Simple Unicycle — Roleplayer Guild

I've been frantically smashing my fingers against the keyboard for about four hours to get this out quickly, and I think that I'm content with it now.

EDIT: Sample post now up.

C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A LT H E  Q U E S T I O N

V I C T O R  S A G E   ♦   J O U R N A L I S T   ♦   H U B  C I T Y ,  I L L I N O I S   ♦   H U B  C I T Y  G A Z E T T E
C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T:

"In the face of evil, what can one man do?"

Orphan. Street urchin. Thug. Reporter. Raging asshole. These are all words that have applied to Vic Sage at one point or another. His early life was rough, in and out of foster homes or on the streets, doing what he had to do to survive and developing a strong hatred for the crimes he took part in. Even with his rough childhood, he managed to pull through and make his way into college where he cleaned up his act somewhat; mostly due to the influence of one of his professors, Aristotle Rodor, who became something like the father he never had. Out of college, he got a job as a journalist for the Hub City Gazette, his hometown's oldest newspaper, first writing fluff pieces before rising in the ranks until he was solely responsible for the paper's coverage on crimes in the city.

The recent pandemic forced Victor to work from home. Hub City, already a simmering cesspool of crime just waiting to erupt, finally let itself loose during the quarantine. Through a window in his apartment, Victor watched rioting and looting in the streets, a hot rage burning through his blood. Someone needed to do something about it. One restless night, he took a drive down to Hupert Memorial Park and was jumped by a group of thugs. After a long, drawn-out fight, he found himself standing over the unconscious and battered bodies of the men. He knew what he had to do now.

From that day forward, Victor was a vigilante. He went to Rodor for help in this crusade, the two designing a mask for Victor using one of Rodor's failed inventions: a skin-like substance that hid covered Victor's face and made it seem like it was completely blank. For an alias, he picked the Question, inspired by his constant campaign as a reporter for the truth. With everything in order, Vic began his new life as a vigilante, reporting injustice by day and wiping scum off the streets by night.

C H A R A C T E R   M O T I V A T I O N S   &   G O A L S:
I'm not gonna pussyfoot around it: every time that I've tried to play the Question in these games, it's flopped horrifically. Usually, the problem is that I have no direction to go or a story to tell beyond some basic premise and I just hope that my characterization can carry it. People have enjoyed my posts in the past but I've always felt unsure of where I wanted my runs on the character to go, usually resulting in me abandoning the character and game after a few posts because I wrote myself into a corner extremely quickly.

But this time, I know what I want to do. I have two major arcs in mind, one relatively planned out and a followup to it in a conceptual stage. Vic will be going up against a serial killer in Hub City in his first big case as the Question. Without spoiling anything, a generic thriller plot will ensue; after all, can't get too risky for the first arc. The followup will be a bit more unconventional so that I can test my mettle and prove that I have a solid take of the character on my hands. Hopefully, when all is said and done, I'll be proud of what I've done.

When going into a character in these sorts of games I usually have some sort of inspiration outside of the comics and this time is no different. My biggest inspirations are the 2005 video game Condemned: Criminal Origins and the 1995 film Seven. If you're familiar with either of those works, then you know this run will be pretty dark. I don't intend to go overly edgy and grimdark but the nature of the stories I want to tell might take me in that direction. However, just because I'm telling a dark story doesn't mean there won't be levity and light-hearted moments, and I hope to balance the dark psychological thriller storytelling with likeable characters and some humor.

Oh, and I'm keeping the synthwave soundtracks from my last run on the character because I felt it gave my posts a distinctive touch.

C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S:
Allies
Aristotle Rodor - Vic's father figure, friend, and invaluable ally in his crusade. A former college professor and scientist, now retired. The designer of the Question's mask.
Samuel Starr - Editor in chief of the Hub City Gazette and Vic's boss.
Albert Kert - A co-worker of Vic's and writer of an advice column, "Al's Advice".
Nora Lace - A new co-worker of Vic's, fresh out of college.

Enemies
None to speak of yet.

Will be updated as Vic gains (and loses) allies and enemies.

Vic's Mixtape

S A M P L E   P O S T:

Location and Time: Hub City, Illinois; Hupert Memorial Park - 1:47 AM, Two Months AgoIssue #0: Run
Interaction(s): NonePreviously: None

Dim lampposts lit up the streets. The music emanating from my stereo and the sound of my tires rolling along the asphalt were the only noises on the street. It was the dead of night, a time when the only people out and about were crooks or crazies, sometimes both. Guess I was a crazy. I wasn't sure what exactly made me go for a late-night drive through Hub City. Part of me thought that it was insomnia. I hadn't slept in about two days. The apartment was too claustrophobic, too familiar. I needed a change of pace. But that wasn't it, not entirely. There was something in the back of my mind, screaming at me to do something. I didn't know what. I guess I would find out.

