Half PintIs this dead? :c
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That's bullshit, but I believe it.
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Why do I keep procrastinating?
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(´･ω･`)
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DIAMOND IS UNBREAKABLE IS CONFIRMED
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toki wo tomato
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Bio
ITS
THE
NUTSHACK
Please read the channel description.
THE
NUTSHACK
Please read the channel description.
Most Recent Posts
Reposted my CS in the Character tab. I changed a small thing, nothing major, just how Mark 'sees' certain colours.
Name - Mark Hirose a.k.a Josefumi Hirose
Alias -
Devil Fist in the US
Akuma Ken in Japan
Age - 28
Powers -
Weaknesses -
Previous Affiliation - New Avengers
Personality - Attentive, Friendly, Persistent.
Appearance - Mark is a 5ft 7in male with a muscular physique and an olive complexion. His hair is a dark black and matches to some extent with his dark blue eyes. As he is of biracial descent his facial features are a mix of Caucasian and East Asian, with the majority being the latter.
Not So Brief Bio - Mark Hirose was born in Tokyo to a Caucasian American mother, and a Japanese father. Apart from the occasional childhood teasing about his heritage, Mark lived a relatively normal life up until the age of nine. As a young Mark was crossing the street with his mother, a Roxxon Oil & Chemical truck caused a traffic collision. The accident resulted in hazardous chemicals splashing into his eyes, with Mark's mother losing her life. Soon the chemicals began to affect his eyes, rendering him blind, with the last thing he saw being his mother.
Mark later woke up in a local hospital to a deafening orchestra of crying infants, thunderous heartbeats, and stomping feet. Immediately, Mark attempted to croak out for his mother, only for the dry, sandpapery texture of his own voice to make him cringe in pain, the incredibly loud sound forcing his eardrums to strain spectacularly. It was, at this time, that he realized something. Something that he hadn't noticed in the initial panic of waking up in an unfamiliar place. Everything was pure blackness. He could not see a single thing around him, and despite his young age, Mark knew what 'blindness' was. He read about it in Science class not too long ago. He couldn't see. He was...He was...
He was being held by somebody, as tears struggled to escape the snug bandages wrapped around his eyes. Soft murmurs of Japanese was being sung into his ears, and although he could not see, Mark automatically knew it was his father. The man's scent was familiar - a deep, metallic tang that came from the man's constant working in the industrial districts. The slightly faster than normal breaths the man took due to the slight damage his lungs had taken from smog and rust. It was all familiar, and as he cried over things that a child should never have to experience, Mark clung to his only lifeline.
Time passed, and Mark never spoke of his heightened senses - some would even say that he had a good handle on the enhanced hearing, smell, and touch, and it even helped him out within life. Once, he was in the bathroom at school, and heard, from practically a mile away, the sound of Shiro, a schoolyard bully a few years older, planning to give him a swirlie. As soon as the loud boy 'quietly' snuck into the bathroom and was about to grab him from behind, Mark turned, slamming his walking stick into the boy's ankle, sending him to the ground, before swinging wildly in the direction he heard the sounds of breathing coming from - hopefully the bully's backup. They all ran away, yelling about the crazy blind kid, and Mark sighed, finishing up with his handwashing.
In this day and age, however, good things came to an end. His dad had taken out a lot of shady loans due to the economic failure within Japan during the 1990s, and the high budget losses his industrial company was beginning to suffer. It caught up to him, and Mark could still remember the day that they busted into their apartment with a shotgun and katana, before stabbing his dad through the heart. "The K'un Lun-kai pays their dues." The man with the slicked back hair stated calmly, and gave Mark, shell-shocked and gripping his walking stick, a wink. The boy waited until they left, before peeling off towards his dad's cold, bleeding body, sobbing as he collapsed over the man's corpse. First, his mother, and now his father.
This tragic incident forced Mark into an orphanage. His father's death also pushed his control over his enhanced senses into a downwards spiral. While at the Orphanage, he was visited by an old man named Orson Randall passing through Japan.
The Old Man promised to train Mark to control and master his "gift" and took Mark under his wing. Orson began a harsh training regime with Mark, often pushing an emotional response from him to teach him to control his anger. Over the next few months and years, Mark became a powerful fighter with almost complete control of his blindness and enhanced senses. Striking out a name for himself, Mark became Akuma before leaving the side of Orson Randall.
Believing that he was capable of taking on the Yakuza clan that shattered his already broken life, he went after them dressed as a bright red demon, starting with the lowly gangs working in the K'un Lun-kai's territory and working his way up. Though he did not stop there. Posing as a rough, able-sighted street orphan with a more 'traditional' Japanese name, he joined the very organisation he despised, and with that, Mark started his two-pronged attack against the K'un Lun-kai.
Eventually Mark's assault on the Yakuza came to a head, when he was personally contacted by the boss of the family, who offered to meet with him one-to-one, face-to-mask. The next night, Mark snuck into the prestigious offices of the K'un Lun-kai's boss, to see the man himself alone. Mark quickly fought expecting the boss to be a pushover, that he would go down easy, but not only was the boss keeping up with him, but Mark was actually having trouble keeping up with him. Eventually Mark slipped up, what felt like a hot sledgehammer hit him in the jaw, nearly shattering it. He looked up to see the boss standing there smiling, his fist glowing a bright yellow. Mark then realised that he was vastly outmatched as he received a vicious beating, nearly ending his life there.
