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- Leonerdo 10 yrs ago
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Max, your character is way the fucked up. Way to go.
Keep up the infantilism and we're gonna attract the attention of the unsavory types again.
Name: Baron Moreau
Nickname/Alias/Etc: Barry, Zombie, etc.
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Height: 6'3”
Weight: 154 lbs
Faction: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Green
Ethnicity: Canadian; has English and French blood.
Physical Appearance/Attire: Barry looks rather unorthodox among his mercenary crowd, appearing more of an aristocrat than anything else. He is tall and slender, specifically standing at 6'3", and weighs in at 154 lbs. This said, he isn't the strongest fighter and his body is fairly skinny and not as muscular as much of his other... “associates”, although he does abide by the standard requirement of fitness in his organization that is befitting of him, though this is usually in the form of physical therapy (he has a strong, mechanical brace reinforcing his left leg). His skin is fairly pale and unblemished by anything other than the scars littered over his body. On his back, torso, legs, and so on - the damage on his left leg in particular being rather severe and is bestrewn with scar tissue. His pale skin is in dramatic contrast with his black hair, which comes down at a widow's peak, and is neatly swept backwards with a comb and then kept in place a small dab of hair gel. If he were to go out on a tactical mission, he would appear almost as though he were going out on a date, but forgot his dress coat. He has piercing green eyes that are, at just the right angle, appearing somewhat hollow, if words were to do any justice. It is as if he stared into hell and hell stared back, but even then, they appear no less brilliant, cunning, deceptive, or even deadly. Thick lashes and sharp eyebrows simply sharpen his piercing gaze. His true expressions always seem somewhat hidden, as though his face were hidden by a million and one masks, each with their own different story. Even his walk, it seems, where his apparent full-of-himself strut appears to be well-disguised pacing. This brings along with him an air of mystery. Given his pampered features and esoteric air, along with a charming and clever disposition, he's quite the heart-breaker. His hands are covered in calluses and his fingers usually look a little cut up, but is generally well taken care of.
If he had a choice in his uniform, he'd be dressed nicely and perhaps come in a nice suit with a boutonnière. However, glamour and sophistication has no place in his line of work or among suburbs (unless the objective specifically calls for good appearances). He often visits areas in South America, so the humidity doesn't help much to bolster his preferred fashion. Lacking the strength, or even the necessity, he never requires heavy equipment - which is a plus, given how it would add unnecessary stress on his brace and left leg. So he usually does his dirty job in waist-high black dress pants that rides up to his naval and are tucked into thick black boots, causing some bagginess around the lower calves. His pants are accessorized with button suspenders crossing over each other on his back and then meeting parallel down his front. These suspenders are usually strapped over a greatly faded light grey t-shirt. The collar has three buttons going down the center, making it able to change from a round neck to a v-neck. He usually leaves them unbuttoned give the hot air or humidity of the environment he often enters, which in turn tends to reveal just a little bit of his chest and collarbone. The subtle fact that there are very faint hints of blood stains on his shirt that looks as though someone had tried to bleach the stains off the shirt - this in conjunction with the lack of any holes - might appear disturbing to anyone who just happens to notice it. Otherwise, his wardobe is dynamic, so describing his outfits during casual or formal ventures would do little to express his appearance, and would do no more justice than stating simply: he dresses very nicely as if he looks to impress. Underneath Barry's right arm is a tattoo in Arabic, a memento from a particular expedition that required him to infiltrate an organization of radicals. It reads "وعاء الله", which means "Allah's vessel", or "God's pot".
Personality
Outward & Innate Personality: Barry appears as a cheerful fellow, but somehow balancing his grating optimism with stern realism. He wears a smile on his face most of the time, one that appears almost naive, but also inquisitive. His eyes always appear to be trailing somebody, or analyzing something, and very few details escape him. In fact, were it not for his charming demeanor, he might even be marked as the group's creep who watches everybody simultaneously. He assures this as nothing more than simple curiosity of studying human behavior and overseeing group cohesiveness. As such, he is quite adept when it comes to deductive reasoning and breaking down a person's behaviorisms that might tie in to other areas of that person's life as well. In fact, he is quite possibly more aware and knowledgeable of his comrades than they are aware of (but he is also rather fond at looking through personnel files). Otherwise, he may just be an incredibly elaborate liar. But there's little doubt in any one of his seasoned associates' mind that the man is brilliant. It is even said by his comrades: mad, but brilliant. But mad, per se, was of course the perspectives of another individual who was ignorant of Barry's reasoning and of his intents.
He is a mixed bag in terms of morality. He is sympathetic to the wounded and the soldiers that do the fighting, and while he would much rather prefer a calm and relaxing time working with his "clients" to get what he needs, he doesn't flinch at the prospect of turning an interrogation session on its heels to either scare or torture the information out of a target. Jobs such as that, and jobs such as infiltration, allow him to disconnect himself from others to a degree that is almost inhuman. He also is not above manipulating or lying to either foes or allies, provided that the outcome is decisive in his favor. However, he remains an egalitarian at heart and is uncharacteristically loyal to his primary employer. He doesn't quite let on at to his purpose in being there - whether its money or excitement or so on, but he definitely does enjoy the perks out of being in his line of work. He doesn't think about religion and gods a whole lot, but he has forsaken God when he was treated in kind when imprisoned in South America.
There's something not quite right with Baron, though. Right inside. There's something that he doesn't let show itself to anyone. It is as though there's a little devil in him that allows him to deviate from his usual habits and allows for a delightful potential for cruelty in Baron. On typical occasions, his moral compass would forbid him from doing anything outrageous. He can coldly - calculatingly - see opportunities in which an icy touch is necessary. With a flick of a switch, he turns off his usual moral restraints; this mood takes over, generally done during very "personal" matters, and can be robotically condemning. Something about America del Sur pulled something in his head that made him learn how to selectively detach himself and see things under a... dark light. He no longer believes in mercy... at least, not in severe circumstances such as, shall we say, war.
Hobbies/Interests: Cigarettes, chess, prose, cold coffee, cheeses, wines, olives, corned beef, psychology and sociology, vintage, music (classical, jazz, swing, blues), musicals, linguistics, foreign culture, etc. Baron is a man of many interests and enjoys simple indulgences, and prefers the rich taste of life's fruits. He pursues not the things that makes life work but the things that makes life worth living.
Skills/Talents: Despite the oddities that he may be accused of, he isn't as emotionally distant as some people who "know" him may think. He can break up a fight between soldiers and other personnel, or at least ease the tension between the two or few. Even though whoever has heard of him among the ranks is well aware of his occupation, not many actually grasp how much Barry is truly a psychological genius. If he so wished it, he could play games with a person's head at a whim. He has knowledge of the correlation between body movements/functions, and between that and undercover experience, a degree of body control that allows him to expertly craft lies, or even see right through the lies of others. Through his years of training, he can work enough of the right charm to work the truth out of a person.
Or alternatively, he can work his otherwise charming charisma into more devious matters such as intimidation or interrogation. True, while his physical form isn't too intimidating, he is cunning and intelligent enough to pick just the right words to get under your skin and play off your worst fears. That is his job in his business – he works with a mercenary group – but he isn't just some simple hired gun. There are plenty of those. When it comes to gathering information on somebody, he can hand you all you need to know just by spending some time with them alone. Having experience inserting himself into different places, he's somewhat of an amateur linguist. He learns enough of a bunch of different languages, but usually forgets how to speak them afterward when they're no longer relevant. He also enjoys chess and poetry in the form of prose. He has some cooking ability. Nobody lets him play card games anymore.
Prized Possession: He isn't very sentimental with a lot of things. Naturally, he's attached to the tools of his trade. He has a brand of handgun (that he is allowed to carry due to a gun permit) called a Caracal CP. He also possesses an early 1900s French-made Apache revolver, and is his favorite of the two. He has a modern black vehicle that's been outfitted so that the body resembles a 1940s Bentley. He also has a dog. He's a Great Dane named Pavlov.
Quote(s): “I'm always looking for a theory good and complex enough to stamp my name onto it. The Moreau Theory – that has a nice ring to it, am I right? I've no intention on wasting that!”
History/Bio: Baron was born into a middle class family in Canada and went to a wonderfully reviewed school. His last name came from his father's line - he was, in fact, only about 10% French. But that was the family line that gave him a French last name. Since his youth, psychology and the inner workings of the brain fascinated him, so he took the electives and courses as they were available to him. It was a bit challenging trying to choose between neuroscience and psychology, but the idea of understanding people appealed to him more. So he pursued the psychological path. He started at the age of 18, straight out of high-school and enjoyed his classes and found great interest in them. In fact, while he initially wanted to get his Psy.D. in psychology, he continued school for another year or two just so he could say he has a Ph.D. He got out of school in six years, getting an Associates degree in neuroscience and a Doctorates degree in psychology, and at 24, was in the workforce. At first, he worked in counseling, whether it be with children, adults, or even marriages. That sort of thing. It was nice of course - helping people - it was heartwarming, but also a little depressing. He also found it less of understanding people and more of letting his clients talk everything out, and while he asked questions about what he thought that meant, he let them come to their own conclusions. It was primarily about asking them simple questions and, occasionally, a lot of lying. So he left that job and tried his hand in criminal psychology, which he turned out to be very good at and later opened up other pathways in which he would try his hand in. He worked as a part-time detective, however, still in the psychological field where he helped figure out where the person may go given their circumstances and he was also interrogating during that time via verbal means. He attempted actual detective-work, which was mostly paperwork, and then private investigating when he learned he liked working by his own rules instead. He had many different jobs throughout the psychological and investigative fields, and some of his favorite jobs was in criminal psychology, undercover work, and investigative psychology where he was pitted against the suspect in an interrogation room.
