage wine bottles have been found," Gloriana Hellas said in a monotone, robotic voice. "On the second floor."

"Most excellent, my love," the Collector said with an amused tone. He then looked back at the security guard, who was still standing there, scared. "How old are you? 20? 25? You have a long way to go, my good sir! I suppose that your cooperation and generosity should be rewarded here and now, no?"

"...what?"

"Oh, you misunderstand," the Collector said, taking out another of the cubes from his pocket. "Here, take a peak."

The Collector plunged his right hand into the cube, the point that he touched turning into a semi-liquid. He then pulled out a large, glowing ruby that reflected the light of the nearby chandeliers with absolute beauty.

"Glorious, isn't it," the Collector answered, holding out the ruby. "This is worth more than the salary you'll get in a whole year. Or your life, depending on how brain-dead your owner, err, employer is. Anyway, if you'd kindly just leave, you can have this."

Satan loomed behind the Collector, its mandibles excitedly clicking. Its eyes alternated between red, green, and yellow, as if they were a set of Christmas lights.

"Satan, don't scare him, can you?" The Collector chided the machine.

Satan looked dismayed, and crawled away. The Collector turned his attention back to the guard, who had his gun down now. Not waiting for anything else, the Collector took the man's hand, and placed the ruby on his palm.

"Go on now! Be free!"

Surely enough, the guard ran away, leaving his gun behind.

And so the ransacking continued. The Collector was very, very pleased.

Pariah

The Collector

Name | Javier Alejandro Santa Ana Gamarra
Alias | The Collector; however, he prefers to be called "The Grand Archeoivist of the Eternal Galleries." He always corrects people who "get it wrong".
Age | 36
Gender | A Man
Appearance | The Collector carries himself with a proud demeanor, almost as if he's passively exuding an aura of arrogance and self importance. Standing at about six feet tall, a head of auburn hair visible behind his mask, and glimmering amber eyes, the Collector is an imposing figure.
Notoriety | Wanted
Danger Level/Variant Type | Class 2 Distortionist/Architect
Abilities |

Tesseract Labyrinth: In essence, the Collector can create handheld cubical devices that contain pocket dimensions. Any inorganic object no larger than a man battle tank that is struck by these devices will be taken into the pocket dimension. They can be thrown out and taken back in at any time.

If a vehicle with living entities in it gets struck, they are instantaneously teleported a few feet away from the vehicle.

(These are literally Pokeballs, if they were pitch black cubes)

Stasis Field: The Collector can lock inorganic objects in place within a small field around him, preventing any movement. This can be used to stop falling objects of up to several tons in mid-air and pause incoming bullets. However, another person coming in will find themselves only slightly slowed down by the field.

Hyperspace Oubliette: By bending the fabric of space, the Collector can teleport within a distance of 100 meters, whether through line of sight, an up-to-date picture, live feed, or memory.

[Gear]
Attire | One can say that the Collector "has a lot of drip." In stark contrast to his downtrodden origins, the Collector wears robes of purple, red, and blue, sometimes with fur trimming. He always has this dragon mask on when meeting with interested buyers, or when he's "requisitioning" (aka stealing) important stuff.

Armament/Equipment |
Prowler Drones: Lovingly named "Satan" and "Lucifer", these robotic sentinels (courtesy of Lockheed Martin) guard the Collector whenever he's out "retrieving" special objects. These 10 feet long mechanical monstrosities look like metallic centipedes, armed with razor sharp claws, jaws, and a set of dual machine guns. He may summon them at will using a Tesseract Labyrinth.

Flak Drones: Fabulously named "Gloriana Hellas" and "Sol Invictus", these levitating drones also defend the Collector during his acquisitions. Designed by Angstrom Defence, these machines are armed with a pair of carbines and advanced scanners. May or may not have been stolen.

The Boomstick: Of course, the Collector's personal weapon is also given an overdramatic name. It's basically a high powered pistol, but with a seemingly ancient design filled with runes. The runes don't actually do anything, but the gun itself will surely do great harm.