Barely able to stand, Mark just managed to grab a large stapler off of the desk and smacked the boss in the eye, distracting him long enough for Mark to tackle him onto his back. As he knew that the K'un Lun-kai boss would not let him leave here alive at this point, Mark whispered to him "The Devil pays his dues." before he took his life. At this particular moment, as the boss lay there dead, Mark's chest felt like it was burning, as he undid the top of his costume, he noticed a thin black dragon tattoo in the centre of his chest, and his fists glowed with the same golden energy he saw earlier.
Too injured to care, Mark escaped before any of the boss' underlings cornered him and staggered his way home. As he healed from his brush with death, he came under the care of Ms. Daiyu, an elderly Chinese immigrant he had come to know as his neighbour, and his friend. While he waited to get back up on his feet, he heard news that the K'un Lun-kai's boss had been replaced by his more youthful son, that news filled Mark with dread. Would he have the same abilities as his father? Would he better stronger than him?
Mark returned fully healed to both his vigilante work, now with the name Akuma Ken, as well as his position in the Yakuza, he himself now a shateigashira, a supervisor of sorts of the local gangs in the region, and still continues to leak information about the K'un Lun-kai's activities to the police.
Recently, Mark has become proficient with his new found ability and has moved his activities to the United States in order to track down a branch of the K'un Lun-kai. Since coming to the States Mark was offered membership in the New Avengers Academy and aided the premiere Avengers on several defence missions against the likes of Ultron, and AIM. After Captain America was aged several decades it looked like his Avengers Unity Squad wouldn't last, but Mark was one of the first heroes to actually volunteer to join the now struggling program.
Sample Post - Mark laughed as he ran his fingers over the newspaper on the table. Its headline read a simple "DEVIL FIST IN THE STATES". The voice from the other end of the table spoke up. "'Akuma Ken' doesn't quite fit us, I guess." It was the rough voice of Benjamin Urich, who, to Mark, smelt strongly of smoke and disinfectant. "It's ok... More threatening than Akuma Ken, I'll admit that." Mark smiled. "Though, I will say, it doesn't have a better... 'flow', to it."
"Enough about your new name, Mr. Hirose." Urich sat looking impatient. "We should be discussing what your... organisation is up to here in New York." Mark's smile quickly faded. "I told you before, Urich, I'm not actually with them." Ben grinned at that. "Sure, whatever... Now, where is this arms deal supposed to be at?"
Mark sighed before taking off his glasses. "I've been told that the weapons are supposed to be delivered at The Brooklyn Cruise Terminal at Pier 12 in Red Hook. They'll be stowed away on a cruise ship, I don't know which one... The weapons will then most likely be taken into vehicles, from there on, I have no idea." Ben nodded approvingly before continuing. "Ok, not that I'm ungrateful that you came to me, but I've seen what you can do from the news coming out of Japan. Why aren't you going after them yourselves?" Mark took his tinted glasses and placed them back on, before giving Ben a good-natured smile. "I'm a little busy at the moment, Ben."
Alias -
Devil Fist in the US
Akuma Ken in Japan
Age - 28
Powers -
Weaknesses -
- Blindness: Mark is totally blind. While his abilities help him overcome this, it becomes a problem for him to navigate and fight when his heightened senses are scrambled or can't detect anything.
- Sound and Smell Peak: Mark's superhuman senses render him extraordinarily vulnerable to odours and/or excessive noise, which can temporarily weaken his Radar Sense. Under extreme circumstances he can be easily immobilized, suffer great pain and/or left disorientated.
Previous Affiliation - New Avengers
Personality - Attentive, Friendly, Persistent.
Appearance - Mark is a 5ft 7in male with a muscular physique and an olive complexion. His hair is a dark black and matches to some extent with his dark blue eyes. As he is of biracial descent his facial features are a mix of Caucasian and East Asian, with the majority being the latter.
Not So Brief Bio - Mark Hirose was born in Tokyo to a Caucasian American mother, and a Japanese father. Apart from the occasional childhood teasing about his heritage, Mark lived a relatively normal life up until the age of nine. As a young Mark was crossing the street with his mother, a Roxxon Oil & Chemical truck caused a traffic collision. The accident resulted in hazardous chemicals splashing into his eyes, with Mark's mother losing her life. Soon the chemicals began to affect his eyes, rendering him blind, with the last thing he saw being his mother.
Mark later woke up in a local hospital to a deafening orchestra of crying infants, thunderous heartbeats, and stomping feet. Immediately, Mark attempted to croak out for his mother, only for the dry, sandpapery texture of his own voice to make him cringe in pain, the incredibly loud sound forcing his eardrums to strain spectacularly. It was, at this time, that he realized something. Something that he hadn't noticed in the initial panic of waking up in an unfamiliar place. Everything was pure blackness. He could not see a single thing around him, and despite his young age, Mark knew what 'blindness' was. He read about it in Science class not too long ago. He couldn't see. He was...He was...
He was being held by somebody, as tears struggled to escape the snug bandages wrapped around his eyes. Soft murmurs of Japanese was being sung into his ears, and although he could not see, Mark automatically knew it was his father. The man's scent was familiar - a deep, metallic tang that came from the man's constant working in the industrial districts. The slightly faster than normal breaths the man took due to the slight damage his lungs had taken from smog and rust. It was all familiar, and as he cried over things that a child should never have to experience, Mark clung to his only lifeline.
Time passed, and Mark never spoke of his heightened senses - some would even say that he had a good handle on the enhanced hearing, smell, and touch, and it even helped him out within life. Once, he was in the bathroom at school, and heard, from practically a mile away, the sound of Shiro, a schoolyard bully a few years older, planning to give him a swirlie. As soon as the loud boy 'quietly' snuck into the bathroom and was about to grab him from behind, Mark turned, slamming his walking stick into the boy's ankle, sending him to the ground, before swinging wildly in the direction he heard the sounds of breathing coming from - hopefully the bully's backup. They all ran away, yelling about the crazy blind kid, and Mark sighed, finishing up with his handwashing.