Later, a business called the Dreadnaughts, a mercenary group, found him at the age of 27 and he found the thrill he was looking for. As it turns out, Baron was the only psychologist they found good enough or honest enough to work with them. Good enough where he even survived long enough to last three years, taking part in their hilarious antics (such as the time where he infiltrated a terrorist group holed up in Saudi Arabia, and was payed by the Arabian government itself). He went missing for nearly a year after a mission with them, where was kidnapped by some guerrilla group in South America.
He was interrogated and tortured, where he tried his hardest to hold himself out through the agony. He was a pretty valuable prisoner to them, as he was held in their custody for ten months. Baron told them next to nothing about the Dreadnaughts during that time, but he did feel his willpower giving out and his constitution would not allow him much more punishment. Fortunately, during a feeding hour, they forgot to secure his manacles. He worked himself out of the cage, and before slipping away, he silently killed almost half of their men with a sharp piece of scrap metal, all the while with a cartilage-worn and broken left leg. He was spared the wrath of the jungle and eventually found a civilization of a small town and secured a trip with the locals to the nearest hospital. At the hospital, he rested for a couple of days and got back in contact with the Dreadnaughts. He was back in the game with some physical rehabilitation, and that experience in South America taught him plenty. While he knew the tricks of keeping yourself from being manipulated, never was that knowledge tested as much as it was during that time. The other thing he learned? No mercy on the battlefield. It was starting then he stopped allowing other members to visit him while he's interrogating. Things may get messy if his "client" is stubborn enough. It's safe to say that his methods has gotten slightly more unorthodox since his escape a year ago.
Altogether, Baron has four years of service under his belt, although he considers himself to be a Dreadnaught for a total five years (counting even his time whilst imprisoned - a lot of time there were questions about them). To avoid another event like that, he has a number of code names which he alternates through depending on the sort of mission he's on and he's built up a reputation with each of them, fooling his enemies into thinking there are three different dangerous people without letting on he could be any of them. "Skinwalker" for infiltration missions, "Dracula" for interrogation and diplomacy missions, and "Zombie", which was a nickname he earned from the rest of the crew because of how he "came back from the dead" (plus his limp). This came to be another code name that he takes on in every other operation.
He is currently taking paid leave and is vacationing off back home in Canada. His primary destination was to be Ottawa, Quebec, but when he heard about Black Fall, and heard about how it was a hub for the usually rare super-humans, he foregone his plans and decided to visit there. Whether he decides to go there for the light shows or for the valuable data and research he could get off the residents there (Looking into the mind of a super-human? Not an easy opportunity to pass up!), he's sure he's going to be in for one hell of a vacation.
Family:
Sylvester Moreau, Father (deceased)
Bernadette Moreau, Mother (alive)
Relationships
Relationships:
N/A
Abilities
Power Class: N/A
Power: N/A
Weaknesses/Limitations/Drawbacks: N/A
Other: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0uCm08fahw
Sample Post: Blood – it was everywhere. Splatted all over the walls, the floor, with bits of gore and what only looked to be gnawed-on fragments of bone in some corners where the first responders has failed to investigate properly. Baron walked around the scene, pacing, taking all of it in. He had already scouted the surrounding area. The pool of blood was clearly the scene in which the death had occurred, but there was a chase. A struggle. In the ally, outside of which the murder had occurred, a trail of blood led the scene. Some on a dumpster. There were abnormal cracks within the brick walls. The kind of damage you only see in the north, where water seeped between the small cracks in the wall and froze, splitting it. They were all over this ally but scarce everywhere else. This part of town wasn't that old - and the murder scene seemed like the guy was put in a shredder.
There was also claw marks in the pavement. Forensic investigations found residue in the claw marks and collected it. The blood was sampled with cue tips and cotton swabs and placed in baggies. However, this murder was so fresh, even the first responders were still doing the jobs. It couldn't have been any longer than twenty minutes ago. Closer to fifteen. Three sirens flashes around the taped off scene.
The event had occurred between two meta-humans. Meta-humans were part of the reason Baron had first come to this town instead of New Orleans. The psychological insight would be invaluable. But when he arrived, he learned that the meta-humans here had actually formed two distinct, but equally dangerous street gangs that'd make the LA Bloods look like children on a playground. If Baron's hunch was right, an inter-gang altercation was the most reasonable explanation. Turf wars and so on.
“P.I.?” Asked a detective assessing the scene. It was to see if they could discover any oversights in the initial survey. “I understand that we've hired you to help us, and that you do things your own way, but we still need you to cooperate with our department.”
“Of course.” Baron replied absentmindedly. He walked over to his protégé's side, his left leg limping behind him. He was adorned in a chic outfit. From the bottom up, polished black dress shoes with dress pants. Black suspenders attached themselves to the waistband and wrapped around his lime-green oxford shirt, layered upon which was a black vest. It was an ironed outfit, free of wrinkles, and his hair was slickly gelled back as per the usual.
He took a final look at the scene before giving his assessment. “This was a chase. He must've been running for a while. He must've been followed. And I think it'd be most reasonable to suspect that this is gang activity. I found blood on the dumpster in the back of the alley. That should be a good place to check for prints.”
The detective sighed. “Got that. We'll send the forensics team over and get that sorted out. Thank you for your help.”
“It's my pleasure.” Baron added graciously.
The detective turned about and watched the scene: from forensic analysts gathering evidence and the police inspecting the area, and the remains of the body being zipped up in a body bag. “I can tell you we know that he was a Skull member. Moderately reputable, got into trouble kinda frequently. Judging from the structural damage, and the drop in temperature in the area, I have a hunch he was that John Frost thug.”
“Then it'd make sense that this was an action taken by the Vanguards.”
“Yes, it would. But the evidence we received isn't conclusive enough to give us a face, or even a name. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.”
Baron laughed jovially. “ I can imagine. And there's a lot of evidence here, yeah. Blood all over the damn place. Ever since their kind started comin' in Mendel, we've just had–”
“I dunno,” he interrupted, prompting an annoyed frown from Baron, “but Skeleton is gonna lose his shit when he hears about this one.”
“Was he a big deal?” Baron asked.
“Do I look like I hang around fuckin' gangsters? All I know is that the guy was apparently a Skull.”
“Fine, fine. Let's call it a day then. I'll ask around in the meantime. Maybe something has happened between the two parties to invite bad blood.”
“Heard that – I'll keep in touch with you.”
Baron nodded his acquaintance off and walked away on his own. There was a bar nearby. He wasn't much of a fan of bars. They did not often sell the kind of vintage that Baron was a fan of, and the atmospheres were often too rustic. However, they were the gathering places of the local savvies. There he can obtain information on his case. It wasn't Club 76 or the Jolly Roger – those two places were renowned for being the hubs of gang activity. The only reason why the department didn't storm in and fire the place up was probably the risk of losing too many officers.
No, this was a lesser known bar. More suited for those who wanted to get away from all that nonsense. To keep low. To avoid association. What better place to obtain information?
He took the bus. He payed the fare and rode it out, making sure to give people his especially suspicious face – like a smug grin, and piercing gaze. Give them the impression that Baron was watching them, or that they were his target, so that he may be alone in his seat. It was surprisingly easy. Just how tight was the grip of these gangs on this town? Perhaps solving a murder or two wasn't all that needed to be done. If he was feeling especially spry, then he ought to contemplating dismantling all criminal power here.
But that'd require effort he wasn't being payed to spend.
When he got to his stop, no time was wasted in going in and getting straight to business. He walked straight the door, and checked out what was inside. The bar was slightly dead. A couple people here and there. Almost all keeping to themselves. Lack of trust, or suspicion? Or, perhaps looking to solve out their own problems. The guy in the gray business suit? A rectangular lump in his pants, and a similar, almost identical shape in his coat pocket over his breast. The top of which stuck out, it being a phone. His brown hair, scruffy, his face unshaven. His suit, that which appeared to be regularly ironed, was unkempt. Tugged in areas. Sweat soaked in the pants and below his neck. Constantly checking his phone in his coat. What could be the reasons? Put himself in his shoes, and the answers narrow down. Huge promotion? Possibly getting fired? Feedback on a project? Or maybe he cheated on his wife or girlfriend? The smallest red speck that could be mistaken for blood on the edge of his mouth – which did gloss under the light. All one could really do is wish him the best of luck.
