yoshua171

Yoshua's Character Storage Mark VII

Tali Kei Kyshi ⇋⬤⇌ Maei Ta' Lhur

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^{Weaver of Fates⇂↿↾⇃Womb of souls⇂↿↾⇃Forge of Creation⇂↿↾⇃Arbiter of Axiom}

^{“From the Womb of Souls did you emerge and unto it I may return thee. So heed my words, ye mortals, and do not forget. I am the Mother and the Judge.”
Theme I ♦ Theme II ♦ Theme III ♦ Theme IIII}

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Hider

^{Tall-ee kay kai-she-ah May-eye Tah lure-ee}

Aspect
^{♦Quintessence♦}

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Drawn from the living, possessed by the dead, and pervasive throughout the primal fabric of existence, quintessence is that which animates, allows potentialities, and narrows the gaze of fate. From this essential component of the cosmos, identities arise bearing the living unto their vessels. Irreducible and infinite, quintessence is a wellspring of unknowable power, continually differentiating and iterating upon itself to fill all life with an essence that persists. Through this power, borne of it and serving as its source, the Progenitor of Breath may become many things. Through their Aspect, the Progenitor unifies each Conscious Spark with a web of tangled threads, each a path they might walk, every strand someone they might become. As the Weaver, Tali-Maei can view the potential paths of all who live; they may alter these probabilities or sunder any threads they choose.

Yet, Tali-Maei is more than the Weaver; so too is she the Womb of Souls, from which every animating spark was born. Through this facet, the God of Quintessence may imbue life into the lifeless or youth into the old. With this power, so too can the nature of a being's essence be changed, granting any number of banes or boons. Thus, Tali Kei Kyshi'a--Maei Ta' Lhuri--is the source from which all souls were derived, whether one was aware of it or not. Yet...as the Arbiter of Axiom--the principles by which all must abide--so too may the ensouled become empty husks at the Arbiter's command.

Through understanding, one may glean Tali-Maei as the source of souls, and so too the Weaver of their fates. She is the Mother and her warmth; He is the Judge, the Scales, and the harsh Blade of judgment. After all, what one has created, so too can they destroy. What one has given, so too can they reclaim. Such is the way of the Progenitor.

Persona
^{♦Compassionate ♦ Enigmatic ♦ Merciless ♦}

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Though a great many traits aptly describe the Progenitor of Breath, none may entirely encapsulate the deity’s mystique. While Tali-maei is indeed a profoundly maternal figure, holding a nigh endless capacity for compassion and love for all her many children, so too is the god capable of incredible cruelty. Yet, it cannot be said that the Weaver of Fates is truly unkind or cruel, for any punishment meted out by the Arbiter is innately just, as their rulings are based upon the precepts of Fate itself. Thus, though it can be said that they are merciless, it can never be said that she is inequitable.

Beyond these defining features of the Progenitor’s persona, little can be said, as their capricious and willful nature defies succinct or stable description.

Myth
^{♦TITLE IF YOU WANT♦}

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_

"Tali

"Mei

"Kei

"Ta'."

A bright chant floated upon the air of that bright moonlit night, its source a woman perched atop a mountain's peak, her hair and clothes in disarray. Yet, upon her face was an expression of purest joy and jubilation. Slowly her belly had grown as she'd climbed the icy peak, its fell winds clawing at her skin and clothes, threatening to pull her into the great beyond. Nonetheless, she had persisted, and so now she remained, in meditation upon the peak, as she had been for nigh on a year. Blessed by the Great Tree's sap she found that she could subsist on the sparse plants and animals that existed at those once frightening heights.

Now, atop that cold mountain, with warmth in her heart and belly, Tamira knew that it would soon be time. As heavy with child as she had become, it was only a matter of hours or days before her child was to be born into the world. It would be a harsh place to be born, Tamira knew, and yet a contented smile lay upon her lips and a knowing look within her azure eyes. Though she already held a deep maternal love for her baby, she knew that the reality was that her child might not survive in such a place.

Yet she had come, for it was to this place that she had been drawn. Now, with peace settled within her heart and the open sky stretching in every direction above her, she found that even if she'd been wrong to come that she did not regret it. In a world such as theirs, if her child could survive atop this peak for several days as she made her way to ground, then they would not survive the trials of their life. So it was that in the glowing night, with swollen belly and swelling feet, Tamira's water broke.

Then the trial began. Waves of twisting pain--contractions--then heaving pushes. The wetness of sweat and fluids, harsh breathing, calls into the night for anyone. Her mother, her father, her lover, her friends, but she was alone and between waves of shattering, constricting pain, she held the power. Shuddering and cold, yet at once on fire as her body fought for release, Tamira lost herself in the hours of long and arduous labor. As time wore on and the sun began to finally crest upon the horizon, something pushed beyond her body, and she found she had lost all sense of herself. There was no individual, only a body in spasmodic pain, striving for rest, pushing new life into the air's embrace.

There was nothing except breath, and pain; exhaustion, fear, loneliness, and finally...release. Spent, Tamira gathered what she could of herself, finding her identity, and then her name. Finding where she ended and another began, all without moving. Though her mind struggled to focus, she would not have her fight end for naught. So with power drawn from the air itself, she lifted her child with the intentions of her mind and drew the warm body into her arms to shield it from the wind.

Yet....

There was no breath. As she looked down upon her child a quiet horror struck her. A terrible realization. Tears spilled down upon her cheeks without understanding why.

The wind shuddered.

Then prismatic lightning struck down from on high and as the sky shattered, so too did that horrifying moment.

Warmth spread from the small body in her arms. Tamira's eyes widened and the tears too grew warm as a gentle loving smile pressed itself upon her lips. A small cough, then another...then a deep breath and a piercing cry.

"Taei'ka. My little miracle," she cooed, pulling the baby close to her bosom to share her warmth with her newborn child.

Then another spoke and their voice was motherly warmth and fatherly protection. It was a song that sung of fates, bittersweet, but loving. Stern, yet somehow gentle. "A wonderful name, Tamira. A beautiful child. A glorious beginning."

Tamira was too tired and relieved to be shocked or afraid. Yet, as she turned and beheld the form that knelt beside her her eyes did widen and she found herself clutching her son to her chest. Yet, even as worry for their safety crossed her mind, something reassured her. It was as if they could not be safer than they were in that moment, in the presence of the strange being who had manifested before them.

The figure smiled, their form a silhouette sculpted of darkness and light, threads of warmth and cold brutal fated ends and beginnings both. "I have many names, but you may call me Mother," the goddess said, as if replying to an unasked question. Tamira remembered her own mother, but did not feel any shame when she spoke the word in reference to this being.

"Mother, why are you here?"

The goddess' smile became warmer and a hand wrought of swirling stardust and churning colorless quintessence reached out and stroked Tamira's cheek. "To help you of course, my child." Tamira's tired body welled with gratitude, but still she found herself confused.

"Why?"

The Goddess laughed lightly and pushed up from the ground, her silhouette vaguely humanoid, yet undeniably strange as if she were in every moment shedding essence and being remade at once.

"Silly child. I am the Womb, the Weaver, and the Forge. I am the Breath, the Essence, the Soul. I came because this is what I am. This is how things are to be."

Tamira's frown only deepened, "But Mother...how am I to repay you? This debt it is too great. I--" the Goddess shook her head and Tamira fell silent, wordless and confused.

"Live and give thanks. That is all I ask."

Tamira nodded, her expression suddenly grave, as if she understood.

How could she though? How could she even fathom a divine intellect?

Turning away, a veil of threads and power trailed from every inch of her form like the train of a dress, like long sleeves dragging through the air. Like fates woven into garments adorning an arbiter of creation. The being paused in its departure though, stopping for a moment, silken threads drifting lazily in the wind. Thoughtfully, she spoke, but no more was her voice feminine and warm. No, his voice was searing ice, the frost that kills--cold, implacable, and impossible to deny.

"Ah, but do not forget little one. Your child's fate is not your own."

Tamira swallowed hard and nodded. The god half turned, regarding the woman, then nodded as well.

"Do not forget, Tamira."

Turning away, he left, stepping off the cliff's edge before gliding away upon the air before dissipating into the heavens.