In this day and age, however, good things came to an end. His dad had taken out a lot of shady loans due to the economic failure within Japan during the 1990s, and the high budget losses his industrial company was beginning to suffer. It caught up to him, and Mark could still remember the day that they busted into their apartment with a shotgun and katana, before stabbing his dad through the heart. "The K'un Lun-kai pays their dues." The man with the slicked back hair stated calmly, and gave Mark, shell-shocked and gripping his walking stick, a wink. The boy waited until they left, before peeling off towards his dad's cold, bleeding body, sobbing as he collapsed over the man's corpse. First, his mother, and now his father.
This tragic incident forced Mark into an orphanage. His father's death also pushed his control over his enhanced senses into a downwards spiral. While at the Orphanage, he was visited by an old man named Orson Randall passing through Japan.
The Old Man promised to train Mark to control and master his "gift" and took Mark under his wing. Orson began a harsh training regime with Mark, often pushing an emotional response from him to teach him to control his anger. Over the next few months and years, Mark became a powerful fighter with almost complete control of his blindness and enhanced senses. Striking out a name for himself, Mark became Akuma before leaving the side of Orson Randall.
Believing that he was capable of taking on the Yakuza clan that shattered his already broken life, he went after them dressed as a bright red demon, starting with the lowly gangs working in the K'un Lun-kai's territory and working his way up. Though he did not stop there. Posing as a rough, able-sighted street orphan with a more 'traditional' Japanese name, he joined the very organisation he despised, and with that, Mark started his two-pronged attack against the K'un Lun-kai.
Eventually Mark's assault on the Yakuza came to a head, when he was personally contacted by the boss of the family, who offered to meet with him one-to-one, face-to-mask. The next night, Mark snuck into the prestigious offices of the K'un Lun-kai's boss, to see the man himself alone. Mark quickly fought expecting the boss to be a pushover, that he would go down easy, but not only was the boss keeping up with him, but Mark was actually having trouble keeping up with him. Eventually Mark slipped up, what felt like a hot sledgehammer hit him in the jaw, nearly shattering it. He looked up to see the boss standing there smiling, his fist glowing a bright yellow. Mark then realised that he was vastly outmatched as he received a vicious beating, nearly ending his life there.
Barely able to stand, Mark just managed to grab a large stapler off of the desk and smacked the boss in the eye, distracting him long enough for Mark to tackle him onto his back. As he knew that the K'un Lun-kai boss would not let him leave here alive at this point, Mark whispered to him "The Devil pays his dues." before he took his life. At this particular moment, as the boss lay there dead, Mark's chest felt like it was burning, as he undid the top of his costume, he noticed a thin black dragon tattoo in the centre of his chest, and his fists glowed with the same golden energy he saw earlier.
Too injured to care, Mark escaped before any of the boss' underlings cornered him and staggered his way home. As he healed from his brush with death, he came under the care of Ms. Daiyu, an elderly Chinese immigrant he had come to know as his neighbour, and his friend. While he waited to get back up on his feet, he heard news that the K'un Lun-kai's boss had been replaced by his more youthful son, that news filled Mark with dread. Would he have the same abilities as his father? Would he better stronger than him?
Mark returned fully healed to both his vigilante work, now with the name Akuma Ken, as well as his position in the Yakuza, he himself now a shateigashira, a supervisor of sorts of the local gangs in the region, and still continues to leak information about the K'un Lun-kai's activities to the police.
Recently, Mark has become proficient with his new found ability and has moved his activities to the United States in order to track down a branch of the K'un Lun-kai. Since coming to the States Mark was offered membership in the New Avengers Academy and aided the premiere Avengers on several defence missions against the likes of Ultron, and AIM. After Captain America was aged several decades it looked like his Avengers Unity Squad wouldn't last, but Mark was one of the first heroes to actually volunteer to join the now struggling program.
Sample Post - Mark laughed as he ran his fingers over the newspaper on the table. Its headline read a simple "DEVIL FIST IN THE STATES". The voice from the other end of the table spoke up. "'Akuma Ken' doesn't quite fit us, I guess." It was the rough voice of Benjamin Urich, who, to Mark, smelt strongly of smoke and disinfectant. "It's ok... More threatening than Akuma Ken, I'll admit that." Mark smiled. "Though, I will say, it doesn't have a better... 'flow', to it."
"Enough about your new name, Mr. Hirose." Urich sat looking impatient. "We should be discussing what your... organisation is up to here in New York." Mark's smile quickly faded. "I told you before, Urich, I'm not actually with them." Ben grinned at that. "Sure, whatever... Now, where is this arms deal supposed to be at?"
Mark sighed before taking off his glasses. "I've been told that the weapons are supposed to be delivered at The Brooklyn Cruise Terminal at Pier 12 in Red Hook. They'll be stowed away on a cruise ship, I don't know which one... The weapons will then most likely be taken into vehicles, from there on, I have no idea." Ben nodded approvingly before continuing. "Ok, not that I'm ungrateful that you came to me, but I've seen what you can do from the news coming out of Japan. Why aren't you going after them yourselves?" Mark took his tinted glasses and placed them back on, before giving Ben a good-natured smile. "I'm a little busy at the moment, Ben."
My CS is finally finished, apologies for the not so brief bio, I may have gotten carried away.