Or perhaps the other man, alone on a bar stool. Salt and pepper hair, red skin – not so red, or the kind of red that'd be the sign of a southern man, it was an identifier of damaged skin. Thin wrinkles crawled over his body... scruffy facial hair... city-man attire... eh? No, no... maybe? Couldn't be. Or could it? Baron was, at heart, a doctor and scientist. He couldn't make exceptions. Still, God be damned if it was his old co-worker. He limped over, quietly, casually. He eased over by this stranger's side and leaned against the counter.
“So,” Baron started saying, “anything been interesting lately? Like that murder down the way. What's up with that any-who?”
Nickname/Alias/Etc: Barry, Zombie, etc.
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Height: 6'3”
Weight: 154 lbs
Faction: Neutral
Appearance
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Green
Ethnicity: Canadian; has English and French blood.
Physical Appearance/Attire: Barry looks rather unorthodox among his mercenary crowd, appearing more of an aristocrat than anything else. He is tall and slender, specifically standing at 6'3", and weighs in at 154 lbs. This said, he isn't the strongest fighter and his body is fairly skinny and not as muscular as much of his other... “associates”, although he does abide by the standard requirement of fitness in his organization that is befitting of him, though this is usually in the form of physical therapy (he has a strong, mechanical brace reinforcing his left leg). His skin is fairly pale and unblemished by anything other than the scars littered over his body. On his back, torso, legs, and so on - the damage on his left leg in particular being rather severe and is bestrewn with scar tissue. His pale skin is in dramatic contrast with his black hair, which comes down at a widow's peak, and is neatly swept backwards with a comb and then kept in place a small dab of hair gel. If he were to go out on a tactical mission, he would appear almost as though he were going out on a date, but forgot his dress coat. He has piercing green eyes that are, at just the right angle, appearing somewhat hollow, if words were to do any justice. It is as if he stared into hell and hell stared back, but even then, they appear no less brilliant, cunning, deceptive, or even deadly. Thick lashes and sharp eyebrows simply sharpen his piercing gaze. His true expressions always seem somewhat hidden, as though his face were hidden by a million and one masks, each with their own different story. Even his walk, it seems, where his apparent full-of-himself strut appears to be well-disguised pacing. This brings along with him an air of mystery. Given his pampered features and esoteric air, along with a charming and clever disposition, he's quite the heart-breaker. His hands are covered in calluses and his fingers usually look a little cut up, but is generally well taken care of.
If he had a choice in his uniform, he'd be dressed nicely and perhaps come in a nice suit with a boutonnière. However, glamour and sophistication has no place in his line of work or among suburbs (unless the objective specifically calls for good appearances). He often visits areas in South America, so the humidity doesn't help much to bolster his preferred fashion. Lacking the strength, or even the necessity, he never requires heavy equipment - which is a plus, given how it would add unnecessary stress on his brace and left leg. So he usually does his dirty job in waist-high black dress pants that rides up to his naval and are tucked into thick black boots, causing some bagginess around the lower calves. His pants are accessorized with button suspenders crossing over each other on his back and then meeting parallel down his front. These suspenders are usually strapped over a greatly faded light grey t-shirt. The collar has three buttons going down the center, making it able to change from a round neck to a v-neck. He usually leaves them unbuttoned give the hot air or humidity of the environment he often enters, which in turn tends to reveal just a little bit of his chest and collarbone. The subtle fact that there are very faint hints of blood stains on his shirt that looks as though someone had tried to bleach the stains off the shirt - this in conjunction with the lack of any holes - might appear disturbing to anyone who just happens to notice it. Otherwise, his wardobe is dynamic, so describing his outfits during casual or formal ventures would do little to express his appearance, and would do no more justice than stating simply: he dresses very nicely as if he looks to impress. Underneath Barry's right arm is a tattoo in Arabic, a memento from a particular expedition that required him to infiltrate an organization of radicals. It reads "وعاء الله", which means "Allah's vessel", or "God's pot".
Personality
Outward & Innate Personality: Barry appears as a cheerful fellow, but somehow balancing his grating optimism with stern realism. He wears a smile on his face most of the time, one that appears almost naive, but also inquisitive. His eyes always appear to be trailing somebody, or analyzing something, and very few details escape him. In fact, were it not for his charming demeanor, he might even be marked as the group's creep who watches everybody simultaneously. He assures this as nothing more than simple curiosity of studying human behavior and overseeing group cohesiveness. As such, he is quite adept when it comes to deductive reasoning and breaking down a person's behaviorisms that might tie in to other areas of that person's life as well. In fact, he is quite possibly more aware and knowledgeable of his comrades than they are aware of (but he is also rather fond at looking through personnel files). Otherwise, he may just be an incredibly elaborate liar. But there's little doubt in any one of his seasoned associates' mind that the man is brilliant. It is even said by his comrades: mad, but brilliant. But mad, per se, was of course the perspectives of another individual who was ignorant of Barry's reasoning and of his intents.
He is a mixed bag in terms of morality. He is sympathetic to the wounded and the soldiers that do the fighting, and while he would much rather prefer a calm and relaxing time working with his "clients" to get what he needs, he doesn't flinch at the prospect of turning an interrogation session on its heels to either scare or torture the information out of a target. Jobs such as that, and jobs such as infiltration, allow him to disconnect himself from others to a degree that is almost inhuman. He also is not above manipulating or lying to either foes or allies, provided that the outcome is decisive in his favor. However, he remains an egalitarian at heart and is uncharacteristically loyal to his primary employer. He doesn't quite let on at to his purpose in being there - whether its money or excitement or so on, but he definitely does enjoy the perks out of being in his line of work. He doesn't think about religion and gods a whole lot, but he has forsaken God when he was treated in kind when imprisoned in South America.
There's something not quite right with Baron, though. Right inside. There's something that he doesn't let show itself to anyone. It is as though there's a little devil in him that allows him to deviate from his usual habits and allows for a delightful potential for cruelty in Baron. On typical occasions, his moral compass would forbid him from doing anything outrageous. He can coldly - calculatingly - see opportunities in which an icy touch is necessary. With a flick of a switch, he turns off his usual moral restraints; this mood takes over, generally done during very "personal" matters, and can be robotically condemning. Something about America del Sur pulled something in his head that made him learn how to selectively detach himself and see things under a... dark light. He no longer believes in mercy... at least, not in severe circumstances such as, shall we say, war.
Hobbies/Interests: Cigarettes, chess, prose, cold coffee, cheeses, wines, olives, corned beef, psychology and sociology, vintage, music (classical, jazz, swing, blues), musicals, linguistics, foreign culture, etc. Baron is a man of many interests and enjoys simple indulgences, and prefers the rich taste of life's fruits. He pursues not the things that makes life work but the things that makes life worth living.
Skills/Talents: Despite the oddities that he may be accused of, he isn't as emotionally distant as some people who "know" him may think. He can break up a fight between soldiers and other personnel, or at least ease the tension between the two or few. Even though whoever has heard of him among the ranks is well aware of his occupation, not many actually grasp how much Barry is truly a psychological genius. If he so wished it, he could play games with a person's head at a whim. He has knowledge of the correlation between body movements/functions, and between that and undercover experience, a degree of body control that allows him to expertly craft lies, or even see right through the lies of others. Through his years of training, he can work enough of the right charm to work the truth out of a person.
Or alternatively, he can work his otherwise charming charisma into more devious matters such as intimidation or interrogation. True, while his physical form isn't too intimidating, he is cunning and intelligent enough to pick just the right words to get under your skin and play off your worst fears. That is his job in his business – he works with a mercenary group – but he isn't just some simple hired gun. There are plenty of those. When it comes to gathering information on somebody, he can hand you all you need to know just by spending some time with them alone. Having experience inserting himself into different places, he's somewhat of an amateur linguist. He learns enough of a bunch of different languages, but usually forgets how to speak them afterward when they're no longer relevant. He also enjoys chess and poetry in the form of prose. He has some cooking ability. Nobody lets him play card games anymore.
Prized Possession: He isn't very sentimental with a lot of things. Naturally, he's attached to the tools of his trade. He has a brand of handgun (that he is allowed to carry due to a gun permit) called a Caracal CP. He also possesses an early 1900s French-made Apache revolver, and is his favorite of the two. He has a modern black vehicle that's been outfitted so that the body resembles a 1940s Bentley. He also has a dog. He's a Great Dane named Pavlov.
Quote(s): “I'm always looking for a theory good and complex enough to stamp my name onto it. The Moreau Theory – that has a nice ring to it, am I right? I've no intention on wasting that!”