Visage
^{♦True Form♦}

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Too vast to behold, too unfathomable to bear, the true visage of the Womb of Souls–the Forge of Creation–expands throughout existence, cradling all that is in a vast cosmic womb. Eclipsing all else should it ever fully manifest, this truest of forms is only ever glimpsed in flashes and fragments. Though Tali-maei is indeed innately a being of creation, should their form ever slip entirely into this world, it surely would destroy it.

^♦Facade♦

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Possessed of many forms, the Progenitor of Breath can take a genuinely endless quantity of guises. Nonetheless, each and every one bears an aspect of her nature, never fully solid, never properly mundane. So it is that, unlike many gods, the Arbiter cannot hide her nature even from men and mer.

Additional Arts

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story

_{^{Caiden McKay
Crosspoint}}

Date/Time: November 11th, 2022; 6:08 PM
Location(s): Redline, PRT Headquarters

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As the others smothered Rachel in compliments and thanks, Caiden’s gaze shifted slightly as a feminine voice pulled at his attention. With that same easy smile on his lips, the teen’s demeanor no less relaxed in costume than it had been out of it, Caiden glanced Aaliyah’s way. A single eyebrow raised as he gave her a once over before his gaze shifted to some of his other teammates. He liked what he was seeing as, despite the fact that some of their costumes had clearly had more thought put into them than others, none of them were something he’d find himself embarrassed to stand alongside. Furthermore, they were all eminently flattering, a fact that made itself clearer as Aaliyah spoke up again, this time deliberately pulling his attention towards her. This time he kept his eyes firmly fixed on her face as he took in her words, processing the interest in her tone. “I’m glad you think so,” he replied, his tone containing the same degree of subtle emotion, conveying that he found her words flattering.

“It’ll be nice when we’ve got the time to share,” he said, his features slipping into a slightly more coy smile as he leaned his head back slightly and let out a small laugh. However, before curly-haired Aaliyah could engage him further, the sound of something weighty made itself known. Raising an eyebrow, Caiden turned his gaze to the entrance to the girl’s changing rooms where a veritable mech was emerging. His brows raising, he found himself momentarily speechless even as the others responded to Jane’s arrival. Reading the room, and taking in a few of the other costumes in greater detail he noted that their other tinker had outfitted herself with a quite formidable quantity of pouches and holsters, clearly in preparation for any number of gadgets she might possess in the future–near and far. If he was being entirely honest, he enjoyed Bev, Aaliyah, and Jane’s choices the most, though he found Will’s costume had solid presentation as well.

Then he heard the sound of something falling and immediately took several steps in that direction. However, before he could do anything, Will had–surprisingly–reached out to help the falling Bev, who appeared to have rather suddenly fainted. Caiden’s mouth opened slightly as his expression shifted from serious and back to one of faintly startled amusement. It seemed that some of them had been significantly more impressed by Jane’s rig than others. As with other tidbits he’d picked up over the last ten or so minutes, he filed that bit of information away for later.

With Fashionista quickly moving to help the younger boy, Caiden decided that things were well in hand and so turned his attention back to Jane’s mech for a moment. After a brief inspection, he nodded his head, satisfied, before he moved to follow after Fashionista, having processed her brief explanation of their costumes. All the details matched what she’d more or less told him when they’d been working on the outline for it a week or so back. Donning his mask well before they ended up amongst the other PRT employees, Caiden filed in alongside the others as they crowded around the Director for their briefing of the situation.

By now, given the seriousness he’d detected in the mannerisms of their two superiors–along with the fact that they’d all suited up–Caiden had surmised that his earlier assessment had almost certainly been wrong: This was serious. That fact excited him far more than anything else, as despite the worry for himself and his teammates’ wellbeing he just couldn’t wait to let loose for once.

So it was that his thoughts were confirmed as the Director’s words washed over all of them. As the man went back to his work, Caiden found himself grinning slightly even as he tilted his head to the right and gave Aaliyah a sidelong glance. “Well Gress,” he began, a sort of pleased mischief in his tone, “...it looks like it’s time to dish eh?”

With that said, Caiden let his mind flash through his surroundings as he’d seen them in the previous moments before he focused his intent on the space some feet above his person. A coiling prismatic luminescence spiraled into existence in that spot before it expanded into the shape of a blade and then solidified. “The short of it, is that I can manifest these blade projectiles near myself and then launch them with a certain range of specific properties.”

The blade, still hovering in the air where it had formed around 3 feet above his head, began to spin slowly. He met Aaliyah’s gaze–or attempted to at least–and continued. “I can dictate their durability, speed, and the nature of their trajectory. Ah…and before launching them I can control them telekinetically, as you can see.” He laughed slightly before snapping, the blade vanishing into thin air as he did so.

“If I’ve got multiple blades already fired, I can use them to create fields of pressure to damage or restrict the movement of anything within. So there’s that to watch out for as well. What about you?” He aimed the question at Gress, curious of the precise nature of her power–especially given her keen interest earlier.

Yoshua's Character Storage Mark VII

Drake Vettman “Chatterbox”

Chatterbox

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Name: Drake Vettman.
Alias: Chatterbox.
Age: 21.
Alignment: Villain.
Loyalty: Local Villain.
Appearance: The short and simple of Drake's appearance is that he's a 5'9 pretty boy with a a devilish mischief in his eyes and a charming smirk tpyically plastered over his well sculpted face. He's got eyes so strikingly blue that they almost look silver under most light, and short blonde hair framing his face. While he gives of a cocky vibe in costume, he's a bit more tame out of it, though he walks through the world with a certain swagger in his naturally slim and toned build. Really he's all around a well framed case of good genetics, though he'd rather call his looks 'god given,' if only to get on people's nerves.

In regards to his cape identity, Chatterbox, Drake wears a rather simple costume, consisting of a crimson dress shirt and pants, the shirt with green buttons and the pants with green decals on the sides and near the belt. For his costume he quick dies several locks of his hair a stark green and dons what amount to goggles with reinforced material, which act as shades as well so as not to be easily blinded. To add more mystery to his face, Drake has made his costume include two crimson plates of relatively thin metal to conceal the shape of his jawline as well as a single green plate at his chin to conceal his chin slightly. These plates are actually part of a small modified chingaurd which has been painted to skin tone. He wears this along his jawline where it fastens in his hair behind his head.

Costume

History:

Hider

Drake, despite appearances, was a quiet child, growing up to an Alicia and John Vettman in the suburbs of Denver. He had a a childhood as quiet as him, playing with some kids in his neighborhood, though he read alone or watched TV more often than not. School was full of studies and loud children playing tag and calling names, but Drake went through it all in relative peace, ignored or treated relatively well by his classmates. As he moved into middle school he became the token “quiet guy,” in the class, with some making fun of him for it, and others trying to figure him out, while very few every really tried to approach him. As he transitioned into highschool and thus adolescence the loneliness finally started to gnaw at him, though only slightly. He wanted friends, if only a few, so he tried to make some, but his generally soft spoken nature and awkwardness in social situations made it...more than a little difficult. Even those who shared his problem eventually drifted away from him, leaving him on his lonesome once again. So he tried a different approach, practicing jokes and studying comedy in his free time

Then in his senior year he entered a talent show at his school, a decision he'd sorely regret as none of his jokes came out as he succumbed to stage fright and ended up running of the stage. Still, even with the embarrassment he didn't give up and started going to comedy clubs on nights where the stage was free and the customer count low. Gradually he learned to make people laugh and his confidence grew until one night when he decided to go to a new club. During his performance not a soul laughed eventually even booing him off stage, throwing paper and food at him.

He ran out of the building...only to run into something worse, a mugging in process, and not just any mugging, one being committed by parahumans. Getting caught up in it, robbed both at gunpoint, he tried to—reflexively--joke to maybe reduce his chances of death by amusing the criminals. Instead, it got him pinned up against a wall by one of the parahumans, that is...pinned with a telekinetic power. It was at this point that he lost his composure and started calling out for help, but alas...no one came and in that moment he felt truly alone and the fear, shame, and loneliness caused his trigger. With the parahumans stunned from the sudden trigger event, as they often were, Drake came to on his knees, having been dropped by the telekinetic.