I glanced up at the sky through my windshield. Clouds were settling in. A storm was coming. I continued driving. Before long, I found myself parking along the sidewalk and stepping out of my car. I recognized where I was. Hupert Memorial Park. Sidewalks separated by grassy fields dotted with trees, all leading to a bronze statue in the center. The statue was defaced and vandalized, covered in graffiti, and missing vital parts of itself. Where once a monument to the man who founded Hub City stood was now a testament to how far his dream had fallen. What happened to this city?

Lucky for me, I didn't have time for a mental monologue on the state of the city and its inhabitants. A noise to my right. Footsteps, three sets of them. I turned and came face to face with three degenerates covered in sweat and grime. They each held different weapons: a wooden baseball bat, a lead pipe, and a crowbar. Bat, Pipe, Crowbar. They had a look in their eyes like this was their last resort, but they were fully willing to do this. Giving in to their darkest temptations, hurting others to get what they want. I sneered slightly at the thought.

The sound of thunder could be heard in the distance as it began to rain. "I'm gonna be straight with you, man," Pipe said, stepping ahead of the others. "We don't wanna hurt you. But we will. We want your wallet and the keys to that car."

Fighting three armed opponents without a weapon was suicide. My eyes darted around for a weapon of any kind. I spotted a tree about fifteen feet ahead of them with a sturdy looking branch hanging onto it by a thread. That'll do. "Sure. You can pry them from my cold, dead hands." I stood my ground, raising my fists slightly.

Pipe sighed in defeat and shook his head. "Fine. Have it your way. I asked nicely." Before I knew it, they were closing in on me, each with weapons raised and ready to swing. I ducked out of the way of Pipe's swing and shoved him into Bat, the two of them stumbling back and Bat falling onto his ass. Crowbar jabbed his weapon forward and I grabbed hold of it, yanking him to the side. His grip wasn't letting up, so I swung him away then ran towards the tree. Getting that branch was my best bet.

... Getting a weapon was my best bet? Why the hell didn't I just run for the car? I needed to prioritize my safety first. But some part of me wanted to see these men punished for what they've done. They had to have done this before. Beaten people to a pulp for their valuables. Might have killed. I need to teach them a lesson.

I was at the tree. I grabbed the branch and pulled it off, before turning it over in my right hand like a club. Sturdy, heavy. With both hands gripping tight, I turned to face my attackers. They were sprinting towards me. Labored breathing, they're gonna be winded by the time they reach me. Big mistake. Bat was the first to reach me, raising his weapon before bringing it down. I raised the branch and blocked the blow, before pushing back and sending Bat off-balance. I swung the branch into his jaw, hearing a sharp crack as it connected. Bits of bark splintered off and stuck themselves into his face and he collapsed on his hands and knees, cursing and sobbing in pain. I swung again and it was lights out for him.

I didn't have time to celebrate my victory as I felt a sharp blow in the side of the head. My vision went blurry and my ears began to ring as I was knocked onto the floor, my weapon falling out of my grip and rolling away. My eyes focused just in time to see Pipe's foot raised and ready to stomp on my head. I raised my hands to cover my face, slowing down his foot and allowing me to get a grip on it. I pushed back and he fell away from me onto the floor. As I got up I barely managed to sidestep out of the way of a swing from Crowbar.

"JUST FUCKIN' DIE ALREADY!" Crowbar snarled, swinging wildly in every which way. I fell to my hands and knees and scrambled out of the way, grabbing hold of the baseball bat. I brought it up just in time to block one of his swings, putting a deep crack in the bat. He reeled back from the sudden loss of momentum and I swung the bat upwards into his chin, snapping his head back and sending him to the floor. I walked over to him and raised the bat, bringing it down on his head, knocking him unconscious and breaking my weapon in half at the same time.

Pipe had recovered and grabbed his weapon just as I took hold of the crowbar. He had no fear in his eyes, even after I had taken out his friends. He had nothing to lose and we both knew it. With a yell, I charged forward to deliver the first blow, swinging the crowbar at his side. He backed away before jumping forward with a downward swing that I barely managed to parry with a swing of my own. Off-balance, he tried to swing wildly at me. I crouched down to avoid it, then swung the crowbar at his feet, making him slip and fall onto his hands and knees.

Dropping the crowbar, I grabbed him by the shoulder and picked him up. I stared into his eyes for a moment. They still held no fear, even as I reeled my fist back. "Take this you son of a bitch!" I sucker-punched him right in the nose, audibly breaking it and sending him back to the floor. He was out of commission. My quick, sharp breaths and the cracks of thunder were the only noises in the park now. I looked up to the clouds as the rain poured down on me. It felt rejuvenating.

I raised a hand to the side of my head to touch my wound, wincing and cursing as I felt a sharp pain. The adrenaline hadn't worn off but it still hurt like hell with just a slight touch. That meant bad things. I brought my hand in front of my face and saw slick blood on my fingertips. Shit. I needed a doctor. Good thing I knew a guy with some medical training not far from here.