History/Bio: Baron was born into a middle class family in Canada and went to a wonderfully reviewed school. His last name came from his father's line - he was, in fact, only about 10% French. But that was the family line that gave him a French last name. Since his youth, psychology and the inner workings of the brain fascinated him, so he took the electives and courses as they were available to him. It was a bit challenging trying to choose between neuroscience and psychology, but the idea of understanding people appealed to him more. So he pursued the psychological path. He started at the age of 18, straight out of high-school and enjoyed his classes and found great interest in them. In fact, while he initially wanted to get his Psy.D. in psychology, he continued school for another year or two just so he could say he has a Ph.D. He got out of school in six years, getting an Associates degree in neuroscience and a Doctorates degree in psychology, and at 24, was in the workforce. At first, he worked in counseling, whether it be with children, adults, or even marriages. That sort of thing. It was nice of course - helping people - it was heartwarming, but also a little depressing. He also found it less of understanding people and more of letting his clients talk everything out, and while he asked questions about what he thought that meant, he let them come to their own conclusions. It was primarily about asking them simple questions and, occasionally, a lot of lying. So he left that job and tried his hand in criminal psychology, which he turned out to be very good at and later opened up other pathways in which he would try his hand in. He worked as a part-time detective, however, still in the psychological field where he helped figure out where the person may go given their circumstances and he was also interrogating during that time via verbal means. He attempted actual detective-work, which was mostly paperwork, and then private investigating when he learned he liked working by his own rules instead. He had many different jobs throughout the psychological and investigative fields, and some of his favorite jobs was in criminal psychology, undercover work, and investigative psychology where he was pitted against the suspect in an interrogation room.
Later, a business called the Dreadnaughts, a mercenary group, found him at the age of 27 and he found the thrill he was looking for. As it turns out, Baron was the only psychologist they found good enough or honest enough to work with them. Good enough where he even survived long enough to last three years, taking part in their hilarious antics (such as the time where he infiltrated a terrorist group holed up in Saudi Arabia, and was payed by the Arabian government itself). He went missing for nearly a year after a mission with them, where was kidnapped by some guerrilla group in South America.
He was interrogated and tortured, where he tried his hardest to hold himself out through the agony. He was a pretty valuable prisoner to them, as he was held in their custody for ten months. Baron told them next to nothing about the Dreadnaughts during that time, but he did feel his willpower giving out and his constitution would not allow him much more punishment. Fortunately, during a feeding hour, they forgot to secure his manacles. He worked himself out of the cage, and before slipping away, he silently killed almost half of their men with a sharp piece of scrap metal, all the while with a cartilage-worn and broken left leg. He was spared the wrath of the jungle and eventually found a civilization of a small town and secured a trip with the locals to the nearest hospital. At the hospital, he rested for a couple of days and got back in contact with the Dreadnaughts. He was back in the game with some physical rehabilitation, and that experience in South America taught him plenty. While he knew the tricks of keeping yourself from being manipulated, never was that knowledge tested as much as it was during that time. The other thing he learned? No mercy on the battlefield. It was starting then he stopped allowing other members to visit him while he's interrogating. Things may get messy if his "client" is stubborn enough. It's safe to say that his methods has gotten slightly more unorthodox since his escape a year ago.
Altogether, Baron has four years of service under his belt, although he considers himself to be a Dreadnaught for a total five years (counting even his time whilst imprisoned - a lot of time there were questions about them). To avoid another event like that, he has a number of code names which he alternates through depending on the sort of mission he's on and he's built up a reputation with each of them, fooling his enemies into thinking there are three different dangerous people without letting on he could be any of them. "Skinwalker" for infiltration missions, "Dracula" for interrogation and diplomacy missions, and "Zombie", which was a nickname he earned from the rest of the crew because of how he "came back from the dead" (plus his limp). This came to be another code name that he takes on in every other operation.
He is currently taking paid leave and is vacationing off back home in Canada. His primary destination was to be Ottawa, Quebec, but when he heard about Black Fall, and heard about how it was a hub for the usually rare super-humans, he foregone his plans and decided to visit there. Whether he decides to go there for the light shows or for the valuable data and research he could get off the residents there (Looking into the mind of a super-human? Not an easy opportunity to pass up!), he's sure he's going to be in for one hell of a vacation.
Family:
Sylvester Moreau, Father (deceased)
Bernadette Moreau, Mother (alive)
Relationships
Relationships:
N/A
Abilities
Power Class: N/A
Power: N/A
Weaknesses/Limitations/Drawbacks: N/A
Other: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D0uCm08fahw
Sample Post: Blood – it was everywhere. Splatted all over the walls, the floor, with bits of gore and what only looked to be gnawed-on fragments of bone in some corners where the first responders has failed to investigate properly. Baron walked around the scene, pacing, taking all of it in. He had already scouted the surrounding area. The pool of blood was clearly the scene in which the death had occurred, but there was a chase. A struggle. In the ally, outside of which the murder had occurred, a trail of blood led the scene. Some on a dumpster. There were abnormal cracks within the brick walls. The kind of damage you only see in the north, where water seeped between the small cracks in the wall and froze, splitting it. They were all over this ally but scarce everywhere else. This part of town wasn't that old - and the murder scene seemed like the guy was put in a shredder.
There was also claw marks in the pavement. Forensic investigations found residue in the claw marks and collected it. The blood was sampled with cue tips and cotton swabs and placed in baggies. However, this murder was so fresh, even the first responders were still doing the jobs. It couldn't have been any longer than twenty minutes ago. Closer to fifteen. Three sirens flashes around the taped off scene.
The event had occurred between two meta-humans. Meta-humans were part of the reason Baron had first come to this town instead of New Orleans. The psychological insight would be invaluable. But when he arrived, he learned that the meta-humans here had actually formed two distinct, but equally dangerous street gangs that'd make the LA Bloods look like children on a playground. If Baron's hunch was right, an inter-gang altercation was the most reasonable explanation. Turf wars and so on.
“P.I.?” Asked a detective assessing the scene. It was to see if they could discover any oversights in the initial survey. “I understand that we've hired you to help us, and that you do things your own way, but we still need you to cooperate with our department.”
“Of course.” Baron replied absentmindedly. He walked over to his protégé's side, his left leg limping behind him. He was adorned in a chic outfit. From the bottom up, polished black dress shoes with dress pants. Black suspenders attached themselves to the waistband and wrapped around his lime-green oxford shirt, layered upon which was a black vest. It was an ironed outfit, free of wrinkles, and his hair was slickly gelled back as per the usual.
He took a final look at the scene before giving his assessment. “This was a chase. He must've been running for a while. He must've been followed. And I think it'd be most reasonable to suspect that this is gang activity. I found blood on the dumpster in the back of the alley. That should be a good place to check for prints.”
The detective sighed. “Got that. We'll send the forensics team over and get that sorted out. Thank you for your help.”
“It's my pleasure.” Baron added graciously.
The detective turned about and watched the scene: from forensic analysts gathering evidence and the police inspecting the area, and the remains of the body being zipped up in a body bag. “I can tell you we know that he was a Skull member. Moderately reputable, got into trouble kinda frequently. Judging from the structural damage, and the drop in temperature in the area, I have a hunch he was that John Frost thug.”
“Then it'd make sense that this was an action taken by the Vanguards.”
“Yes, it would. But the evidence we received isn't conclusive enough to give us a face, or even a name. Quite frankly, it pisses me off.”
Baron laughed jovially. “ I can imagine. And there's a lot of evidence here, yeah. Blood all over the damn place. Ever since their kind started comin' in Mendel, we've just had–”
“I dunno,” he interrupted, prompting an annoyed frown from Baron, “but Skeleton is gonna lose his shit when he hears about this one.”
“Was he a big deal?” Baron asked.
“Do I look like I hang around fuckin' gangsters? All I know is that the guy was apparently a Skull.”
“Fine, fine. Let's call it a day then. I'll ask around in the meantime. Maybe something has happened between the two parties to invite bad blood.”
“Heard that – I'll keep in touch with you.”
Baron nodded his acquaintance off and walked away on his own. There was a bar nearby. He wasn't much of a fan of bars. They did not often sell the kind of vintage that Baron was a fan of, and the atmospheres were often too rustic. However, they were the gathering places of the local savvies. There he can obtain information on his case. It wasn't Club 76 or the Jolly Roger – those two places were renowned for being the hubs of gang activity. The only reason why the department didn't storm in and fire the place up was probably the risk of losing too many officers.
No, this was a lesser known bar. More suited for those who wanted to get away from all that nonsense. To keep low. To avoid association. What better place to obtain information?
He took the bus. He payed the fare and rode it out, making sure to give people his especially suspicious face – like a smug grin, and piercing gaze. Give them the impression that Baron was watching them, or that they were his target, so that he may be alone in his seat. It was surprisingly easy. Just how tight was the grip of these gangs on this town? Perhaps solving a murder or two wasn't all that needed to be done. If he was feeling especially spry, then he ought to contemplating dismantling all criminal power here.
But that'd require effort he wasn't being payed to spend.
When he got to his stop, no time was wasted in going in and getting straight to business. He walked straight the door, and checked out what was inside. The bar was slightly dead. A couple people here and there. Almost all keeping to themselves. Lack of trust, or suspicion? Or, perhaps looking to solve out their own problems. The guy in the gray business suit? A rectangular lump in his pants, and a similar, almost identical shape in his coat pocket over his breast. The top of which stuck out, it being a phone. His brown hair, scruffy, his face unshaven. His suit, that which appeared to be regularly ironed, was unkempt. Tugged in areas. Sweat soaked in the pants and below his neck. Constantly checking his phone in his coat. What could be the reasons? Put himself in his shoes, and the answers narrow down. Huge promotion? Possibly getting fired? Feedback on a project? Or maybe he cheated on his wife or girlfriend? The smallest red speck that could be mistaken for blood on the edge of his mouth – which did gloss under the light. All one could really do is wish him the best of luck.