Angry and confused he shouted at the parahumans and in response the cowered away, listening as he berated them and told them what shitty people they were. It lasted for only several minutes, but they nodded attentively at every word, enraptured. Realizing that something was off, Drake told one of them to punch their ally and in response...she did. A fight was incited in moments and, despite himself, Drake found a grin slipping across his face. Before he could get too caught up in the feeling he called the cops, told the victim of the mugging to forget him, a command that was obeyed without thought, and fled.

In the ensuing months and years, he practiced his ability, continuing to go to comedy clubs, now with his reception becoming significantly improved with each successive act. More often than not he found that smirk plastered across his face and so he began his slide down a slope that he didn't even know he was descending. Drake devises his first outfit and heads out in his new cape identity, Chatterbox. While he doesn't encounter any capes he manages to rob some couples senseless before heading back home in a roundabout way.

With each theft and each comedy act and his introduction to other villains, his behavior, and his crimes, would deepen leading him to the present day. Now, Drake is anything but quiet spoken. He's manipulative, he's conniving and he's turned his exceptional intelligence towards darker, more selfish ends. Now, with the offer from a mysterious cape named Broker, he's decided to join a new team.

A team of villains. Luckily for him, the heroes haven't caught wind of him just yet...so he expects to put on a grand performance to...introduce them to his fun little power. After all, what's a grand performance without some skilled actors.

Personality

Motivations: In short, Drake is motivated by three things, money, attention, and feeling powerful. As a result these are the things he wants to achieve using his power and he'll go to almost any length to achieve them.

Sexuality: Ladykiller.
Likes:

• Messing with people's heads.
• Saturday Night Live.
• Jokes/Comedy.
• Being amused.
• Feisty women.
• Mixed drinks.

Dislikes:

• Being underestimated.
• Having his fun ruined.
• When no one laughs.
• Boring people.
• Being Bored.
• Fish.

Derangement: As odd and likely silly as it may sound, Drake's power has actually made him prone to nihilism, sadism, and power trips as such personality alterations will drive him to use his power more and more, compounding the alterations to his personality, and so improving the likelihood of him using his power—something his shard wants a lot. Additionally, it makes him less mindful of the moral code and his societal responsibility to uphold it to a degree making his morality decidedly gray...at best.

Parahumanism

Skills: While not a seasoned individual, Drake has been going to the shooting range a fair amount within the last few months. He's skilled with card tricks, good at running, and has a pretty good grasp of psychology—having taken some and studied it in highschool and in recent years. He's also a comedian as his day job, which was going fairly well even before he got his power.

Classification: Master/Trump.
Details: In short, Drake’s power makes his voice capable of tampering with the mental state and--to an extent--physiology of the affected. With it, Drake is capable of using his words and intent to brainwash people on a deep or surface level. Beyond this he possesses a loose awareness of the proximity and direction of affected individuals in relation to his own location--though this has a limited, if vague, range. Variables such as the volume of his voice, the acoustics of the locale, and the length of exposure increase the potency of his ability. With prolonged exposure individuals will move through the three stages of influence severity, which are detailed below.

The Three Stages

The first stage is Psychological Addiction, during which individuals receiving first exposure to his voice--or having received very little exposure prior--have a gradually intensifying desire to listen to him. This desire is both subtle and nigh irresistible, driving individuals to not just heed his words, but subconsciously try to conform to both whatever he says and the intent behind those words explicit or implicit. If he tries to drive you to feel a certain way towards him or even something else, the affected will sway closer to that ideal, all the while unaware of the manipulation. While an individual is at this stage of influence their behavior--from an outsider’s perspective--will infrequently set off red flags. Furthermore, if observed by other individuals also under the influence of Drake’s power, nothing will appear particularly amiss even if their actions are significantly divergent from the norm. It is this insidious property which carries through all three stages, as Drake’s power makes it incredibly difficult--even after exposure has ceased--to tell that one was ever affected at all.

Naturally following is the second stage, which transitions the psychological addiction to Drake’s voice into a physiological one, creating in the affected a physical craving and need for his voice. While typically the resultant behavior might be anomalous, individuals in this stage have a more subtle addiction, which is tempered by the insidious nature of Drake’s shard, making them seek out his voice through appropriate mediums. Unlike the first stage, in which influence tends not to decay even over long periods of time, individuals in the second stage can lose their addiction if they are not exposed to the power sufficiently. The period of deprivation can result in irritable behavior, which the affected will almost always attribute to other aspects of their life or environment. Individuals who have been exposed just short of becoming Third Stage risks may actually resort to other addictive substances in an attempt to recreate the physical high caused by hearing CB’s voice.

Individuals at this stage of exposure are exceedingly suggestible and will often--almost without question, or with very little need for convincing--follow Drake’s suggestions and orders, thinking nothing strange about doing so. At first requests may be followed simply because more exposure to his voice is promised, but as the severity of their exposure rises, their mental defenses weaken, making them less and less likely to question or resist his demands. At this upper register, individuals become suggestible enough for Drake’s power to begin repurposing them for his ends--though only minor psychological alterations can be made in any reasonable time frame. Those at the upper limit of this stage can receive orders even through non-verbal means, though not without Drake being physically present.

Finally, following the above, individuals reach stage three, hitting a critical juncture where they become Enthralled. Individuals at this stage, referred to as ‘Thralls’ will not question or disobey Drake’s orders regardless of their contents so long as they remain possible for them to achieve--short term or long term. Individuals who have reached this level of exposure are so thoroughly under the influence of his power that complex commands, brainwashing, skills, and otherwise psychological programming can be used to reshape them into living extensions of the parahuman’s will. It is at this stage that Drake can give commands even through filters such as phone calls, text messages, or other long range forms of communication. Strangely, despite these filters, Thralls will be far more able to understand Drake’s exact intent and meaning than someone equally equipped might. While the influence of his power can eventually decay all the way back to the first stage, it does so at an incredibly slow rate and would take months without any exposure to Drake’s power for an individual to return largely to ‘normal’. However, while someone who was formerly enthralled might one day regain all of their agency, any alterations to their personality enacted during their time as a thrall would remain...meaning that Drake’s victims are irrevocably altered if they are to reach the third stage of exposure.

Aside from the effect Drake’s power has on his victims it is notable that he can ‘tune’ it, allowing him to affect specific individuals rather than anyone present. Furthermore, he can even lower the potency of his power from its max all the way to zero, allowing him to make it even more subtle as well as grant people a sort of ‘immunity’ by not directing his power at them at all. Additionally, Drake--due to the circumstances of his trigger--is capable of imparting his power to others, though with a rather specific limitation. Namely, he can only impart his power to thralls. The Empowered gain a less potent instance of his ability, which possesses significantly reduced control and roughly 60% potency relative to Drake. Individuals exposed to Empowered Thralls accrue influence in the same way as those exposed to Drake himself and are not only subject to the commands of any Empowered Thrall, but also to the original holder of the power.

• As a small side effect of his power, Drake’s voice never gets hoarse even from screaming or otherwise strain.
• Anyone affected by his power is capable of extracting intent and meaning from any sound he makes with his vocal cords even if it is unintelligible. Their ability to discern his intent/meaning becomes more pronounced as their exposure increases.

Mechanics

Beyond the result of Drake’s power it is worth mentioning that the power works almost entirely by interacting with the neural and endocrine systems of the body. The first stage works almost entirely with the endocrine system, while the second stage begins to affect and alter the peripheral nervous system until finally one reaches the third stage, at which point even the central nervous system is affected. At the third stage (while Drake is currently unaware of this), this power actually allows an individual to actively and intentionally alter the psychology of the victim in addition to inducing intense emotional and physical responses including pleasure, pain, fear, paranoia, and any number of other related or similar phenomena.