Name - Mark Hirose a.k.a Josefumi Hirose
Alias -
Devil Fist in the US
Akuma Ken in Japan
Age - 28
Powers -
Weaknesses -
Previous Affiliation - New Avengers
Personality - Attentive, Friendly, Persistent.
Appearance - Mark is a 5ft 7in male with a muscular physique and an olive complexion. His hair is a dark black and matches to some extent with his dark blue eyes. As he is of biracial descent his facial features are a mix of Caucasian and East Asian, with the majority being the latter.
Not So Brief Bio - Not So Brief Bio - Mark Hirose was born in Tokyo to a Caucasian American mother, and a Japanese father. Apart from the occasional childhood teasing about his heritage, Mark lived a relatively normal life up until the age of nine. As a young Mark was crossing the street with his mother, a Roxxon Oil & Chemical truck caused a traffic collision. The accident resulted in hazardous chemicals splashing into his eyes, with Mark's mother losing her life. Soon the chemicals began to affect his eyes, rendering him blind, with the last thing he saw being his mother.
Mark later woke up in a local hospital to a deafening orchestra of crying infants, thunderous heartbeats, and stomping feet. Immediately, Mark attempted to croak out for his mother, only for the dry, sandpapery texture of his own voice to make him cringe in pain, the incredibly loud sound forcing his eardrums to strain spectacularly. It was, at this time, that he realized something. Something that he hadn't noticed in the initial panic of waking up in an unfamiliar place. Everything was pure blackness. He could not see a single thing around him, and despite his young age, Mark knew what 'blindness' was. He read about it in Science class not too long ago. He couldn't see. He was...He was...
He was being held by somebody, as tears struggled to escape the snug bandages wrapped around his eyes. Soft murmurs of Japanese was being sung into his ears, and although he could not see, Mark automatically knew it was his father. The man's scent was familiar - a deep, metallic tang that came from the man's constant working in the industrial districts. The slightly faster than normal breaths the man took due to the slight damage his lungs had taken from smog and rust. It was all familiar, and as he cried over things that a child should never have to experience, Mark clung to his only lifeline.
Time passed, and Mark never spoke of his heightened senses - some would even say that he had a good handle on the enhanced hearing, smell, and touch, and it even helped him out within life. Once, he was in the bathroom at school, and heard, from practically a mile away, the sound of Shiro, a schoolyard bully a few years older, planning to give him a swirlie. As soon as the loud boy 'quietly' snuck into the bathroom and was about to grab him from behind, Mark turned, slamming his walking stick into the boy's ankle, sending him to the ground, before swinging wildly in the direction he heard the sounds of breathing coming from - hopefully the bully's backup. They all ran away, yelling about the crazy blind kid, and Mark sighed, finishing up with his handwashing.
In this day and age, however, good things came to an end. His dad had taken out a lot of shady loans due to the economic failure within Japan during the 1990s, and the high budget losses his industrial company was beginning to suffer. It caught up to him, and Mark could still remember the day that they busted into their apartment with a shotgun and katana, before stabbing his dad through the heart. "The K'un Lun-kai pays their dues." The man with the slicked back hair stated calmly, and gave Mark, shell-shocked and gripping his walking stick, a wink. The boy waited until they left, before peeling off towards his dad's cold, bleeding body, sobbing as he collapsed over the man's corpse. First, his mother, and now his father.
This tragic incident forced Mark into an orphanage. His father's death also pushed his control over his enhanced senses into a downwards spiral. While at the Orphanage, he was visited by an old man named Orson Randall passing through Japan.
The Old Man promised to train Mark to control and master his "gift" and took Mark under his wing. Orson began a harsh training regime with Mark, often pushing an emotional response from him to teach him to control his anger. Over the next few months and years, Mark became a powerful fighter with almost complete control of his blindness and enhanced senses. Striking out a name for himself, Mark became Akuma before leaving the side of Orson Randall.
Believing that he was capable of taking on the Yakuza clan that shattered his already broken life, he went after them dressed as a bright red demon, starting with the lowly gangs working in the K'un Lun-kai's territory and working his way up. Though he did not stop there. Posing as a rough, able-sighted street orphan with a more 'traditional' Japanese name, he joined the very organisation he despised, and with that, Mark started his two-pronged attack against the K'un Lun-kai.
Eventually Mark's assault on the Yakuza came to a head, when he was personally contacted by the boss of the family, who offered to meet with him one-to-one, face-to-mask. The next night, Mark snuck into the prestigious offices of the K'un Lun-kai's boss, to see the man himself alone. Mark quickly fought expecting the boss to be a pushover, that he would go down easy, but not only was the boss keeping up with him, but Mark was actually having trouble keeping up with him. Eventually Mark slipped up, what felt like a hot sledgehammer hit him in the jaw, nearly shattering it. He looked up to see the boss standing there smiling, his fist glowing a bright yellow. Mark then realised that he was vastly outmatched as he received a vicious beating, nearly ending his life there.
Barely able to stand, Mark just managed to grab a large stapler off of the desk and smacked the boss in the eye, distracting him long enough for Mark to tackle him onto his back. As he knew that the K'un Lun-kai boss would not let him leave here alive at this point, Mark whispered to him "The Devil pays his dues." before he took his life. At this particular moment, as the boss lay there dead, Mark's chest felt like it was burning, as he undid the top of his costume, he noticed a thin black dragon tattoo in the centre of his chest, and his fists glowed with the same golden energy he saw earlier.