Or perhaps the other man, alone on a bar stool. Salt and pepper hair, red skin – not so red, or the kind of red that'd be the sign of a southern man, it was an identifier of damaged skin. Thin wrinkles crawled over his body... scruffy facial hair... city-man attire... eh? No, no... maybe? Couldn't be. Or could it? Baron was, at heart, a doctor and scientist. He couldn't make exceptions. Still, God be damned if it was his old co-worker. He limped over, quietly, casually. He eased over by this stranger's side and leaned against the counter.
“So,” Baron started saying, “anything been interesting lately? Like that murder down the way. What's up with that any-who?”
Name: Damon Vicous
Nickname/Alias/Etc: “Lieo”
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Height: 6’0”
Weight: 109 lbs, but 178 when he’s… full.
Home District: None; he’s from outta town.
Appearance
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Amber
Ethnicity: Canadian; he’s really got German and French in him though, with some Czechoslovakian.
Physical Appearance: He has a somewhat slouched posture during relaxed, casual occasions, but can stand up straight with shoulders broad at 6'0” when the situation calls for formality. The man’s build is average; he isn’t athletic and he doesn’t have chiseled abs – but living on the run has kept him somewhat active so what body fat he has isn’t in excessive amounts. Damon’s complexion is rather poor, what with the occasional blemish or inflammation caused by irritation of the skin and the occasional blotches of scar tissue. It contrasts with his dark brown (nearly black) short cropped hair with a subtle widow's peak. One thing that an observant person would notice about him is that his fair skin usually doesn't show. His hands are usually tucked in his pockets, his neck is wrapped in a white bandana with black design, so all you can really see of him-him is his face, which is free of holes, and his hands; and maybe the top of the back of his neck.
His face, which, if he was working, would appear stern and his brows creased in concentration and forethought. Or in some cases he could be smiling, which shows off the dimples in his cheeks. Most often though, if you were to find him on the streets, he would look wary. Almost jumpy, even. Just by looking at him you can tell he isn’t a murderer or a crook though. More like a man with a terrible secret, a burden that weighs him down with every step he makes. He gives the impression that he is at peace with what he does, but this appearance of peace also comes with the appearance as though he's enjoying a guilty pleasure. He doesn't seem one hundred percent comfortable in his own skin or with his method of getting by no matter how hard he tries to convince someone. Even in his white smiles, there’s something lost and sad about it. Like the smile doesn’t reflect in his eyes. If one’s senses were acute enough, you could barely make out the odd aroma of honey near him.
Attire: He has a worn down, brown leather jacket that appears to be riddled with holes, and beneath that is a simple white t-shirt, also appearing to have many holes in it. In fact, almost every piece of his clothing appears to have holes in it, even the stolen black designer jeans. The only exception there seems to be are these rough looking brown leather boots, steel toed. He also seems to have a white bandana with black print that’s tied loosely around his neck. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t appear to be there for any purpose other than just being there. It could be for style, comfort, or act as a shield against encroaching eyes.
Personality
Personality: Generally analytical and serious in his workplace, he is oblivious to the world around him, nothing but pure concentration channeling into whatever he is doing. His intellect practically radiating off of him as his fingers blindingly zip around the keyboard of his computer. In this train of thought, he has an air of authority that he could never achieve on his own conscience. Almost as an alter-ego of his real self, while he's around company, he comes off as a kind and gentle man, somewhat meek and reserved, which contrasts with the way he dresses. If young people are in danger, kids even, he'll do what he can to help without ceasing. He becomes slightly more hesitant however if there's actually someone or something threatening them. He has a soft spot for the outcasts or those stricken by poverty after having lived the experience when he was younger - and even now. He can be talkative among those he likes and is liberal in his values and beliefs.
Damon is in fact introverted, rather having to sit back whilst in a group or in the company of peers, which are few in between. However, he hides this with the mask of a positive disposition. He lacks a kind of assertiveness while in casual interactions and has one or maybe two friends (if he’s lucky) that he can feel comfortable around. He feels haunted by his past and he isn't proud of what he does to earn money, but he doesn't regret his actions - what he regrets is the accidents that have occurred that led to him being hunted down in the first place. As a result, he is also afraid of getting close to people or getting into dangerous situations that he cannot control. It's out of fear of harming someone again and losing himself in the process.
He’s very much restrained and has an absolute loathing for his “power”. After all, it is what ruined his life from the beginning and still continues to do so. He feels invaded, violated, his power and control being stripped away from him to the benefit and hosting of others, of aliens and strangers - demons. As such, he is very against using it even if it is to his own advantage. In fact, there exists even a fear for the swarm inside of him and a fear of losing control, lest that swarm domineers him. He has also seen what his power can do, and he has no desire to inflict that kind of gruesome fate onto any mortal man, woman, or child.
His intelligence is an outstanding factor. What he lacks in physical aptitude, he makes up for being a tech wiz. He even made his own computer and rigged a mobile wifi hotspot, which allows him to cruise the internet as fast as a roadrunner. While on the run, he has gotten by only because of a side job that he had (along with stealing occasionally). He is capable of hacking into computers and software, creating and deleting Trojans and even spikes, as well as USBs and data chips to give to people. Technically, this is illegal. Despite what the upstanding citizen may think of him, he does have a great deal of morals and he does his best to abide by them. He has managed to go this many years without harming someone again, after all.
Among all the deals he made with people who you could easily assume to be part of the Kennedy shooting if you didn’t already know that it would’ve been too many years ago for that to be a feasible possibility, he is very familiar with sketchy people. He has the basic gist of how they operate and how they intend on extorting him or bargain with him. As such, Damon has develop a sort of social savvy - in the sense that he cannot be easily bargained with or persuaded. Not that you’d know it, of course. These sorts of people don’t like being said “no” to. So Damon works out a social nuance in which he can appease his “associates” without actually letting them in on anything. He doesn’t directly say no, or refuse, or disagree. He feigns an interest and bargains on his own terms with the illusion of a compromise that is more heavily suited towards the other guy. Of course, these deals work in Damon’s favor and original plan in the end. He doesn’t dish out special favors for strict business customers.
Hobbies/Interests: He hasn't had a lot of time in his youth to explore his hobbies, though he has come to enjoy working with computers. He has also come to appreciate a great invention called coffee and enjoys the age old tradition of laying on a couch and watching movies. He usually just enjoys all of the little things in life due to not being able to do so before.
Skills/Talents: Programming, networking, hacking, updating, developing, repairing - he can do wonders with computers and has a natural inclination to understand them, though most of it was learned from practical tinkering. He has no college education that taught him how to do what he does. He, while not typically an outstanding speaker or even a social individual, his livelihood kind of depended on getting through on his transactions on his own terms. He’s not a superb fighter. Not while he’s sober.
Prized Possession: That laptop that looks like a piece of junk? Yeah. He made that. It’s a fucking brick. And worth more than you are. Any idea how expensive the parts he had to steal were? It’s the Frankenstein of high-quality ingredients and runs like an angel.
Quote(s): “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Yeah, I know it pretty well. It’s a tragic story.”
History/Bio: Well, he was brought up in Canada until he was five, and then they moved to Chicago where he stayed until he was fifteen. That is when the bees started to follow him everywhere and burrow in his skin and turn him into a freak show. He was then a homeless, disowned child hiding back in the alleys where people (namely other kids) would throws rocks at him. When he moved into old or abandoned buildings, it was a matter of time until a cop found him and sprayed him with pepper spray. He has never had it easy, honestly. Damon's luck ran so dry he was even once forced to be on the run from law enforcement because of: a. his mutant status, and b. a run in he had a long time ago when he was 19, just a year ago. An accident occurred then that involved the maiming and death of a man that had jumped him in a back alley. Damon snapped, and the screaming that came afterward prompted an emergency call from a bystander. Which is the one memory that still haunts him to this day.
When he was younger though, he was already pretty damn good with technology. When he was orphaned, he happened across a sociologist trying to emulate the Indian Hole in the Wall study, and there were computers outside the building. He would, at night, sneak out when no other kids or other homeless people were around and study the computers carefully. Over time, he got better; and he liked it. It brought some hope to his bleak world, and after years went by, he learned how to bypass most of the systems and firewalls. He learned the shortcuts and how to upgrade its capabilities. By the time he started getting chased, he had accumulated enough knowledge to steal a fancy computer from a store and a wifi router and upgrade them himself when he found time to obtain the parts. He hacked sites and made trojans and spikes for people in exchange for payment for years. He’s still running even now, and ended up in Black Fall. He’s a bit lost at the moment, trying to find his way up to Canada again, but ended up going around the Great Lakes.
Family: Damon’s been disowned.