Limitations: Due to his power originating entirely from his voice--at least for the duration of the first two stages--Drake cannot use his power if he cannot make sound with his mouth or vocal cords. Furthermore, the less you can hear his voice, the less effective his power is. Earplugs or excessively loud noise sufficient to overwhelm the sound of his voice are perhaps the most effective countermeasures against him--perhaps excluding not being close enough to hear him in the first place. Furthermore, while Drake can issue commands to the enthralled through non-verbal and technological means, his power does not work through any sort of filter. If recorded, or transmitted, his power will not work, meaning that any non-acoustic/natural amplification of his voice will not work and that he cannot enthrall or otherwise affect individuals through a phone call or a speaker system. Last among his power’s weaknesses is the sheer amount of time that it takes in order to reach its full potency on a given target as typically even getting to the upper limit of stage one requires several minutes of continuous exposure. Stage two on the other hand tends to require ten(10) to thirty(30) minutes to reach. Lastly, Stage Three can even take an hour or more to reach and longer for an individual to be fully enthralled.

Equipment

Drake, when I the guise of Chatterbox carries several things of note, including a deck of modified cards, which have metal edges and are reinforced to be stiff and resilient. On his person are also smoke pellets—that act as effectively as smoke grenades or bombs. Additionally he carries a revolver armed with blanks and a single real bullet as well as additional ammo, which he refers to affectionately as Roulette. He also carries around what amount to amplified pop rocks, which he calls blast rocks as upon hitting the ground at sufficient speed burst into a bright sparks capable of blinding for a second or two or just throwing unsuspecting people off. Drake's costume also includes a bulletproof vest beneath his dress shirt as well as knee and elbow guards.

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story

@LostDestiny ooh nice sheet! I'm curious, we're you intending to him to be a Ward or did you have other plans?

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story

_{^{Caiden McKay
Crosspoint}}

Date/Time: November 11th, 2022; 6:08 PM
Location(s): Redline, PRT Headquarters

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With his attention split between the Director and his fellow Wards, Caiden found himself more than a bit surprised when a wall folded in on itself to reveal a rather attractive woman that he’d already had the pleasure of meeting once. ‘Ah, Rachel,’ he thought as Fukuda’s lack of explanation was suddenly explained by the Vice Director’s presence. He chuckled slightly to himself as–totally within his expectations for the woman–Fashionista completely dominated the room’s attention. Caiden didn’t feel to catch the look she’d given Fukuda, and he took a sort of personal pleasure in seeing the man shy away from her gaze. Then came the obligatory introduction of course, markedly more enjoyable than such an awkward thing would typically be given the situation, all owing to the sheer charisma the woman brought to the table.

He really did enjoy Rachel’s company, in fact, he found that he’d adopted a more honest smile as he watched her work the room and then guide them from the Wards’ central control room. As he followed he took note of the fascinating security measures. Eventually, they made their way into what he guessed was a changing room–which he swiftly found confirmed as Fashionista passed out access cards and explained their purpose. The place was rather utilitarian, but it wasn’t as if they’d be spending much time there, so that made a certain amount of sense.

As he received his access card from Rachel, Caiden gave her a bright smile, laying on a bit of the charm before he let his eyes drift down to the card. Of course, given that they were clearly about to get their first feel for what being in costume would be like, Caiden reevaluated his earlier ideas about the nature of the interruption. No, things were almost certainly much more severe if both the Director and Fashionista were on edge–especially combined with the fact that they were being told to get in costume. As Will–‘Wilbur’, he thought with a slight chuckle as he moved to retrieve his costume and go get changed–had feared, this was almost certainly ‘cape shit’ as the young man had so eloquently put it.

While many of the others seemed…unnerved by the turn of events–at least going based on their initial reactions–Caiden found he was rather looking forward to having an excuse to use his power. He’d been itching to properly use it ever since he’d gotten his first taste of its true capabilities back during–...he cut off the thought as images of pools of blood flashed behind his eyes.

Focusing for a moment as he changed, Caiden found that the get-up was even better than he’d expected. It fit perfectly, neither restrictive of his movement nor did it leave him with any discomfort at all. It was honestly incredible, even clothes he’d gotten custom made before hadn’t fit him like this. Caiden supposed it was the benefit of having a clothing tinker on hand.

Once he’d finished getting in costume, Caiden stepped out from the men’s changing room and let his gaze fall directly on Fashionista.

“Honestly Rachel, I’m more than impressed,” he praised, his smile as relaxed as it was honest.

“Comfortable, unbelievably breathable and…” he paused, glancing to make sure he wasn’t particularly close to anyone before he snapped his fingers and a mass of prismatic energy flashed into existence. The energy rapidly coalesced into the silhouette of a blade. Then, in the space of a second or less a full blade had manifested just to Caiden’s right, its tip aimed at the ground.

Casually, Caiden grabbed the grip of the blade and poked at some of the draping cloth of his costume. It didn’t cut it at all, though he could tell it would part if he truly used his power properly. Still, it was impressive.

He looked back to Rachel, the blade vanishing into a spray of quickly dispersing particles as he finished “...surprisingly durable. Excuse the turn of phrase, but it’s honestly good shit.” He said it all with incredible casualness, each word coming out as if he’d said them a thousand times–yet at once like they weren’t practiced. Moving on without comment on his brief use of his power, Caiden lifted the mask he’d kept in his left hand up to look at.

It was just as good as the rest of the costume. He honestly wasn’t sure if he could be happier with her work. With his own testing done, he glanced elsewhere, waiting for the others to emerge from the changing rooms, eminently curious as to what their choices had been.

References

Costume

Blade

_{^{Kari
Presidio}}

Date/Time: November 11th, 2022; 6:13 PM
Location(s): Redline, Guardian Mobile Fortress

---

---

Never one to be caught unprepared–and especially not one to ever waste time–Kari had been experimenting with her power while she sat on a comfortable sofa for the greater length of the day. She’d gone on patrol before Trump Card for a few hours, and that had helped take off the edge that something was up. So, with an uncounted number of forcefields arranging and rearranging themselves in the air in front of her, Kari didn’t find herself even remotely surprised when the Director called them with bad news.

Instantly, as it became apparent they’d need to deploy, Kari let a series of forcefields align with her mask, forming a tiara-like formation before she complexified the arrangement to add a sort of transparent shielding for her eyes. With that done, she rose to her feet, a small amount of tension easing rather than growing as she heard the news. Though she didn’t approach the screen, instead listening from halfway across the room, Presidio oddly found herself relieved that her instincts hadn’t been off. She was equally glad that she’d kept some of her more common constructs properly maintained for the duration of the day.

When the Director signed off and Risen spoke up, Kari considered things for only a moment before Siren pitched in. Glancing at the stern woman, Kari felt herself slip into her role almost effortlessly–she’d been practicing.

As Siren finished, Presidio let her array of shields arrange themselves at her back and sides before she spoke up in reply, her tone resolute.

“I’m going with Siren. There’s too high a chance that these things will be equally dangerous.” She glanced up at Risen and Blaster, regarding Fenris as well for a moment before turning her attention back to their leader. “If anything you three and Trump Card are more than sufficiently equipped to protect the Mayor, especially in tangent with the PRT and the Mayor’s personal guard. Even if things get bad on his end, I can rest assured that you can handle yourselves. The Wards however…” she trailed off, frowning slightly.

“...well, even with me being the newest to the group, I’ve still got drastically more experience than almost any of them, perhaps with our local speedster excluded. Besides, I’d say that I’m probably the best-equipped power-wise to protect them.” At that she gave Risen a confident smile, her eyes glittering slightly even as the pair of shields at her sides unfurled into larger concave formations reminiscent of buckler shields, but about as wide as a person was tall. In Kari’s case, they dwarfed her own 5’3 frame.

Satisfied she’d made her point, the constructs retracted into themselves, swiveling down into slots deeper inside another series of interlocking forcefields. At her back another array of forcefields were popping into existence and rapidly assembling into a construct she’d already had the pleasure of using on several occasions since she’d joined the Redline Guardians. It would be much like a spool of thick cord, or chains, made from intricately intertwined and interlocked forcefields. It’d take her quite some time to make it properly, but they had some time before things would push off–at least it seemed that way, there was no way to truly be sure with thinkers.

“Any complaints?”

Her hazel eyes briefly flicked between Risen and Siren.

She hoped not.

Reference

Costume

In the colder seasons (like now), Presidio modifies her costume's typical design. This modified version includes a black turtleneck with sweeping arcs of light blue in place of the revealing top beneath her vest, as well as warm black pants that go into her boots rather than shorts.