[Temperament & Lifestyle]
Affiliation | Independent. He'll help anyone at the right price, however.
Personality/Habits |
"I welcome all to a place in my carefully curated collection!"

To those that have interacted with the Collector, the first thing they'll notice is that he seems completely… different. His attention seems to fly from place to place, though his eye for detail is said to be impeccable at the same time. He's very eccentric, asking seemingly inane questions at random. He speaks of the nature of the universe, of reality, and… other random topics.

Based on these observations, it would seem that the Collector is a self interested curator of relics and technology, whose primary goal is to have a sample of everything that ever was. Of course, he's willing to part with the less "valuable" parts of his collection to get something that he doesn't have currently, though he's just as inclined to take what he wants by force.
Occupation/Trade | Black Market Trader
Skills/Talents |
Stealing
Marksmanship (with a pistol)
Haggling
Deception

Family |
Leonora Gamarra (mother)
Salvomente Gamarra (father)
Background |

The earliest guesses of the identity of the Collector was that of a certain Javier Alejandro Santa Anna Gamarra. His family was said to be buried in the poverty so rife in New Haven then and now, so they barely scraped by, day by day. Perhaps it was this situation that inspired the nature of the Collector; a driven curator and thief, interested only in self preservation.

One day, though, he disappeared, or so as the neighbors said. He left and just… never came back. The family came back, too, but they didn't seem to acknowledge that Javier was gone. They kept assuring everyone else that he had just found a job elsewhere.

But where?

Either way, the headlines on the Collector began when random but valuable objects began to go missing around town. Luxury cars, shiny museum relics, and even the marble statue in one of the squares went missing. The rich folk of New Haven were rather irritated, but no one could really know who the culprit was. Surveillance cameras only confirmed that it was a teleporting Variant wearing rich people's clothes, who threw pitch black cubes that seemingly consumed whatever they touched.

The black market knew differently, though. Suddenly, there was a new masked face in town, making deals with all the dangerous crime lords. He was difficult to take down, too: it seemed that he could summon a pair of robotic guardians at will, who would then proceed to rip and tear his enemies. Most gangs would learn to make use of the situation, though, as he was… generous, to say the least.

Who knows where the Collector hides? None had ever laid their eyes upon the Eternal Galleries, as he calls himself the Archeoivist of. If anyone has been there, it's likely that they're not coming back.

Or perhaps it doesn't exist.

Pariah

Zahariel Angstrom

Name | Zahariel Angstrom
Alias | Murder Express
Age | 30
Gender | A Man
Appearance | Some might say Zahariel is a disaster man that does not sleep. Well, he does sleep, but it never seems to be enough. Despite his not-too-old age, he uses a cane to help himself get around.

Other than that, he's… mostly indistinct. At a glance, he's the last person you'd think to be capable of turning into a shadow demon of your deepest nightmares.
Notoriety | Indistinct
Danger Level/Variant Type | Class 2 Metamorphic/Architect
Abilities |
Transformation: Zahariel has the ability to turn into a fifteen feet tall eldritch raven. In this transformed state, he has powers of flight and sharp talons. Strangely enough, he exudes a dark mist, which leaves a fleeting trail of shadow wherever he flies. He can intensify this mist to mask his escape.

Fortunately for everyone involved, this transformation doesn't destroy his clothes, unlike the entity known as Hulk.

Murder Assault: Summons a flock of spectral ravens from the mist that trails off his transformed state. These bite and tear at anyone he directs them to; it would feel like getting attacked by a swarm of flying, feathered piranhas.They seem to be fully integrated to this plane of existence, and can get damaged and destroyed by conventional weapons. Despite their spectral nature, they are unable to phase through solid objects.