Relationships
[Character name] | [Impression (Good/Bad/Neutral]] | [Relationship (Friend, Rival, Crush, etc)] | [Character's thoughts [EX: I think Bob is quite the amiable fellow, has a great head on his shoulders, wouldn't want anyone else on my side]] |
Abilities
Power Class & Rating: Super System & Cerebral
Power: Damon is a living hive. Africanized bees infest his body, unbeknownst to the people around him. Inside of him are what could be hundreds upon thousands of bees, and they’re even crawling about in his clothes, which are the cause of the holes his clothes that he has tried desperately to replace, but new holes keep being torn open to allow easy access. He has since given up. It’s also the reason why he wears so much clothing in the first place to cover his skin. Littered upon his body are holes. It’s like an underground system, from within his abdomen, his legs, his back, his arms, and even in the palms of his hands. The bees, since their initial occupancy, have ravaged much of the internal organs of Damon’s body to point of non-functionality. What remains is most of his circulatory and digestive systems (which damaged much of his nervous system), and his head remains free of infestation. His reproduction system (due to the bees inhabiting most of the abdomen) has been damaged to the point that any actual reproduction would be impossible.
How could such a man survive? A very nuanced power seems to be very particular in how it affected him. He doesn’t have many requirements for survival and most of what he does is done out of habit. As it turns out, as long as he has a mind and that his brain is intact, Damon will live. Even without a body, he can survive on as a mere conscience exacting what will that it can. Damon isn’t fully aware of this, just that he can go on without eating or drinking for a long time. And while someone trying to choke him to death is painful and agonizing, it doesn’t really shut him down. All of his nerves are still active and he can still feel, so he is just as receptive to pain.
Damon has, to the slightest extent, extrasensory or telepathic abilities that allow him control over the insects that dwells within his body. The bees follow every one of his demands like a mindless robots, like pawns on a chessboard. He also releases a specific pheromone that appeals to bees in the surrounding vicinity and lures them to him, and it also negates the pheromone that the queen bee has that keeps other female bees from reproducing. So, if allowed, he could be surrounded by a colossal mass of writhing bugs with pointy stingers. Minor communication is possibly, but it is mostly an exchange of information. He can send a drone ahead and learn about what is around the corner. Having a massive swarm at his disposal, he can possess an omnipresence in the city. He could theoretically see everything as long as he has a set of eyes there. Try as you might, if you make an enemy out of Damon, you will be hard pressed to escape him (unless you swat the bee - in that case, they can’t report to the hive… but dead bees do give off a particular pheromone that alerts the others of danger, attracting more).
Since he is full of bees, he can adopt certain properties of them. Insects have a natural strength in comparison to size, so he could be a little stronger. He could command them to hoist him into the air and allow him to fly - his body has been hollowed out and is very light. If he wanted to, and I doubt he does, he could shoot a stream of bees at the landing skids of a helicopter and send it crashing into the ground (reference). So, depending on the situation, he is capable of being a badass. Obviously, this ability is a mixed bag.
He also has very minor regenerative abilities. Honey is a natural anti-oxidant and, naturally, them bees are gonna need a place to store it. While Damon isn’t full of it, some honey does line his insides… though mingled with it is blood and flesh, so don’t eat that.
Weaknesses/Drawbacks: A big down side is that his body and mind is deteriorating. Body is obvious, with those holes in his body and all. They got into his body by literally eating him. They ate holes into his body and carved out a hive. It was incredibly excruciating - torture, even. If he survives long enough, his whole body will deteriorate and he will be dead for good (only when the last of his brain is eaten up, however). The bees, at a certain point, planted themselves along the central nervous system and at the very edge of the brain stem, and the pheromones affected him in such a way that the damage the bees do no longer harms him. Think really hard about what that might turn into. Although he practically has complete control, there are some “incidents”, so to speak, that can occur.
A great deal of stress, anger or endangerment to his life can cause him to crack and make him go batshit crazy for a minute or so. This is his Mr Hyde: a persona created by the manifestation of the hive self-named “Lieo”. Lieo is a hive-mind and is utterly ruthless and with no inhibitions holding them back - an abominable bastard that will hunt you down with Terminator-style pursuit predation, assuming you manage to escape his clutches. Lieo is essentially the entire swarm and hive itself working through Damon’s body, but could also simply be Damon with the mind of a swarm, that he is “one of them”. It’s a curious state that warrants attention, but is a very real danger to anyone around him. Even Damon. The lack of inhibitions causes damage to the body if he were to exert too much, and Damon will feel it afterward. In addition, using the power itself - controlling the bees - puts him on the fine line of sanity and breaking into Lieo’s persona. To control the hive, he has to put himself on the same level of communication by inserting his will and thoughts via a mild form of telepathy. This, if put off balance, can tip him over the edge and can cause the swarm to dominate his mind.
Any means of telepathy or mind reading against im also upsets the bees in the body which generates stress on Damon as well. So psychic powers can make him crack as well. Although this protects him from mind reading and telepathy to some extent, it is an uncomfortable experience that everyone would wish to avoid. Further, these are just bees. Fire and pesticides are his bane, or at least to the hive residing in him. However, Damon does have a record of being conniving (enoughly so that he can get away with a lot of crimes to survive), so these aren’t sure-fire ways to get rid of him. You’d still have to chase him down. Given the number of alleys and rooms he’s familiar with, he can be capable of ambushing you or, with the swarm, swarming you in a moment’s notice without any warning. And of course, a bullet to the head. That’ll stop most things in their tracks. There’s also the matter of his personality restraining him from using this ability to his full advantage - and in doing so, also accelerates his degeneration.
Lastly, his ability to command the swarm is limited. The code to protect and protect, and live within the security of the hive is hard-wired into each and every member of the swarm’s brain like a robot. It is a failsafe system that ensures the hive’s safety and the safety of the swarm. To this extent, Damon cannot just send the swarm and keep them away from him forever. Such commands they were carry out only to a certain extent before they are ignored. Even if it was something these mindless drones were capable of carrying out, the matter of Damon’s pheromones still exists, and therefore they will always return to the safety of the hive. Damon’s life is essentially on count-down.
Other:
Sample Post:
Twenty years in the future...
So why do I bother with such frivolities? Where does my concern with the rest of humanity lie? Does my love, my care for my brothers and sisters here intercept my loyalty to which my true mortal soul belongs? I am here in a rundown building in the middle of the outskirts of town… hiding. Protecting. Protecting my family… progressing my own personal demise…. They need to eat soon. They are getting hungry. They are scratching at the shell of my skull, my headache pulsating throughout my being. You’d think I’d be suffering…
BUT NAY! I AM THE HIVE. MY MIND, MY WILL PROTECTS EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. I PROMISE YOU THAT NONE OF YOU WILL EVER BE HURT. I’LL FEED YOU, I’LL HOUSE YOU, I AM THE NOURISHMENT, I AM THE HIVE.
But, oh, here I am in this rundown building… the house is rotting… the smell of demolition is drawing near. The citizens fear us, my loves. My children. They fear you. Oh, but how can they? With your adorable wings and itsy, bitsy mandibles. Your stings exemplifies your will to live; your buzz echoes the purity of life! But the “civilized society”… they are not so civilized, are they? They are not so pure… you wish your voice to be heard, don’t you? Mine too. Oh, but I am so shy, so timid... they mock me; they fear me for my presence is none. You give me my form, I am grateful for your generosity, my lovelies.
YOU ALL ARE THE FLOWER OF MY LIFE. YOU ARE THE NECTAR FROM WHICH I DRINK TO FUEL MY LIFE - MY VITAL ESSENCE - YOU ARE THE REASON FOR MY BEING. AS YOU DRINK FROM A FLOWER I DRINK FROM YOUR LOVE. WE ARE ONE, I AM THE HIVE.
...But I promise you all so very soon. My name is Damon, you know this. Black Fall does not though. They will hear my name, they will hear my voice, and they will hear yours too. If they don’t listen to reason, then why bother? Their flesh will be your meal, their bones will be your nests; all after their hearts bursts and the rot and puss takes over the burning of their tissue... human bodies are so fragile. The other metas will fear you - fear us! Fear no fire nor poison, for we are strong. We are a hive, the hive.
MY HEADACHE, MY HEADACHE! IT BURNS. WHY DO YOU TORTURE ME SO, MY DEARESTS? I PROMISE YOU SOON, BLACK FALL WILL BURN IN YOUR TOXINS, YOUR MANDIBLES TAKING THEM APART BITE BY BITE. BUT ALL OF YOU WILL BURN BY. BURN, BURN, YOU WILL ALL BURN AND DIE AND—
Oh, but I’m so, so sorry, my lovelies! It will never happen again, I promise! I apologize for my outburst. I do not mean it. I am not what I used to be... it feels as if my mind is eroded. But I promise, once all of you are fed, things will be better. For all of us… it will happen tonight, when we are rested and the people are weak. I do this because I think of you, as you are my meaning. My life. Oh, my brothers and sisters of the hive, I do so very much love you… each and every one of you.
The time will come soon enough.
My dearests.
Nickname/Alias/Etc: “Lieo”
Gender: Male
Age: 20
Height: 6’0”
Weight: 109 lbs, but 178 when he’s… full.