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story

_{^{Caiden McKay
Crosspoint}}

Date/Time: November 11th, 2022; 6:08 PM
Location(s): Redline, PRT Headquarters

---

---

Man, he’d thought the Wards were likely to be a colorful bunch, and well, it turned out he was even more correct than he’d thought. Still, it wasn’t all good as the Director tried to pass off his irritation as an accident by giving Caiden a false apology for his toss. For his part, Caiden shrugged it off and donned the headphones. As far as he was concerned, this was a win in his book, after all, he’d wanted to get under the Director’s skin and he’d managed that quite well. “Not a problem,” he replied, meeting Fukuda’s eyes with a knowing grin. Letting the expression fade to a relaxed amusement, Caiden turned his gaze around the room casually taking in the expressions and body language of his peers–young though some of them might be. Most only took stock of him for an instant, but some lingered.

One, the older boy with blue eyes, seemed to be taking his measure before dismissing him. Another, a girl with red eyes and long hair spilling over her shoulders–the one with confetti still clinging to her clothes–seemed to lean away from him ever-so-subtly, before her eyes moved away. Chuckling under his breath he turned his attention to the kid who sat far-too-obviously next to the Director.

Leaning back into his chair as he regarded the young man, Caiden made an assessment, then turned to watch the power demonstration of one of the girls. Short red-brown hair and a quiet, almost hesitant, demeanor. Clothes were unassuming, or at least tried to be. To Caiden however something was obvious, she was using them to hide, like a barrier against the world. A wall between herself and others. Shy perhaps? Worried about what people thought? Self-conscious or just overly cautious?

As he considered her bearing, he almost missed the demonstration, but as he processed the details of such he found himself raising an eyebrow.

‘Well that’s interesting’ he thought, even as the gears of his mind unconsciously turned every one of her sentences, her tone, her body language, and the details of her power over and over. In a moment he made a hypothesis, she wasn’t shy, but guarded instead. Something about how she was opening up to the group by degrees, but simultaneously remaining conservative with her social energy just tipped off that instinct in him. He decided then and there that he wouldn’t push her. Then the crimson-eyed girl spoke up, a look of rapt attention turning to awe and fascination as she quickly gave her thoughts on the demonstration.

‘Biokinesis,’ he thought to himself, ‘...that could be useful…if–’ the thought cut off as he realized that it simply wouldn’t be wise to jump to conclusions. He didn’t know these people yet, as interesting and–to an extent–well-intentioned as they seemed. Besides, considering the concerns that the tinker–he just had a feeling based on her demeanor–and the quick-to-assume blue-eyed fellow brought up it would be worth knowing more about the power before even considering its usefulness to the team.

As he mulled that over he tuned out Fukuda’s lame attempts to redirect attention as if that could ever be truly effective. Fortunately for the Director, several other things happened as he spoke. An exceptionally young girl exited the elevator, and greeted them, before she promptly hid on a couch in the corner. As everyone’s attention refocused, the other tinker–this one obvious because of the roughshod mechanical arm–asked a rather important question. Of course, Caiden paid more attention to the delivery, even as he deliberately kept his eyes from drifting over to the girl on the couch even as the tall tinker and the so-called healer joined her in the corner.

He wanted to shake his head as more than a few of the Wards tried to make the girl feel welcome. ‘Too much attention, and for the wrong reasons,’ he thought even as he let his gaze dart to–ah Carmen. Her body language was clear: Discomfort, frustration, anxiety. The lack of those emotions on her face was just a testament to Carmen’s desire to be polite. It was a kindness that he wasn’t sure the others deserved, unthinking as they had been how their actions might impact their youngest member.

All at once a voice he hadn’t heard up until that moment broke the relative silence, proclaiming that Overclock–oh so that’s who the blue-eyed judge was–should be their leader. At this, Caiden’s eyes seemed to flash with amusement even as placed his hands behind his head and settled in to watch the spectacle.

For much of the time while the Director’s ‘pet’ replied, stumbling over his words for an instant, Caiden just stared straight into Fukuda’s face with a practiced smile. It was simultaneously piercing, smug, and satisfied all at once. As if to say ‘hilarious that you signed up for this.’ At the same time he considered the cyborg tinker’s words, before discarding them. It didn’t really matter why they were all here. After all, for those like him who had been forced in one way or another, they’d simply want to leave those reasons behind. On the other hand, those who had volunteered wouldn’t necessarily want to make anyone else feel like they were implying that they were better than them by revealing that fact.

It was honestly a funny little quirk of how society conditioned people to interact with one another. Besides, Overclock was right, it would’ve bee impossible to get his mom to sign off on the Wards program without–....

For an instant there was a flash of email logs in his mind’s eye, and then red and silver flashes. Caiden’s smile vanished, his eyes closed, and for a moment his relaxed air faltered completely as tension contorted his muscles subtly. Taking a deep, quiet breath he let the feelings and memories pass and then focused in on the events going on around him. The past didn’t matter, it was the present that was important.

As he tuned back in, he word Overclock dismiss the idea of being a leader–or even picking one so early on. Caiden nodded his approval, a more serious expression having settled onto his features, though he had again relaxed. Of course, Overclock wasn’t done holding the floor it seemed as the once solo hero stood up and properly introduced himself.

‘Sean huh,’ he thought, stowing away the name for future use along with ‘Wilbur’–aka Will–Beverly, and Carmen. So too did he stow away the subtle dig that Sean had aimed at the PRT as an organization. That was something he could certainly get behind. Once Sean had finished, Director Fukuda finally managed to get a proper word in edge-wise. It was all pretty standard shit, nothing terribly unexpected or interesting. Still, the notes about a leader, and the way Fukuda presented each piece of information was something that Caiden kept a close eye on because, if he were being honest he might be the only person in the room who ought to fit into that role.

Everyone else was either too set in their ways, too in their own head, or just not at all suited to that kind of role–and that was without considering that Will was a master who could certainly not be trusted with the position. Not that he disliked the kid. Further, Caiden noticed how the Director’s eyes grazed over a few specific individuals as he brushed off the issue of why they’d been chosen.

‘I see, really playing your hand there aren’t you Mr. Fukuda,’ Caiden thought, his relaxed smile returning. Of course, before the Director could go on to explain the precise purpose of their first gathering, his phone rang. Based on the man’s expressions and the annoyance he displayed, it appeared that whoever was calling wasn’t someone he could ignore.

Caiden leaned forward in his seat, his gaze following the Director as he stood and began to argue over the phone. At the same time he let his attention wander slightly, taking in Fukuda’s words even as he made note of how the others were responding. Partially mirroring their worry, as well as finding himself somewhat disappointed, Caiden’s expression naturally shifted into a frown. Then the second call, the abject yelling over the phone, the clear frustration and exasperation in the Director’s every move.

Apparently this was all very last minute and exceptionally troublesome. Finally, Fukuda hung up and gave them a series of rather vague comments. How professional. Caiden let out a solitary chuckle and then rose from his seat and stretched. Before he’d said anything, Carmen unexpectedly spoke up. All the while, Caiden darted his eyes briefly at the dark-skinned girl with the afro. She’d been silent throughout and he couldn’t help but be particularly curious as to why. Perhaps she was like him in a way and liked to get a feel for things before interjecting, honestly, he doubted it. He found it far more likely that she just hadn’t felt a need to speak up and so had been relegated to the role of an observer if a temporary one.

Turning his gaze back to Carmen in almost the same instant he gave her a small smile before shifting his attention back to Fukuda. It was only then that he spoke up, putting his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the chair behind him.

“Seems like you’ve got quite the first day in store for us. Care to share, Director?”

As he met Fukuda’s gaze, Caiden’s expression, his demeanor, smile–and even that maddening look in his eyes–practically screamed ‘it’s rude not to share.’ At the same time, he somehow seemed to be daring the Director to call him out when all the attention was on Fukuda himself–especially considering that much of that attention was filled with nervous energy borne of uncertainty.

Caiden had to admit, the best part about this gig might just be keeping the Director perpetually on the defensive.