Too injured to care, Mark escaped before any of the boss' underlings cornered him and staggered his way home. As he healed from his brush with death, he came under the care of Ms. Daiyu, an elderly Chinese immigrant he had come to know as his neighbour, and his friend. While he waited to get back up on his feet, he heard news that the K'un Lun-kai's boss had been replaced by his more youthful son, that news filled Mark with dread. Would he have the same abilities as his father? Would he better stronger than him?
Mark returned fully healed to both his vigilante work, now with the name Akuma Ken, as well as his position in the Yakuza, he himself now a shateigashira, a supervisor of sorts of the local gangs in the region, and still continues to leak information about the K'un Lun-kai's activities to the police.
Recently, Mark has become proficient with his new found ability and has moved his activities to the United States in order to track down a branch of the K'un Lun-kai. Since coming to the States Mark was offered membership in the New Avengers Academy and aided the premiere Avengers on several defence missions against the likes of Ultron, and AIM. After Captain America was aged several decades it looked like his Avengers Unity Squad wouldn't last, but Mark was one of the first heroes to actually volunteer to join the now struggling program.
Sample Post - Mark laughed as he ran his fingers over the newspaper on the table. Its headline read a simple "DEVIL FIST IN THE STATES". The voice from the other end of the table spoke up. "'Akuma Ken' doesn't quite fit us, I guess." It was the rough voice of Benjamin Urich, who, to Mark, smelt strongly of smoke and disinfectant. "It's ok... More threatening than Akuma Ken, I'll admit that." Mark smiled. "Though, I will say, it doesn't have a better... 'flow', to it."
"Enough about your new name, Mr. Hirose." Urich sat looking impatient. "We should be discussing what your... organisation is up to here in New York." Mark's smile quickly faded. "I told you before, Urich, I'm not actually with them." Ben grinned at that. "Sure, whatever... Now, where is this arms deal supposed to be at?"
Mark sighed before taking off his glasses. "I've been told that the weapons are supposed to be delivered at The Brooklyn Cruise Terminal at Pier 12 in Red Hook. They'll be stowed away on a cruise ship, I don't know which one... The weapons will then most likely be taken into vehicles, from there on, I have no idea." Ben nodded approvingly before continuing. "Ok, not that I'm ungrateful that you came to me, but I've seen what you can do from the news coming out of Japan. Why aren't you going after them yourselves?" Mark took his tinted glasses and placed them back on, before giving Ben a good-natured smile. "I'm a little busy at the moment, Ben."
Alias -
Devil Fist in the US
Akuma Ken in Japan
Age - 28
Powers -
Weaknesses -
- Blindness: Mark is totally blind. While his abilities help him overcome this, it becomes a problem for him to navigate and fight when his heightened senses are scrambled or can't detect anything.
- Sound and Smell Peak: Mark's superhuman senses render him extraordinarily vulnerable to odours and/or excessive noise, which can temporarily weaken his Radar Sense. Under extreme circumstances he can be easily immobilized, suffer great pain and/or left disorientated.
Previous Affiliation - New Avengers
Personality - Attentive, Friendly, Persistent.
Appearance - Mark is a 5ft 7in male with a muscular physique and an olive complexion. His hair is a dark black and matches to some extent with his dark blue eyes. As he is of biracial descent his facial features are a mix of Caucasian and East Asian, with the majority being the latter.
Not So Brief Bio - Not So Brief Bio - Mark Hirose was born in Tokyo to a Caucasian American mother, and a Japanese father. Apart from the occasional childhood teasing about his heritage, Mark lived a relatively normal life up until the age of nine. As a young Mark was crossing the street with his mother, a Roxxon Oil & Chemical truck caused a traffic collision. The accident resulted in hazardous chemicals splashing into his eyes, with Mark's mother losing her life. Soon the chemicals began to affect his eyes, rendering him blind, with the last thing he saw being his mother.
Mark later woke up in a local hospital to a deafening orchestra of crying infants, thunderous heartbeats, and stomping feet. Immediately, Mark attempted to croak out for his mother, only for the dry, sandpapery texture of his own voice to make him cringe in pain, the incredibly loud sound forcing his eardrums to strain spectacularly. It was, at this time, that he realized something. Something that he hadn't noticed in the initial panic of waking up in an unfamiliar place. Everything was pure blackness. He could not see a single thing around him, and despite his young age, Mark knew what 'blindness' was. He read about it in Science class not too long ago. He couldn't see. He was...He was...
He was being held by somebody, as tears struggled to escape the snug bandages wrapped around his eyes. Soft murmurs of Japanese was being sung into his ears, and although he could not see, Mark automatically knew it was his father. The man's scent was familiar - a deep, metallic tang that came from the man's constant working in the industrial districts. The slightly faster than normal breaths the man took due to the slight damage his lungs had taken from smog and rust. It was all familiar, and as he cried over things that a child should never have to experience, Mark clung to his only lifeline.
Time passed, and Mark never spoke of his heightened senses - some would even say that he had a good handle on the enhanced hearing, smell, and touch, and it even helped him out within life. Once, he was in the bathroom at school, and heard, from practically a mile away, the sound of Shiro, a schoolyard bully a few years older, planning to give him a swirlie. As soon as the loud boy 'quietly' snuck into the bathroom and was about to grab him from behind, Mark turned, slamming his walking stick into the boy's ankle, sending him to the ground, before swinging wildly in the direction he heard the sounds of breathing coming from - hopefully the bully's backup. They all ran away, yelling about the crazy blind kid, and Mark sighed, finishing up with his handwashing.