The flock can also function as a makeshift bridge for a single person, though this would purely be for the benefit of others as he doesn't require any bridges to go anywhere.
[Gear]
Attire | Zahariel's attire is… variable. It could be said that he "changes clothes like a popular girl does with her dresses." Whatever the case, though, he always carries himself well. In casual settings, you can expect him to be wearing a shirt with a jacket over it, which are usually in the darker tones. In more official things, he'll be using something that's perfect for the occasion, but never overly opulent or luxurious; it's always "just right". The stuff he wears always seem to be well maintained and ironed, resulting in an orderly vibe about him.
Armament/Equipment |
As a necessity of his… special situation, Zahariel always has a box of supplement pills in his bag. These help maintain his health when he's out of his Metamorphic form, as he'll otherwise start manifesting cardiovascular and respiratory issues.

Other than that, he always carries a smartphone, a taser, a wallet filled with cards and a spare dollar, a load of cash stashed in his boots (yes, he keeps most of his pocket money down there), and the keys to his house.
[Temperament & Lifestyle]
Affiliation | Pariah Underground
Personality/Habits | Despite the intimidating and almost eldritch vibe of his Variant powers, Zahariel is a friendly, swell dude. It's always been said that he's an exemplar of good behavior back then. Well, except for that one little incident back home, but we don't talk about that.

That doesn't mean he's above violence, though; if a mysterious character were to approach and try to squeeze from him the location of a Pariah Underground safehouse, a swarm of angry birds won't be too far behind. That is, if he doesn't just transform at the spot and bite off your head. He may be nice, but he'll do whatever it takes.

Occupation/Trade | Professional gardener that makes a living by selling pots and plants. Formerly a botanist in the Martian colony in Mariner Valley.

Secretly, he's a ferry for the Pariah Underground. With his transformation, he can evacuate one Variant at a time to safety. Or more, if they're small.
Skills/Talents |
Salesmanship
Gardening/Botany
Power-based combat
Near perfect recall
Family |
Johan Angstrom (father)
Sylvia Angstrom (mother)
Imrahil Sabat (brother, deceased)
Background |
The Murder Express is an oddity in NOVA's files. Supposedly, it's a Variant that stalks the night, interrupting agents in the middle of sting operations. A swarm of spectral ravens attack, disrupting them for a few precious minutes.

Each time, the Murder Express is seen flying off with the operation's target on its back, disappearing into the darkness as a black mist covers its escape. The true, human identity of this Metamorphic had never been confirmed so far, and many agents favor pursuing easier projects than trying to know who the hell this is.

The Variant that would go on to become the Murder Express (named so because a group of ravens is called a murder and it summons just that each time it is encountered, not because it murdered anyone) was born not on Earth, but on Mars. There, the first fruits of humanity's first forays beyond the homeworld have begun to bear fruit. Domed and underground settlements lie within suitable locations such as Mariner Valley and Olympus Mons. Thousands of people now call the Red Planet home, and one of them was Zahariel Angstrom.

His family was part of the later waves of colonization; wealthy tycoons and industrialists that came after the scientists and engineers made their first marks on the world. The Angstroms owned a Swedish defense contractor: the aptly named Angstrom Defense Corporation. And so, at first, Zahariel had it pretty easy, if we're talking about material possessions. While he got all the money that the second world could offer, he only had maids, pets, and robots as company. His parents, ever the obsessive masters of an industrial military complex, were as hands off as they could ever be. They didn't bother to check if their son was getting into gambling and
… more gambling.

It was during a heated argument and fight in a casino that the 19 year old Zahariel first manifested his Variant Powers. After being engaged in a lengthy fist fight, he suddenly transformed into a great raven and tore off the other man's arm.

Of course, while neglectful, his parents were quick to cover up the incident. They accomplished this with the trusty method of applying more and more money into the problem until it stopped being a problem. In short order, all records were destroyed and all witnesses suffering seemingly convenient accidents, such as 'falling through a window'. In exchange, though, Zahariel was given a massive stash of supplements, a boatload of cash, and a one way trip to Earth. Make no more trouble, they said. And don't ever come back.

The problem, of course, was obvious. While he did have his own professional skills, he was Martian, and would always have health problems while on Earth. The situation forced him to finally wise up. Within the decade, got a quaint little plant shop and a decent enough house.