Yoshua's Character Storage Mark VII

Refracture

"QUOTE"

Hider

_{[ ♦ ] Bio}

---

♦ Name: Darius, Sullivan. Gelham.
♦ Age: 30.
♦ Loyalty: (Villain)Consequence.
♦ Appearance: Darius is a tall, absolute unit* of a man, black complected, and commanding. He moves with an air of unshakable confidence, and frequently with a serious, even imperious cast to his visage. He is a man with the silhouette of a heavyweight category professional mixed martial artist, all wrapped in smart, well-tailored garb. While reasonably attractive, his serious expression can easily intimidate, while his piercing blue eyes can unsettle or intrigue. His hair is always kept short, and his face clean-shaven, their coloration white. The color is striking, only a shade or three off from natural, with it still being quite thick and full.

*He stands at 6’3 and weighs 230 lbs.

Darius has the kind of costume that, just by looking at it, you know was professionally made. The same applies to the mask he dons when discarding his civilian identity. Further, he is always equipped with his signature armaments, a pair of nightsticks at his back, and four karambit knives sheathed at his belt. Having gotten his costume custom-tailored by a series of professionals, virtually all of the cloth is slash-proof, with his jacket/overcoat having bulletproof soft armor layered within the cloth as well. Furthermore, beneath his clothes on his forearms and shins are grade 38 rolled titanium bracers.

Costume

♦ History:

[+]

There was discipline, there were tutors and classes and friends. His parents cared for him, their love clear and strong and true. Easily it could be said that Darius' childhood was a good one. It was his early adolescence that was the problem, for suddenly those he cared for the most in the world were taken from him by men and women armed and armored, costumed and not. It happened in the dead of night, but the noise woke him. Little kept him from watching the solemn, terrible affair that was the disappearance of Mariah and Jermaine Gelham. Strange sentences taken out of context, men and women with powers, menacing his parents, their mere presence threatening. Yet he knew not to intercede, for his parents had seen him, and the look in their eyes told him what he needed to know. The staff guided him away from the scene soon after, hiding him away as if afraid that the strangers would take him too.

It was a night that would leave him confused and alone for a long time, yet it did not break him. Still, though fairly mature for his age, it did leave an impact. With the departure of his parents, their company began a slow decline. It was as if another part of them, something they’d left behind for him to remember them by, was slowly dying before his very eyes. This and his memories of those capes–people he’d come to think of as heroes...possible members of the Protectorate itself–became the object of a slow-burning resentment. Yet, though this hatred grew and a hole had been left in his heart, he kept moving through his life even if he had to harden his heart against the world to do so. With great fervor, he devoured knowledge and practiced the skills he'd need to one day inherit the legacy of his parents. Yes...their legacy, people were always saying that, implying that they were dead.

He never believed them. Despite his guarded nature, despite the years of loneliness and pain, some part of him always held out hope. Some part of him knew they were still out there somewhere. Perhaps one day they might come back, or maybe he would find them himself instead. The years dragged on and as he finished his schooling and began to navigate the workings of the company he was to inherit, he turned eighteen. It was then that things began to intensify. Where before he was subtly guided, now he was openly corralled, told what to do and how to conduct himself. He hated it, but for the memory his parents' dream he endured. With the slowness of time, he came to enjoy certain aspects of this learning, and eventually, they came to suit him in their way. He began to feel that he was ready and he began to make suggestions, and even corrections, to his mentors, showing his expertise.

So it was that when he turned twenty he was given his first official project within the company, his first team. It would be the test that decided whether he was ready to take on the greater mantle of leadership. It brought a certain satisfaction, but like all things, it could not last forever.

---

Trigger

They'd been grooming you for half a decade or more, trying to prepare you for taking the reins of their company. It was hard work, but you thought you had the hang of things. So finally, after years of trying to prove yourself–at the detriment to other parts of your life–they put you in charge of a project. It was meant to be something small-time, but as things progressed something changed, a development in tech, a leap forwards, or maybe it was contracts the company had lost in recent years. The pressure rackets up by spades, you're team lead, your mentors watching–investors breathing down your neck. The units of your team are cracking under the stress, you take on extra work to make-up for them. You assure your superiors that you've got things handled, you even believe it. Things seem to be holding up, but the extra work, juggling the desires of the investors, the needs of the team, and the expectations of your mentors is getting to you. The company loses a major deal, if stakes were high before, it’s worse now. Your team starts to break under the stress. Friendships fracture, you manage to stifle arguments, take on extra work, do whatever you can to make sure the project succeeds. You have to, but despite all your efforts, everything falls apart at the presentation. The pressure gets to you, anger wells as a screaming match ensues, with everyone in your department–the people you slaved to help–turn the blame onto you. You trigger as the self-deception shatters and a deep resentment turns to hostile hatred and horrible anguish. Everything you built, all the work you put in, crumbling around you. Your very future almost certainly in tatters.

---

Recovery. A long fostered resentment built now to a fever pitch. The unfairness of the world and those who held fast the way of things. The authorities. The establishment. It was these things he blamed for his circumstances, but despite them, he knew that some of that fault lay within. So he took to bettering himself in any way he could. Dispensing with formalities he took to business with new vigor, working his way up the ranks till even those he had disappointed could not help but recognize his efforts. It was a long journey, but finally, he took the mantle of leadership and properly gained access to the company, leading it from the top down. Things were a mess. It took him several years to bring it back from where it had fallen, to prop it up. It took a significant measure of his inheritance. It required manipulation and charm and a keen mind, socially, politically, and otherwise.

It was a fine balancing act, but it was not perfect. This fact gnawed at his patience and drove a wedge between him and society, if only in his inner thoughts. The resentment grew and after years of working to stabilize the company and numerous attempts to revitalize it, he began to devise another plan. No longer satisfied merely with making a small profit, running a middling corporation, just getting by, Darius shifted his priorities. With the family business no longer in dire need of all his attention, he worked on himself. He packed on muscle, trained every day, and navigated more niche social groups, gaining influence and contacts that he could use in ways beyond just bolstering his business. Slowly an idea crystallized, even as he explored his power which did much the same.

He would cut at the source of all his problems and woes. He would burn down the very system that hurt so many, that he had seen firsthand to cause unreasonable pain and unnecessary suffering. The police, the PRT, the Protectorate? He'd burn them all down and build something better in their place.

With a goal set firmly in mind, Darius began to reach out to some of his contacts, always through many layers of obfuscation, hiding his identity. He acquired weapons and armor, a costume and a mask. All he was missing were subordinates. In this time he has purchased–through intermediaries untraceable back to him–a certain warehouse in a seedier, largely abandoned part of Redline. With these assets attained, it is time that he reveals himself and a thing of greater Consequence to Redline. Perhaps one day the greater world will know its name as well.

Perhaps they will not have a choice in the matter.

_{[ ♦ ] Personality}

---

♦ General: Stoic, seemingly aloof, Darius can often appear quiet and contemplative, yet it is clear just from one look that he is the furthest thing from shy. There is a steadiness to him, and when he takes a stand it seems that he might weather any storm, no matter how fierce. Beneath all this is an undertone of calculating anger, a constant simmering resentment, a silent rage. Though, despite this, he is not easily provoked to acts he might not otherwise take, perpetrated due to irrational desire. Possessed of a startling intellect, Darius moves through the world both socially and societally with a certain domineering presence. While others might dance, and others still stumble and flail, Darius simply arrives, confident and superior in his bearing. Still, he is not at all without his faults as though not easily riled, Darius’ temper is a dangerous thing and if brought to a pique he is likely to resort to violence of some sort--verbal or otherwise. Further, he has a stern, unflinching, hatred for the establishment, something he has fostered for over a decade now. Though understandable, it is hardly truly justified and it shows that despite evidence nothing in the world has successfully convinced him of the good that government--and particularly the Protectorate--brings to the world.

Yet, despite his serious demeanor, and his severe facade, Darius does have a lighter side to him. If you’re valuable--personally or practically--he can even show something like fondness and care, revealing that perhaps beneath the thick veneer of practiced apathy there might dwell a thing one would call a heart. For those who make it into his good graces, there is even fierce loyalty, a devotion so strong that one might think it almost unhealthy. Socially, though he is capable of maneuvering well through society, Darius instead tends to come off as cold, uncaring, abrasive, and often utterly brutal in his criticism.