Home District: None; he’s from outta town.
Appearance
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Amber
Ethnicity: Canadian; he’s really got German and French in him though, with some Czechoslovakian.
Physical Appearance: He has a somewhat slouched posture during relaxed, casual occasions, but can stand up straight with shoulders broad at 6'0” when the situation calls for formality. The man’s build is average; he isn’t athletic and he doesn’t have chiseled abs – but living on the run has kept him somewhat active so what body fat he has isn’t in excessive amounts. Damon’s complexion is rather poor, what with the occasional blemish or inflammation caused by irritation of the skin and the occasional blotches of scar tissue. It contrasts with his dark brown (nearly black) short cropped hair with a subtle widow's peak. One thing that an observant person would notice about him is that his fair skin usually doesn't show. His hands are usually tucked in his pockets, his neck is wrapped in a white bandana with black design, so all you can really see of him-him is his face, which is free of holes, and his hands; and maybe the top of the back of his neck.
His face, which, if he was working, would appear stern and his brows creased in concentration and forethought. Or in some cases he could be smiling, which shows off the dimples in his cheeks. Most often though, if you were to find him on the streets, he would look wary. Almost jumpy, even. Just by looking at him you can tell he isn’t a murderer or a crook though. More like a man with a terrible secret, a burden that weighs him down with every step he makes. He gives the impression that he is at peace with what he does, but this appearance of peace also comes with the appearance as though he's enjoying a guilty pleasure. He doesn't seem one hundred percent comfortable in his own skin or with his method of getting by no matter how hard he tries to convince someone. Even in his white smiles, there’s something lost and sad about it. Like the smile doesn’t reflect in his eyes. If one’s senses were acute enough, you could barely make out the odd aroma of honey near him.
Attire: He has a worn down, brown leather jacket that appears to be riddled with holes, and beneath that is a simple white t-shirt, also appearing to have many holes in it. In fact, almost every piece of his clothing appears to have holes in it, even the stolen black designer jeans. The only exception there seems to be are these rough looking brown leather boots, steel toed. He also seems to have a white bandana with black print that’s tied loosely around his neck. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t appear to be there for any purpose other than just being there. It could be for style, comfort, or act as a shield against encroaching eyes.
Personality
Personality: Generally analytical and serious in his workplace, he is oblivious to the world around him, nothing but pure concentration channeling into whatever he is doing. His intellect practically radiating off of him as his fingers blindingly zip around the keyboard of his computer. In this train of thought, he has an air of authority that he could never achieve on his own conscience. Almost as an alter-ego of his real self, while he's around company, he comes off as a kind and gentle man, somewhat meek and reserved, which contrasts with the way he dresses. If young people are in danger, kids even, he'll do what he can to help without ceasing. He becomes slightly more hesitant however if there's actually someone or something threatening them. He has a soft spot for the outcasts or those stricken by poverty after having lived the experience when he was younger - and even now. He can be talkative among those he likes and is liberal in his values and beliefs.
Damon is in fact introverted, rather having to sit back whilst in a group or in the company of peers, which are few in between. However, he hides this with the mask of a positive disposition. He lacks a kind of assertiveness while in casual interactions and has one or maybe two friends (if he’s lucky) that he can feel comfortable around. He feels haunted by his past and he isn't proud of what he does to earn money, but he doesn't regret his actions - what he regrets is the accidents that have occurred that led to him being hunted down in the first place. As a result, he is also afraid of getting close to people or getting into dangerous situations that he cannot control. It's out of fear of harming someone again and losing himself in the process.
He’s very much restrained and has an absolute loathing for his “power”. After all, it is what ruined his life from the beginning and still continues to do so. He feels invaded, violated, his power and control being stripped away from him to the benefit and hosting of others, of aliens and strangers - demons. As such, he is very against using it even if it is to his own advantage. In fact, there exists even a fear for the swarm inside of him and a fear of losing control, lest that swarm domineers him. He has also seen what his power can do, and he has no desire to inflict that kind of gruesome fate onto any mortal man, woman, or child.
His intelligence is an outstanding factor. What he lacks in physical aptitude, he makes up for being a tech wiz. He even made his own computer and rigged a mobile wifi hotspot, which allows him to cruise the internet as fast as a roadrunner. While on the run, he has gotten by only because of a side job that he had (along with stealing occasionally). He is capable of hacking into computers and software, creating and deleting Trojans and even spikes, as well as USBs and data chips to give to people. Technically, this is illegal. Despite what the upstanding citizen may think of him, he does have a great deal of morals and he does his best to abide by them. He has managed to go this many years without harming someone again, after all.
Among all the deals he made with people who you could easily assume to be part of the Kennedy shooting if you didn’t already know that it would’ve been too many years ago for that to be a feasible possibility, he is very familiar with sketchy people. He has the basic gist of how they operate and how they intend on extorting him or bargain with him. As such, Damon has develop a sort of social savvy - in the sense that he cannot be easily bargained with or persuaded. Not that you’d know it, of course. These sorts of people don’t like being said “no” to. So Damon works out a social nuance in which he can appease his “associates” without actually letting them in on anything. He doesn’t directly say no, or refuse, or disagree. He feigns an interest and bargains on his own terms with the illusion of a compromise that is more heavily suited towards the other guy. Of course, these deals work in Damon’s favor and original plan in the end. He doesn’t dish out special favors for strict business customers.
Hobbies/Interests: He hasn't had a lot of time in his youth to explore his hobbies, though he has come to enjoy working with computers. He has also come to appreciate a great invention called coffee and enjoys the age old tradition of laying on a couch and watching movies. He usually just enjoys all of the little things in life due to not being able to do so before.
Skills/Talents: Programming, networking, hacking, updating, developing, repairing - he can do wonders with computers and has a natural inclination to understand them, though most of it was learned from practical tinkering. He has no college education that taught him how to do what he does. He, while not typically an outstanding speaker or even a social individual, his livelihood kind of depended on getting through on his transactions on his own terms. He’s not a superb fighter. Not while he’s sober.
Prized Possession: That laptop that looks like a piece of junk? Yeah. He made that. It’s a fucking brick. And worth more than you are. Any idea how expensive the parts he had to steal were? It’s the Frankenstein of high-quality ingredients and runs like an angel.
Quote(s): “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Yeah, I know it pretty well. It’s a tragic story.”
History/Bio: Well, he was brought up in Canada until he was five, and then they moved to Chicago where he stayed until he was fifteen. That is when the bees started to follow him everywhere and burrow in his skin and turn him into a freak show. He was then a homeless, disowned child hiding back in the alleys where people (namely other kids) would throws rocks at him. When he moved into old or abandoned buildings, it was a matter of time until a cop found him and sprayed him with pepper spray. He has never had it easy, honestly. Damon's luck ran so dry he was even once forced to be on the run from law enforcement because of: a. his mutant status, and b. a run in he had a long time ago when he was 19, just a year ago. An accident occurred then that involved the maiming and death of a man that had jumped him in a back alley. Damon snapped, and the screaming that came afterward prompted an emergency call from a bystander. Which is the one memory that still haunts him to this day.
When he was younger though, he was already pretty damn good with technology. When he was orphaned, he happened across a sociologist trying to emulate the Indian Hole in the Wall study, and there were computers outside the building. He would, at night, sneak out when no other kids or other homeless people were around and study the computers carefully. Over time, he got better; and he liked it. It brought some hope to his bleak world, and after years went by, he learned how to bypass most of the systems and firewalls. He learned the shortcuts and how to upgrade its capabilities. By the time he started getting chased, he had accumulated enough knowledge to steal a fancy computer from a store and a wifi router and upgrade them himself when he found time to obtain the parts. He hacked sites and made trojans and spikes for people in exchange for payment for years. He’s still running even now, and ended up in Black Fall. He’s a bit lost at the moment, trying to find his way up to Canada again, but ended up going around the Great Lakes.
Family: Damon’s been disowned.
Relationships
[Character name] | [Impression (Good/Bad/Neutral]] | [Relationship (Friend, Rival, Crush, etc)] | [Character's thoughts [EX: I think Bob is quite the amiable fellow, has a great head on his shoulders, wouldn't want anyone else on my side]] |
Abilities
Power Class & Rating: Super System & Cerebral
Power: Damon is a living hive. Africanized bees infest his body, unbeknownst to the people around him. Inside of him are what could be hundreds upon thousands of bees, and they’re even crawling about in his clothes, which are the cause of the holes his clothes that he has tried desperately to replace, but new holes keep being torn open to allow easy access. He has since given up. It’s also the reason why he wears so much clothing in the first place to cover his skin. Littered upon his body are holes. It’s like an underground system, from within his abdomen, his legs, his back, his arms, and even in the palms of his hands. The bees, since their initial occupancy, have ravaged much of the internal organs of Damon’s body to point of non-functionality. What remains is most of his circulatory and digestive systems (which damaged much of his nervous system), and his head remains free of infestation. His reproduction system (due to the bees inhabiting most of the abdomen) has been damaged to the point that any actual reproduction would be impossible.