At the same time, Zahariel experimented with his Variant powers. He found that transforming into the great raven nullified his problems with the different gravity, but he can't stay that way forever. So, he usually slept while transformed, and never invited any friend over.

Well, that was until his brother knocked on the door.

Turns out, when Zahariel was five, his older brother "died". That much wasn't true, as Imrahil was a Metamorphic Variant, though he turns into a tentacle monster, apparently. The approach of their parents to apply money to problems and then kick those out was a recurring theme, it seems.

As part of their reunion, Imrahil told Zahariel of the Pariah Underground; the network of Variants with abilities that made them unsuited to living with regular society. Imrahil often talked about how they're despised by everyone else for being strange and different when they had no control over their situation. He never said it directly, but Zahariel felt that his involvement would be appreciated.

That was an unspoken offer that he sat on, unfortunately. After a few months, Zahariel wouldn't see Imrahil again. He wondered what had happened for another month, until other members of the Pariah Underground came over, regretfully informing him that Imrahil was killed by the Syndicate.

Understandably, Zahariel was utterly pissed, and also regretful. He aligned, albeit secretly, with the Pariah Underground.

And so the mystery of the Murder Express began.

Pariah

Zahariel Angstrom

Name | Zahariel Angstrom
Alias | Murder Express
Age | 30
Gender | A Man
Appearance | Some might say Zahariel is a disaster man that does not sleep. Well, he does sleep, but it never seems to be enough. Despite his not-too-old age, he uses a cane to help himself get around.

Other than that, he's… mostly indistinct. At a glance, he's the last person you'd think to be capable of turning into a shadow demon of your deepest nightmares.
Notoriety | Indistinct
Danger Level/Variant Type | Class 2 Metamorphic/Architect
Abilities |
Transformation: Zahariel has the ability to turn into a fifteen feet tall eldritch raven. In this transformed state, he has powers of flight and sharp talons. Strangely enough, he exudes a dark mist, which leaves a fleeting trail of shadow wherever he flies. He can intensify this mist to mask his escape.

Fortunately for everyone involved, this transformation doesn't destroy his clothes, unlike the entity known as Hulk.

Murder Assault: Summons a flock of spectral ravens from the mist that trails off his transformed state. These bite and tear at anyone he directs them to; it would feel like getting attacked by a swarm of flying, feathered piranhas.They seem to be fully integrated to this plane of existence, and can get damaged and destroyed by conventional weapons. Despite their spectral nature, they are unable to phase through solid objects.

The flock can also function as a makeshift bridge for a single person, though this would purely be for the benefit of others as he doesn't require any bridges to go anywhere.
[Gear]
Attire | Zahariel's attire is… variable. It could be said that he "changes clothes like a popular girl does with her dresses." Whatever the case, though, he always carries himself well. In casual settings, you can expect him to be wearing a shirt with a jacket over it, which are usually in the darker tones. In more official things, he'll be using something that's perfect for the occasion, but never overly opulent or luxurious; it's always "just right". The stuff he wears always seem to be well maintained and ironed, resulting in an orderly vibe about him.
Armament/Equipment |
As a necessity of his… special situation, Zahariel always has a box of supplement pills in his bag. These help maintain his health when he's out of his Metamorphic form, as he'll otherwise start manifesting cardiovascular and respiratory issues.

Other than that, he always carries a smartphone, a taser, a wallet filled with cards and a spare dollar, a load of cash stashed in his boots (yes, he keeps most of his pocket money down there), and the keys to his house.
[Temperament & Lifestyle]
Affiliation | Pariah Underground
Personality/Habits | Despite the intimidating and almost eldritch vibe of his Variant powers, Zahariel is a friendly, swell dude. It's always been said that he's an exemplar of good behavior back then. Well, except for that one little incident back home, but we don't talk about that.

That doesn't mean he's above violence, though; if a mysterious character were to approach and try to squeeze from him the location of a Pariah Underground safehouse, a swarm of angry birds won't be too far behind. That is, if he doesn't just transform at the spot and bite off your head. He may be nice, but he'll do whatever it takes.