In this day and age, however, good things came to an end. His dad had taken out a lot of shady loans due to the economic failure within Japan during the 1990s, and the high budget losses his industrial company was beginning to suffer. It caught up to him, and Mark could still remember the day that they busted into their apartment with a shotgun and katana, before stabbing his dad through the heart. "The K'un Lun-kai pays their dues." The man with the slicked back hair stated calmly, and gave Mark, shell-shocked and gripping his walking stick, a wink. The boy waited until they left, before peeling off towards his dad's cold, bleeding body, sobbing as he collapsed over the man's corpse. First, his mother, and now his father.
This tragic incident forced Mark into an orphanage. His father's death also pushed his control over his enhanced senses into a downwards spiral. While at the Orphanage, he was visited by an old man named Orson Randall passing through Japan.
The Old Man promised to train Mark to control and master his "gift" and took Mark under his wing. Orson began a harsh training regime with Mark, often pushing an emotional response from him to teach him to control his anger. Over the next few months and years, Mark became a powerful fighter with almost complete control of his blindness and enhanced senses. Striking out a name for himself, Mark became Akuma before leaving the side of Orson Randall.
Believing that he was capable of taking on the Yakuza clan that shattered his already broken life, he went after them dressed as a bright red demon, starting with the lowly gangs working in the K'un Lun-kai's territory and working his way up. Though he did not stop there. Posing as a rough, able-sighted street orphan with a more 'traditional' Japanese name, he joined the very organisation he despised, and with that, Mark started his two-pronged attack against the K'un Lun-kai.
Eventually Mark's assault on the Yakuza came to a head, when he was personally contacted by the boss of the family, who offered to meet with him one-to-one, face-to-mask. The next night, Mark snuck into the prestigious offices of the K'un Lun-kai's boss, to see the man himself alone. Mark quickly fought expecting the boss to be a pushover, that he would go down easy, but not only was the boss keeping up with him, but Mark was actually having trouble keeping up with him. Eventually Mark slipped up, what felt like a hot sledgehammer hit him in the jaw, nearly shattering it. He looked up to see the boss standing there smiling, his fist glowing a bright yellow. Mark then realised that he was vastly outmatched as he received a vicious beating, nearly ending his life there.
Barely able to stand, Mark just managed to grab a large stapler off of the desk and smacked the boss in the eye, distracting him long enough for Mark to tackle him onto his back. As he knew that the K'un Lun-kai boss would not let him leave here alive at this point, Mark whispered to him "The Devil pays his dues." before he took his life. At this particular moment, as the boss lay there dead, Mark's chest felt like it was burning, as he undid the top of his costume, he noticed a thin black dragon tattoo in the centre of his chest, and his fists glowed with the same golden energy he saw earlier.
Too injured to care, Mark escaped before any of the boss' underlings cornered him and staggered his way home. As he healed from his brush with death, he came under the care of Ms. Daiyu, an elderly Chinese immigrant he had come to know as his neighbour, and his friend. While he waited to get back up on his feet, he heard news that the K'un Lun-kai's boss had been replaced by his more youthful son, that news filled Mark with dread. Would he have the same abilities as his father? Would he better stronger than him?
Mark returned fully healed to both his vigilante work, now with the name Akuma Ken, as well as his position in the Yakuza, he himself now a shateigashira, a supervisor of sorts of the local gangs in the region, and still continues to leak information about the K'un Lun-kai's activities to the police.
Recently, Mark has become proficient with his new found ability and has moved his activities to the United States in order to track down a branch of the K'un Lun-kai. Since coming to the States Mark was offered membership in the New Avengers Academy and aided the premiere Avengers on several defence missions against the likes of Ultron, and AIM. After Captain America was aged several decades it looked like his Avengers Unity Squad wouldn't last, but Mark was one of the first heroes to actually volunteer to join the now struggling program.
Sample Post - Mark laughed as he ran his fingers over the newspaper on the table. Its headline read a simple "DEVIL FIST IN THE STATES". The voice from the other end of the table spoke up. "'Akuma Ken' doesn't quite fit us, I guess." It was the rough voice of Benjamin Urich, who, to Mark, smelt strongly of smoke and disinfectant. "It's ok... More threatening than Akuma Ken, I'll admit that." Mark smiled. "Though, I will say, it doesn't have a better... 'flow', to it."
"Enough about your new name, Mr. Hirose." Urich sat looking impatient. "We should be discussing what your... organisation is up to here in New York." Mark's smile quickly faded. "I told you before, Urich, I'm not actually with them." Ben grinned at that. "Sure, whatever... Now, where is this arms deal supposed to be at?"
Mark sighed before taking off his glasses. "I've been told that the weapons are supposed to be delivered at The Brooklyn Cruise Terminal at Pier 12 in Red Hook. They'll be stowed away on a cruise ship, I don't know which one... The weapons will then most likely be taken into vehicles, from there on, I have no idea." Ben nodded approvingly before continuing. "Ok, not that I'm ungrateful that you came to me, but I've seen what you can do from the news coming out of Japan. Why aren't you going after them yourselves?" Mark took his tinted glasses and placed them back on, before giving Ben a good-natured smile. "I'm a little busy at the moment, Ben."
I'm very close to deciding to go for a fusion of Danny Rand and Matt Murdock with undercover connections to the Yakuza. I'll decide in the morning...
man is RPG a nice place or what?
It's nice when you're here <3
<3I fucked up one of those stupid ritual things that everyone is doing and now my shower is leaking and also there’s some faceless guy in my kitchen. My landlord comes tomorrow and he’s going to kill me, especially because I also have a cat and I'm not even supposed to have pets.
It all started when I was drunk messaging a girl on Tinder and she said that the only way we would meet up was if I did this weird ritual thing where I summon a ghost or some shit. I think she called it Mea Culpa or something.