Though he puts up a strong front--one that he even believes--the man is, in his way, rather lonely. He’s surrounded by people who serve functions, and none of those roles include “friend and confidante.” Further, he has difficulty properly opening up to people, let alone feeling vulnerable around them in any capacity. Often he will default to anger or apathy when pressed, rather than choosing to appear vulnerable and--in his opinion--weak. As a direct extension of this, Darius has some difficulty properly empathizing with people and often finds himself held apart. Though in some ways this suits him, in others it is a constant psychological pain he must muscle through. It should not however be said that he is incapable of these things, nor that he cannot sway people to his side through sheer force of personality.

♦ Derangement:

_{[ ♦ ]
Parahumanism}

---

♦ Skills & Resources:

Business Acumen - Having to run his parents’ business, as well as navigating high-class social circles has lead to Darius knowing his way around the corporate and affluent world. He knows how to conduct himself well in these settings.

Close-Quarters-Combat - Darius is trained in both Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) and Krav Maga. He is exceptional in both and has mixed them together over time as he’s grown more used to fighting. Darius was trained privately, and personally at significant expense. This combined with his physique makes him effectively a legal weapon...or he would be if the Law knew he was a trained martial artist. This has included some weapons training as well, both improvisational and more traditional.

Guncraft - He’s no crack shot, but he’s spent time learning how to take care of firearms, how to shoot different types safely, as well as what to look out for. He does not prefer them, nor does he carry one as Refracture, but it is a skill worth having all the same.

First Aid - He’s taken a few classes on this, learning the basics of stabilizing a person, giving CPR, dressing a wound, and setting a bone. You wouldn’t want him over a professional, but at least he has a license and the know-how to help if he feels so inclined.

---

---

Company & Inheritance - Inherited from his parents after their disappearance, Darius is the CEO and major shareholder/owner of a tech and financial corporation. It fell on hard times due to bad luck and tough competition, but through hard work and the actions of his parents, rose to some prominence again. However, with their “departure” from the company and Darius’ ensuing mistakes, it has been in a slow decline. Much of his inheritance has gone into investing smartly and branching out with his company in the interest of revitalizing it.

Social Web - Due to his parent’s and company’s connections, Darius has significant influence, or at least contact, with a number of rich and influential people. While not so far-reaching as to have sway with major politicians, he does have some more local elements on his side, as well as a wide variety of other less publicly appealing contacts.

Mansion - Though not absolute sprawling, Darius owns a decently large estate, which was handed down to him through two generations. It has long since been paid off and so he only pays for utilities and amenities, as well as the staff that helps him keep the place running smoothly.

Armory - Somewhere in his house, well hidden, is a room, a room stocked to brimming with weapons–martial and modern. A small few of these weapons are owned legally, whereas a great many others were obtained through indirect, likely illegal means. None of them could be traced back to him, nor could they be traced all back to the same buyer or original owner.

Personal Wealth - As the owner and CEO of his family’s company, Darius has a salary of roughly $157k, fairly middling for a business of its size and scope. While he does have some additional funds leftover from his Inheritance, it is really only accessible under certain conditions, mainly for assisting in the maintenance of the business or in case of emergency regarding his health or wellbeing. In his savings account, he has roughly $528,000 as well about $200,000 or so in invested assets, be it in his company or other stock and the like.

♦ Classification: Shaker|Breaker(Brute).
♦ Mechanics: Darius’ power allows him to draw forth a purple crystalline substance interspersed with jagged veins of pulsating golden energy; he can saturate his body or inanimate matter with the substance so long as contact is established. The substance is much like high-density hydroxyapatite in durability. When imbued, the affected gains durability proportional to the quantity of the substance saturated into a given area or volume. The greater the percentage of saturation in a volume, the more durable it becomes according to the substance’s material properties. Notably, any force exerted by the affected–or things such as falling from great heights–have no impact on the affected structural integrity. When gaining or imparting this substance into something, Darius may decide on its distribution, effectively allowing to control the structure of the affected to a limited degree.

The durability imparted by Darius’ power is, however, a double-edged sword, for if sufficient force acts upon an instance of it and overwhelms its structural integrity, the entire substance will shatter. The resulting effect of this is that the affected material will be damaged as if blades or shrapnel cut through and throughout it, causing incredible damage. Despite this, Darius may use his power again to “replace” damaged flesh in particular, allowing him to remain functional even if technically fatally injured. However, injuries persist “beneath” the effect of his power–though they do heal at an accelerated rate. Due to the material being unaffected by force it exerts, Darius–while fully empowered–is capable of lifting roughly 1240 lbs or exerting similar force. The aforementioned increase in his physical aptitude is a direct result of his body being able to exert the maximum strength of its muscles without the worry of personal harm.

The golden energy held within the “veins” of the crystalline material can be released, resulting in a brief blast of heat and force, which then crystallizes, encasing anything in its path. This crystal is golden rather than purple and is more brittle even than glass, shattering easily under stress. Shards eventually dissipate into nothing, but the process does not occur for about 20 seconds. These blasts, and the crystal resulting from them, will not exceed 212 degrees Fahrenheit, 2,749 lbs of force–roughly equivalent to the strongest human kick–and can only reach a maximum of 1 meter long or wide.

While saturated with his power, Darius’ body can heal any injury or condition that his body would normally be able to treat in a manner of hours. In light of more serious injuries, especially those that would otherwise be fatal–with the exception of destruction of the brain–Darius can recover within the space of several days. Shallow cuts and bruising can be healed in the space of minutes. While under the influence of his power, Darius does not experience pain or even normal sensation, though he does maintain an awareness of how close his power is to its damage threshold, and is capable of detecting pressure, even if it is below his mundane sensory threshold.

The material affords Darius resistance against extremes in heat and cold, but not outright immunity. Heats beyond 315F, especially if sustained, will begin to reach the durability threshold of his power–though the density is of course a factor. He is more resistant to cold than he is to heat, but it is nonetheless simply a matter of time. Darius’ crystal has a low conductivity, rendering tasers essentially a non-threat akin to being shocked by “severe” static electricity. Though typically resilient, acid is very effective against his material, as is vibration and violent abrasion. Sharp impact–more force over a smaller surface area–such as piercing or slashing attacks are more effective than blunt force.

• Functionally, when fully saturated with his power, Darius is more or less in a breaker-state. In this “state” Darius technically weighs roughly 711lbs. He can increase his density/mass beyond this point, but it slows him down the more he does so. Given his increase in mass/weight, Darius can hit about 3.11x as hard while in his pseudo-breaker state (1138 psi in a punch. 8549 psi in a kick).
• Darius can saturate himself or inanimate matter with his power at a rate of about 3.65 cubic feet per second, which is roughly equivalent to his body volume.
• Notably, acids of similar strength to Hydrochloric or Nitric acid are particularly effective against the material of his breaker state.

♦ Equipment/Belongings:

Personal Cellphone: Self explanatory.

Burner Phones: Self explanatory.

Warehouse: Owned through a number of shell corporations, not one of them leading directly back to him, Darius is in possession of a rather large warehouse in a largely forgotten part of Redline, it appears rundown from the outside, and on entering it is not in amazing condition. There are even what appear to be some homeless–or other stragglers–who occasionally squat in the structure.

Bluetooth Earpiece: Connects wirelessly to a burner phone. It allows him to give voice commands as well as serving as a “comms” device.

Karambit: In costume, Darius carries four of these deadly foldable knives. They can lock into the open position, and be flicked with force to extend or retract the blade when needed.

Nightstick Pair: Each is roughly 3.5 feet long, with most of the length being the business end of the weapon. They are particularly heavy as the length of the weapons are mostly metal. However, they are also well balanced for ease of use. Notably, these are custom-made such that they are heavier than normal to maximize the enhanced strength his power gives him.

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story

_{Caiden McKay
^Crosspoint}

_{Date/Time: November 11th, 2022; 5:45 PM → 6:05 PM
Location(s): Redline, near HQ → Redline, PRT Headquarters.}

---

Reference

---

---

Laying in his room on his back, three swords spun lazily through the air several feet above him. With unfocused eyes and a habitual half-grin, he watched them as power, like beads on an abacus, was distributed behind his eyes.