Occupation/Trade | Professional gardener that makes a living by selling pots and plants. Formerly a botanist in the Martian colony in Mariner Valley.

Secretly, he's a ferry for the Pariah Underground. With his transformation, he can evacuate one Variant at a time to safety. Or more, if they're small.
Skills/Talents |
Salesmanship
Gardening/Botany
Power-based combat
Near perfect recall
Family |
Johan Angstrom (father)
Sylvia Angstrom (mother)
Imrahil Sabat (brother, deceased)
Background |
The Murder Express is an oddity in NOVA's files. Supposedly, it's a Variant that stalks the night, interrupting agents in the middle of sting operations. A swarm of spectral ravens attack, disrupting them for a few precious minutes.

Each time, the Murder Express is seen flying off with the operation's target on its back, disappearing into the darkness as a black mist covers its escape. The true, human identity of this Metamorphic had never been confirmed so far, and many agents favor pursuing easier projects than trying to know who the hell this is.

The Variant that would go on to become the Murder Express (named so because a group of ravens is called a murder and it summons just that each time it is encountered, not because it murdered anyone) was born not on Earth, but on Mars. There, the first fruits of humanity's first forays beyond the homeworld have begun to bear fruit. Domed and underground settlements lie within suitable locations such as Mariner Valley and Olympus Mons. Thousands of people now call the Red Planet home, and one of them was Zahariel Angstrom.

His family was part of the later waves of colonization; wealthy tycoons and industrialists that came after the scientists and engineers made their first marks on the world. The Angstroms owned a Swedish defense contractor: the aptly named Angstrom Defense Corporation. And so, at first, Zahariel had it pretty easy, if we're talking about material possessions. While he got all the money that the second world could offer, he only had maids, pets, and robots as company. His parents, ever the obsessive masters of an industrial military complex, were as hands off as they could ever be. They didn't bother to check if their son was getting into gambling and
… more gambling.

It was during a heated argument and fight in a casino that the 19 year old Zahariel first manifested his Variant Powers. After being engaged in a lengthy fist fight, he suddenly transformed into a great raven and tore off the other man's arm.

Of course, while neglectful, his parents were quick to cover up the incident. They accomplished this with the trusty method of applying more and more money into the problem until it stopped being a problem. In short order, all records were destroyed and all witnesses suffering seemingly convenient accidents, such as 'falling through a window'. In exchange, though, Zahariel was given a massive stash of supplements, a boatload of cash, and a one way trip to Earth. Make no more trouble, they said. And don't ever come back.

The problem, of course, was obvious. While he did have his own professional skills, he was Martian, and would always have health problems while on Earth. The situation forced him to finally wise up. Within the decade, got a quaint little plant shop and a decent enough house.

At the same time, Zahariel experimented with his Variant powers. He found that transforming into the great raven nullified his problems with the different gravity, but he can't stay that way forever. So, he usually slept while transformed, and never invited any friend over.

Well, that was until his brother knocked on the door.

Turns out, when Zahariel was five, his older brother "died". That much wasn't true, as Imrahil was a Metamorphic Variant, though he turns into a tentacle monster, apparently. The approach of their parents to apply money to problems and then kick those out was a recurring theme, it seems.

As part of their reunion, Imrahil told Zahariel of the Pariah Underground; the network of Variants with abilities that made them unsuited to living with regular society. Imrahil often talked about how they're despised by everyone else for being strange and different when they had no control over their situation. He never said it directly, but Zahariel felt that his involvement would be appreciated.

That was an unspoken offer that he sat on, unfortunately. After a few months, Zahariel wouldn't see Imrahil again. He wondered what had happened for another month, until other members of the Pariah Underground came over, regretfully informing him that Imrahil was killed by the Syndicate.

Understandably, Zahariel was utterly pissed, and also regretful. He aligned, albeit secretly, with the Pariah Underground.

And so the mystery of the Murder Express began.