Actually, her exact message was,
the decaying flesh will not rest i am the alpha and omega i have seen the burning cities consume the earth hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh [LINK TO RITUAL INSTRUCTIONS] our souls meet when darkness spills mea culpa mea culpa mea culpa kkkkkkkkkkkkkkggggggg
She was a weird chick.
At least, I think she was a girl. I couldn’t really see her face. Her picture was just a black background with two shiny dots that kind of looked like eyeballs. You could sort of see some features, but it looked like her face was gray and I couldn’t really see her mouth. But she had really good skin. I wasn’t about to rally for a pizza face.
So, anyway, I weighed the pros and cons of spooky rituals vs trampoline booty as best I could on five shots of Patron.
It was totally worth it.
I set my cell phone to 3:26 am, but since my phone is a 2005 Motorola Razor that was dropped in the toilet several times, it went off at 4:00am. FUCK.
I decided to go through with the ritual anyway. I was also supposed to have a friend during this thing, but my bestie recently got incarcerated for selling heroin on the corner of Patterson Park and Eastern Avenue. SHOUT OUT TO MY MAIN MAN, ROSCOE.
Anyway, I sat up and turned off my alarm, but the moment I turned it off I drunkenly passed out again. I woke up 20 minutes later and actually got out of bed this time, stumbling around the room in the dark because apparently you’re not supposed to turn on the lights, because if you do a GHOST WILL POP OUT OOOH.
I was supposed to find a candle and light it, but my hangover just made me trip over one of the several candles I placed on my floor. Eventually I gave up and flipped the lights on, grabbing a candle from my desk.
I squinted out my window to see what my ghetto Baltimore neighborhood looked like at 4:20am. The street was empty except for some rando wearing a black robe and a giant pointy black hat. He was staring up at me through the window. I couldn’t really see his face. You know, Baltimore has gone to the fucking dogs. First gang wars, now an updated KKK. For God’s sake.
I lit the candle and looked at my phone. I was supposed to knock on my bedroom door 66 times, the 66th knock timed on the 4:06, but since I had fucked everything else up I just did a “Shave and a Haircut” knock and then walked into my hallway. My bedroom door is opposite the stairs, and looking down that dark stairwell was pretty spooky. I thought I saw something move on one of the lower steps.
For the next step, I was supposed to close my eyes and walk forward while chanting, “mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa”, which is Italian for “my Culpa”, which is probably some kind of shitty Italian car. I tried to close my eyes and walk forward while talking about Italian cars, but my cat, Fish Sticks, ran under my feet and I ended up tripping over him and falling down the flight of stairs.
At some point the stupid candle went out as I flailed down the stairs, but I was too concussed to care. I rolled up from the ground, groaning, and decided that I would just continue to go through the motions, which meant hiding in a closet and waiting for the ghost to play hide and seek with me. I chose the kitchen pantry because I had some opened potato chips in there, so I made my way back.
As I stumbled, I heard several soft whispers behind me. I spun around, hoping that I was right about Fish Sticks knowing how to talk, but there was no one there.
Except for the figure standing in the corner.
I stopped, blinked, and it was gone. I really needed to lay off the Patron.
As I honed in on the closet, the alcohol and concussion finally caught up with me and I stumbled to a stop, doubling over and vomiting watery Patron all over my kitchen floor. FUCK. My ass was landlord grass. The hellish combination of alcohol, concussion, post-vomit and a looming eviction notice caused my emotions to go haywire and I unleashed a violent sob, mucus and tears rivering down my face.
I heard a noise outside the kitchen.
My eyes fell on the kitchen window and I spied that stupid gang member/KKK dude in my backyard, still staring at me. I must’ve looked like an idiot, weeping in front of my kitchen pantry. Too ashamed to confront him, I just crawled into the pantry and shut the door. It was so cold in there it damn froze my titties off. My air conditioner was probably broken. I definitely needed to call the landlord, but that would mean sedating Fish Sticks and stuffing him in a suitcase under my bed.
At this point, I realized that I needed to re-evaluate my life. Maybe I shouldn’t drink as much. Maybe I should give Fish Sticks to a good home. Maybe I should find women with intellect and poise. Maybe I should move out of my shit neighborhood where KKK people roam around at 4am.
After going through an entire existential crisis in my pantry, I decided to say fuck it and end the stupid ritual. That Tinder girl wasn’t even that hot, anyway. And besides, I still had like seventy more ritual things to complete, which included lighting eight more candles, stabbing a Japanese doll, and spinning around in a circle while screaming, “YOU’RE IT, YOU’RE IT!”
This was all supposed to culminate in me going to my basement, sitting in front of a mirror, and looking into the mirror but not actually looking into it, which made absolutely no fucking sense.
As I got up to open the pantry door, I heard a low moan coming from behind the door. I froze. I prayed to God it wasn’t my landlord.
I cracked open the door to see the gang member/KKK guy standing in the kitchen, staring at me. I finally got a good look at him. He definitely didn’t have a face. I guess getting your face taken away is part of a gang ritual now.
He didn’t react to my presence— he just stared. I didn’t know how the hell to deal with gang members or faceless KKK members, so I just stared back. We did this for about five minutes before I slowly inched out of the kitchen and back upstairs. He turned to watch me as I went, but didn’t move.
So after that I went up to my bathroom to take a shower and now my shower-head is leaking, which I blame on the stupid ritual. So if you guys know any good plumbers in the Baltimore area, I would really appreciate it.
#FREEROSCOE2K15
It all started when I was drunk messaging a girl on Tinder and she said that the only way we would meet up was if I did this weird ritual thing where I summon a ghost or some shit. I think she called it Mea Culpa or something.