How could such a man survive? A very nuanced power seems to be very particular in how it affected him. He doesn’t have many requirements for survival and most of what he does is done out of habit. As it turns out, as long as he has a mind and that his brain is intact, Damon will live. Even without a body, he can survive on as a mere conscience exacting what will that it can. Damon isn’t fully aware of this, just that he can go on without eating or drinking for a long time. And while someone trying to choke him to death is painful and agonizing, it doesn’t really shut him down. All of his nerves are still active and he can still feel, so he is just as receptive to pain.
Damon has, to the slightest extent, extrasensory or telepathic abilities that allow him control over the insects that dwells within his body. The bees follow every one of his demands like a mindless robots, like pawns on a chessboard. He also releases a specific pheromone that appeals to bees in the surrounding vicinity and lures them to him, and it also negates the pheromone that the queen bee has that keeps other female bees from reproducing. So, if allowed, he could be surrounded by a colossal mass of writhing bugs with pointy stingers. Minor communication is possibly, but it is mostly an exchange of information. He can send a drone ahead and learn about what is around the corner. Having a massive swarm at his disposal, he can possess an omnipresence in the city. He could theoretically see everything as long as he has a set of eyes there. Try as you might, if you make an enemy out of Damon, you will be hard pressed to escape him (unless you swat the bee - in that case, they can’t report to the hive… but dead bees do give off a particular pheromone that alerts the others of danger, attracting more).
Since he is full of bees, he can adopt certain properties of them. Insects have a natural strength in comparison to size, so he could be a little stronger. He could command them to hoist him into the air and allow him to fly - his body has been hollowed out and is very light. If he wanted to, and I doubt he does, he could shoot a stream of bees at the landing skids of a helicopter and send it crashing into the ground (reference). So, depending on the situation, he is capable of being a badass. Obviously, this ability is a mixed bag.
He also has very minor regenerative abilities. Honey is a natural anti-oxidant and, naturally, them bees are gonna need a place to store it. While Damon isn’t full of it, some honey does line his insides… though mingled with it is blood and flesh, so don’t eat that.
Weaknesses/Drawbacks: A big down side is that his body and mind is deteriorating. Body is obvious, with those holes in his body and all. They got into his body by literally eating him. They ate holes into his body and carved out a hive. It was incredibly excruciating - torture, even. If he survives long enough, his whole body will deteriorate and he will be dead for good (only when the last of his brain is eaten up, however). The bees, at a certain point, planted themselves along the central nervous system and at the very edge of the brain stem, and the pheromones affected him in such a way that the damage the bees do no longer harms him. Think really hard about what that might turn into. Although he practically has complete control, there are some “incidents”, so to speak, that can occur.
A great deal of stress, anger or endangerment to his life can cause him to crack and make him go batshit crazy for a minute or so. This is his Mr Hyde: a persona created by the manifestation of the hive self-named “Lieo”. Lieo is a hive-mind and is utterly ruthless and with no inhibitions holding them back - an abominable bastard that will hunt you down with Terminator-style pursuit predation, assuming you manage to escape his clutches. Lieo is essentially the entire swarm and hive itself working through Damon’s body, but could also simply be Damon with the mind of a swarm, that he is “one of them”. It’s a curious state that warrants attention, but is a very real danger to anyone around him. Even Damon. The lack of inhibitions causes damage to the body if he were to exert too much, and Damon will feel it afterward. In addition, using the power itself - controlling the bees - puts him on the fine line of sanity and breaking into Lieo’s persona. To control the hive, he has to put himself on the same level of communication by inserting his will and thoughts via a mild form of telepathy. This, if put off balance, can tip him over the edge and can cause the swarm to dominate his mind.
Any means of telepathy or mind reading against im also upsets the bees in the body which generates stress on Damon as well. So psychic powers can make him crack as well. Although this protects him from mind reading and telepathy to some extent, it is an uncomfortable experience that everyone would wish to avoid. Further, these are just bees. Fire and pesticides are his bane, or at least to the hive residing in him. However, Damon does have a record of being conniving (enoughly so that he can get away with a lot of crimes to survive), so these aren’t sure-fire ways to get rid of him. You’d still have to chase him down. Given the number of alleys and rooms he’s familiar with, he can be capable of ambushing you or, with the swarm, swarming you in a moment’s notice without any warning. And of course, a bullet to the head. That’ll stop most things in their tracks. There’s also the matter of his personality restraining him from using this ability to his full advantage - and in doing so, also accelerates his degeneration.
Lastly, his ability to command the swarm is limited. The code to protect and protect, and live within the security of the hive is hard-wired into each and every member of the swarm’s brain like a robot. It is a failsafe system that ensures the hive’s safety and the safety of the swarm. To this extent, Damon cannot just send the swarm and keep them away from him forever. Such commands they were carry out only to a certain extent before they are ignored. Even if it was something these mindless drones were capable of carrying out, the matter of Damon’s pheromones still exists, and therefore they will always return to the safety of the hive. Damon’s life is essentially on count-down.
Other:
Sample Post:
Twenty years in the future...
So why do I bother with such frivolities? Where does my concern with the rest of humanity lie? Does my love, my care for my brothers and sisters here intercept my loyalty to which my true mortal soul belongs? I am here in a rundown building in the middle of the outskirts of town… hiding. Protecting. Protecting my family… progressing my own personal demise…. They need to eat soon. They are getting hungry. They are scratching at the shell of my skull, my headache pulsating throughout my being. You’d think I’d be suffering…
BUT NAY! I AM THE HIVE. MY MIND, MY WILL PROTECTS EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. I PROMISE YOU THAT NONE OF YOU WILL EVER BE HURT. I’LL FEED YOU, I’LL HOUSE YOU, I AM THE NOURISHMENT, I AM THE HIVE.
But, oh, here I am in this rundown building… the house is rotting… the smell of demolition is drawing near. The citizens fear us, my loves. My children. They fear you. Oh, but how can they? With your adorable wings and itsy, bitsy mandibles. Your stings exemplifies your will to live; your buzz echoes the purity of life! But the “civilized society”… they are not so civilized, are they? They are not so pure… you wish your voice to be heard, don’t you? Mine too. Oh, but I am so shy, so timid... they mock me; they fear me for my presence is none. You give me my form, I am grateful for your generosity, my lovelies.
YOU ALL ARE THE FLOWER OF MY LIFE. YOU ARE THE NECTAR FROM WHICH I DRINK TO FUEL MY LIFE - MY VITAL ESSENCE - YOU ARE THE REASON FOR MY BEING. AS YOU DRINK FROM A FLOWER I DRINK FROM YOUR LOVE. WE ARE ONE, I AM THE HIVE.
...But I promise you all so very soon. My name is Damon, you know this. Black Fall does not though. They will hear my name, they will hear my voice, and they will hear yours too. If they don’t listen to reason, then why bother? Their flesh will be your meal, their bones will be your nests; all after their hearts bursts and the rot and puss takes over the burning of their tissue... human bodies are so fragile. The other metas will fear you - fear us! Fear no fire nor poison, for we are strong. We are a hive, the hive.
MY HEADACHE, MY HEADACHE! IT BURNS. WHY DO YOU TORTURE ME SO, MY DEARESTS? I PROMISE YOU SOON, BLACK FALL WILL BURN IN YOUR TOXINS, YOUR MANDIBLES TAKING THEM APART BITE BY BITE. BUT ALL OF YOU WILL BURN BY. BURN, BURN, YOU WILL ALL BURN AND DIE AND—
Oh, but I’m so, so sorry, my lovelies! It will never happen again, I promise! I apologize for my outburst. I do not mean it. I am not what I used to be... it feels as if my mind is eroded. But I promise, once all of you are fed, things will be better. For all of us… it will happen tonight, when we are rested and the people are weak. I do this because I think of you, as you are my meaning. My life. Oh, my brothers and sisters of the hive, I do so very much love you… each and every one of you.
The time will come soon enough.
My dearests.
We can see if there are any available times for us to get online and do things, coordinate a time where we can start posting. Getting started is always the hardest part, but Reckoning always took off once the plane got its feet off the ground.
In
The Reckoning Of Lesser Men. (Conspiracies. Soldiers of Fortune. Interest Check. Open.
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
We'll all be waiting on you. No pressure
Hebaboh, Mia has a bunch of grenades and some powerful magnets in her pack. If you attach the magnets to the lever, we could toss it and allow the grenade to stick to metal surfaces (vehicles, metal supports/beams, etc.).
I will use all of my behind-the-scenes knowledge I have to thwart HWWB's devious schemes. Can't have him be happy, after all.
I will use all of my behind-the-scenes knowledge I have to thwart HWWB's devious schemes. Can't have him be happy, after all.
I've used Titanpad before, it's a very nice little system. I've encountered a lot of problems with Docs.
I finally made it home from vacation. I'll be spending all day tomorrow unpacking and catching up on work. Sorry all!
That'd make the most sense to me, Synthorian, considering what we're given to work with. We'd make the most impact there, at least. Is it the training camp where Baron is held, or is this place separate from everything entirely?
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