I stumbled over to my car, opening it and collapsing into the driver's seat. I started it up and began the drive to Tot's house, hoping I wouldn't pass out from blood loss along the way. As I drove away from the scene of the robbery-turned-triple-assault, I thought back on why I came here. Maybe this was why. Some part of me knew those guys would be there, knew that I needed to feel like I was doing something worthwhile. Beating the shit out of them didn't just ensure they wouldn't hurt anybody for a while, it felt cathartic.

I snorted to myself. Shit, I'm sounding like some sort of psychotic killer now. Still, there was no denying that doing that made me feel good. It wasn't just the beatdown, of course, it was also the knowledge that I had probably saved more than a few lives by stopping them. Thinking about that gave me a high like no other, and in a world like this, I could use that high more often.

Maybe I made a mistake becoming a journalist: vigilantism was more my cup of tea.

P O S T   C A T A L O G:
Issue #0: Run (See Above)

V I C  S A G E

Location and Time: Hub City, Illinois - 6:02 PMIssue #3: Rust
Interaction(s): NonePreviously: Night Driving Avenger

Stepping out of WWNN and onto the frigid streets of Hub City, I reach into my pockets to pluck a smoke in between my lips. Sparking my lighter and igniting the cigarette, I take a long drag and exhale the smoke with a heaving sigh. Ever since the transfer my work has felt more and more pointless. I once envisioned a career as a respected journalist who blew the lid off mob activities and corporate corruption in Chicago and the surrounding area, but now I'm stuck in the ass end of Illinois. No one here cares about corruption. This place is a nightmare, something out of my darkest thoughts: a world where everyone is either in on evil or willingly ignorant of it. The thought makes me sick to my stomach.

I flick the cigarette onto the sidewalk and hop into my car. I need a drive to think things over. Roscoe hasn't gotten back to me in the last few days so I've got nothing to do. Maybe I could see about patrolling the city, finding crimes in progress and foiling them. The way Hub City is, though, that wouldn't be too hard to do; can't take two steps without some local undesirable trying to rob you or kill you or rape you. If you're lucky, he'll try to do all three.

It only takes a couple of minutes of driving around slowly before I spy a young man holding a middle aged guy at gunpoint at the mouth of an alleyway. I park my car a block away and get out, not bothering to put on my mask. This is too small for me to need it. As I near the alley I hear the two of them speaking. "It's your money or your life, old man! I don't wanna kill you but I will!" the robber yells.

The other man snorts. "Please. You don't have the balls to shoot me." I almost laugh hearing that. This guy's either stupid as hell or confident as hell. Let's hope it's the latter.

"What did you just say to me you stupid fuck?" the kid shouts. I round the corner now, and see him pressing the barrel of the gun against the middle aged man's face.

"Didn't you hear him?" I say. The middle aged man's eyes glide towards me while the robber turns his whole body to face me. "He said you haven't got the balls."

"Who the fuck are you?" He levels the gun at me and I stare down the barrel. "I'll kill you too, man! Don't fuck with me!"

I catch a look in the old man's eyes that tell me he's about to do something stupid. I decide to back his play. "Come on, you pansy. I haven't got all night. Make it fast." I step forward slowly...

The old man makes his move, grabbing the robber's gun arm and yanking it upwards. He fires the gun, the shot piercing the quiet evening and flying high up into the clouds. I run forward and leap into a dropkick that lands square on the robber's chest. He and I fall to the ground in sync as the older man lets go of the robber's gun arm. His pistol goes flying down the alley and under a dumpster.

I grunt as I pick myself up, dusting myself off. I rub my hip with a wince, taking that awful landing into account. Maybe I should forgo dropkicks in the future. "Shit, that hurts..."

"Not as much as it hurt him," the old man chuckles, glancing at his would-be mugger as he rolls around on the ground in pain. He turns to me and extends a hand. "Aristotle Rodor. Friends call me Tot. Thanks for the help there, mister, uh..."

I take his hand and shake it firmly. "Sage. Victor Sage. Not a problem."

He gives a hum in agreement. Looking down at the robber who's still writhing about and groaning in pain, Rodor gives him a quick kick to the ribs and then begins to walk away. "Nice meeting you Vic, but I really ought to get going. Got a long walk ahead of me."

"Where are you heading, Rodor? I could probably give you a lift."

He stops and considers it. As if figuring "what the hell" he shrugs and nods. "Sure, if you're willing. I live outside of town, near the rail yard."

"Can't imagine living down there being very good for your sleep. All the noise and whatnot," I remark, gesturing for Rodor to follow me to my car.

"You get used to it."

I get into the driver's seat of my VW as Rodor hops into the passenger's seat. I pull another smoke out from my pack and light it up, taking a long drag. Rodor winces and rolls down his window. "Not a fan of smoking?" I ask, rolling mine down as well.

"Of course not. It kills, you know."

"As I've been told many times in my life."

With a purr the engine comes to life and I begin driving Rodor home.

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