Actually, her exact message was,
the decaying flesh will not rest i am the alpha and omega i have seen the burning cities consume the earth hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh [LINK TO RITUAL INSTRUCTIONS] our souls meet when darkness spills mea culpa mea culpa mea culpa kkkkkkkkkkkkkkggggggg
She was a weird chick.
At least, I think she was a girl. I couldn’t really see her face. Her picture was just a black background with two shiny dots that kind of looked like eyeballs. You could sort of see some features, but it looked like her face was gray and I couldn’t really see her mouth. But she had really good skin. I wasn’t about to rally for a pizza face.
So, anyway, I weighed the pros and cons of spooky rituals vs trampoline booty as best I could on five shots of Patron.
It was totally worth it.
I set my cell phone to 3:26 am, but since my phone is a 2005 Motorola Razor that was dropped in the toilet several times, it went off at 4:00am. FUCK.
I decided to go through with the ritual anyway. I was also supposed to have a friend during this thing, but my bestie recently got incarcerated for selling heroin on the corner of Patterson Park and Eastern Avenue. SHOUT OUT TO MY MAIN MAN, ROSCOE.
Anyway, I sat up and turned off my alarm, but the moment I turned it off I drunkenly passed out again. I woke up 20 minutes later and actually got out of bed this time, stumbling around the room in the dark because apparently you’re not supposed to turn on the lights, because if you do a GHOST WILL POP OUT OOOH.
I was supposed to find a candle and light it, but my hangover just made me trip over one of the several candles I placed on my floor. Eventually I gave up and flipped the lights on, grabbing a candle from my desk.
I squinted out my window to see what my ghetto Baltimore neighborhood looked like at 4:20am. The street was empty except for some rando wearing a black robe and a giant pointy black hat. He was staring up at me through the window. I couldn’t really see his face. You know, Baltimore has gone to the fucking dogs. First gang wars, now an updated KKK. For God’s sake.
I lit the candle and looked at my phone. I was supposed to knock on my bedroom door 66 times, the 66th knock timed on the 4:06, but since I had fucked everything else up I just did a “Shave and a Haircut” knock and then walked into my hallway. My bedroom door is opposite the stairs, and looking down that dark stairwell was pretty spooky. I thought I saw something move on one of the lower steps.
For the next step, I was supposed to close my eyes and walk forward while chanting, “mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa”, which is Italian for “my Culpa”, which is probably some kind of shitty Italian car. I tried to close my eyes and walk forward while talking about Italian cars, but my cat, Fish Sticks, ran under my feet and I ended up tripping over him and falling down the flight of stairs.
At some point the stupid candle went out as I flailed down the stairs, but I was too concussed to care. I rolled up from the ground, groaning, and decided that I would just continue to go through the motions, which meant hiding in a closet and waiting for the ghost to play hide and seek with me. I chose the kitchen pantry because I had some opened potato chips in there, so I made my way back.
As I stumbled, I heard several soft whispers behind me. I spun around, hoping that I was right about Fish Sticks knowing how to talk, but there was no one there.
Except for the figure standing in the corner.
I stopped, blinked, and it was gone. I really needed to lay off the Patron.
As I honed in on the closet, the alcohol and concussion finally caught up with me and I stumbled to a stop, doubling over and vomiting watery Patron all over my kitchen floor. FUCK. My ass was landlord grass. The hellish combination of alcohol, concussion, post-vomit and a looming eviction notice caused my emotions to go haywire and I unleashed a violent sob, mucus and tears rivering down my face.
I heard a noise outside the kitchen.
My eyes fell on the kitchen window and I spied that stupid gang member/KKK dude in my backyard, still staring at me. I must’ve looked like an idiot, weeping in front of my kitchen pantry. Too ashamed to confront him, I just crawled into the pantry and shut the door. It was so cold in there it damn froze my titties off. My air conditioner was probably broken. I definitely needed to call the landlord, but that would mean sedating Fish Sticks and stuffing him in a suitcase under my bed.
At this point, I realized that I needed to re-evaluate my life. Maybe I shouldn’t drink as much. Maybe I should give Fish Sticks to a good home. Maybe I should find women with intellect and poise. Maybe I should move out of my shit neighborhood where KKK people roam around at 4am.
After going through an entire existential crisis in my pantry, I decided to say fuck it and end the stupid ritual. That Tinder girl wasn’t even that hot, anyway. And besides, I still had like seventy more ritual things to complete, which included lighting eight more candles, stabbing a Japanese doll, and spinning around in a circle while screaming, “YOU’RE IT, YOU’RE IT!”
This was all supposed to culminate in me going to my basement, sitting in front of a mirror, and looking into the mirror but not actually looking into it, which made absolutely no fucking sense.
As I got up to open the pantry door, I heard a low moan coming from behind the door. I froze. I prayed to God it wasn’t my landlord.
I cracked open the door to see the gang member/KKK guy standing in the kitchen, staring at me. I finally got a good look at him. He definitely didn’t have a face. I guess getting your face taken away is part of a gang ritual now.
He didn’t react to my presence— he just stared. I didn’t know how the hell to deal with gang members or faceless KKK members, so I just stared back. We did this for about five minutes before I slowly inched out of the kitchen and back upstairs. He turned to watch me as I went, but didn’t move.
So after that I went up to my bathroom to take a shower and now my shower-head is leaking, which I blame on the stupid ritual. So if you guys know any good plumbers in the Baltimore area, I would really appreciate it.
#FREEROSCOE2K15
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