A gentle knock on his door caused the turning blades to pause for barely an instant. Caiden didn’t respond, yet the door tried to open, only to catch on another set of blades that had manifested a moment before. “It’s locked,” he called out without energy, hearing a huff from beyond the sealed gateway. He chuckled. “Oh hold on, I’m coming,” he said, dismissing the three blades overhead with a flick of his wrist as he pushed into a seated position. Fixing his hair, the young man glanced across the room at the closet door and the mirror on it. Turning from it he looked at the door and then gestured–all while knowing full well that his mom knew he didn’t have a lock. He wasn’t allowed to actually, not anymore. Granted, that didn’t really stop him from barring her entrance anymore, something she tolerated only because she had no choice.

Pushing the door open, his mother gave him a look that might flay someone else alive, before she managed to collect herself with a few practiced breaths. She always had been into that kind of thing, eastern mambo jumbo or whatever.

Giving his mother a small wave before she could begin, Caiden used the motion to check his wristwatch, noting the time, before he pushed to his feet in a swift motion and took her into a hug. Caught entirely off guard by the display of apparent affection, she was entirely unprepared when he easily spun her around 180 degrees so his back was to the door, and hers to the far wall. He pulled away, gave her a peck on the cheek, snatched his backpack from beside the door, and then in a single motion was out the door of his room.

By the time he was three-fourths of the way down the stairs, she’d fully recovered and was stalking after him. He knew those heavy footfalls, now she had her hackles up. Claws out, she started to speak. “Now, wait just a min–”

“Love you mom!” He interrupted, flashing her a brilliant smile, before he whisked his way out the door, coat falling into place. “See you at dinner!~”

Then he was running, the action taking the breath that he otherwise would have used to laugh. Sure, there’d be hell to pay later when he got home, but his mother’s temper had always been a fickle thing, cooling faster than she’d like. Besides, this way he’d gotten what he wanted: He was late to the Wards meeting.

Rolling his eyes as he turned the corner, just barely hearing the muffled sound of his home’s front door crunching open against the snow, Caiden slowed down. Chuckling to himself, not even winded from the short run, he began making his way towards the PRT headquarters. After all, he was interested in the program, he just resented the fact that he’d been forced to participate.

Now the only problem was the fact that he didn’t exactly have a car to arrive all the faster, granted it wasn’t as if being extra late was much worse than being a little late. “Pfft,” he laughed slightly, shaking his head as he broke into a slow jog, he lived close to the building anyway. It had been convenient, and as a natural consequence, the surrounding neighborhoods were exceptionally safe. Frequent patrols made for a low crime rate it seemed. Go figure. So it was that after about fifteen minutes of his pace he found himself a few blocks from the building.

Slowing down, Caiden removed his gloves and shoved them–and his hands–in his pockets. With a roll of his eyes he mouthed the passphrase he’d been told to use to verify himself at the front desk. After he was satisfied with the accuracy of his performance and recollection, he picked up his pace slightly, though not so much that he might be perceived as particularly eager to get somewhere.

Still, in spite of his efforts there was a purposeful–if relaxed–manner to him as he moved. Passing through the threshold without issue, Caiden gave the receptionist a half-wave in greeting, his grin reaching his eyes as she addressed him.

“How can I help you, young man?” The woman said, giving him a brief once over, her posture shifting subtly as she did. He couldn’t quite tell if she was more relaxed or less so. It didn’t really matter, but it would be nice to know. Leaning forward and bringing his left arm up to rest against the high front desk, Caiden glanced once to the side and then back to her, with a conspiratorial look about him. “Would you believe me if I said that you’d caught my eye through the window and I just had to come in?”

Caiden’s gaze didn’t even dart down as he caught the memory of her name tag in his mind’s eye. She pursed her lips and a stern politeness pulled at the edges of her eyes slightly upwards. One corner of her lips twitched downwards, but she smiled performatively instead. “While that’s very flattering–” she lied, “–I’m afraid I can’t help you unless you have some business with the PRT…Mr…” She trailed off with an implied question and Caiden could tell that she was used to dealing with flirtation and unwanted attention.

“Caiden Mckay,” he offered with a winning smile, straightening slightly, giving her more space, as if he were backing off. Still, looking not the least bit put off or chastised, he pressed on. “My apologies, I should have led with my name Ms. Rodriguez,” her shoulders relaxed slightly, “...and please excuse my forwardness, I only meant that you looked like you could use a pick me up. Morning shifts are always so tiring, no matter the job.” Her hands shifted, head tilting slightly and an almost unreadable look flickered across her face. A series of barely noticeable microexpressions.

Caiden rose back to his full height, removing his arm from the desk in the process and returning it to his pocket. At the same time, his right hand emerged. He placed his palm flat against the desk. Caiden noticed her eyes dart down, then meet his again. There was curiosity there, and perhaps a seed of interest. Still, that could just as easily become annoyance instead. He laughed slightly, it just felt right even though he wasn’t quite sure why he’d done it. Sliding his hand away, he revealed a piece of card paper, roughly the size of a business card. Facedown as it was, it would be impossible to tell if there was anything written on it. “Of course, I’d hate to waste your time, so I do have some business with your organization.”

Ms. Rodriguez gave him another appraising look before she reached out, her lips twitching upwards slightly from the pleasant–if largely unreadable mask she’d affected. Her fingers, splayed, gained purchase on the small card, then Caiden’s hand–reflex-fast, was on the paper too, two fingers pressing it down so she couldn’t take it fully.

“Naturally, I do expect the utmost discretion in these matters, if you please, miss.”

There it was, a flash of suspicion, intrigue, then as he quirked one side of his lips upwards he saw her smile finally touch her eyes. Could that be…amusement?

“Naturally,” she drawled out, the faintest of accents slipping into her voice as she relaxed fully. Nodding, he withdrew his fingers, letting his hand come to rest once more palm down on the desk in a relaxed position.

“Besides, it’s only best that such matters be handled by the most cut-throat, high influence observers in the field.”

Finally, she flashed him a small, if genuine, smile as she flipped the card and read the other half of his passphrase. Eying him once more she typed in a code on her phone, before lifting the phone for two seconds, and then hanging up.

“Of course Mr. McKay. We wouldn’t want this sort of thing getting out, now would we” It wasn’t really a question, but as an official-looking man in uniform approached, he answered anyways.

“Certainly not, Ms. Rodriguez.”

She gave him a smile and for an instant he saw her catch herself as he gave her a slight wink and followed the gentlemen towards the elevator. In a tone that registered to Caiden as forced-casual, she replied. “Be careful in the field Mr. McKay.”

He didn’t miss a beat though, quipping back in an instant, “...careful of the hounds at your heals, Miss. Do give me a call if you ever need someone to handle them. I’m great with animals.” He waited a three count and then glanced back her way with a smile.

She was looking, but caught herself, gave him a courteous–too-polite–smile, before quickly turning away. ‘Filthy cougar’ he thought to himself, affectionately as the elevator doors closed behind them.

A few moments of silence passed in the elevator as they descended. Caiden took no mind of the floors, not particularly caring how deep they were going into the complex. However, the officer didn’t seem satisfied with just silence, as Caiden noticed the man eyeing him with an almost hostile glare. As they exited the elevator on the prison floor–Caiden glancing around idly–the man decided to break what had, for him, likely been a tense moment. “You better not be giving Camile any trouble, boy,” the officer said in his gravely voice.

Caiden found the surprisingly honest hostility in the threat rather refreshing, but he didn’t respond, only giving the man a lazy smile. The man bristled slightly, narrowing his eyes before turning his gaze to the oncoming wall, where they stopped. Tilting his head curiously, Caiden watched as a scanner went over the officer’s eye. A moment later the wall folded away to reveal a second elevator. He had to admit that was pretty cool, still he didn’t show much of a reaction, merely stepping into the chamber before turning back to the officer before the doors closed.

“Don’t give me a reason to, sir,” he replied. The officer’s eyes widened fractionally before an expression bordering on a sneer began to form. The man almost stepped into the elevator before the doors shut, but a large 3-foot-long blade flashed into being from a shimmering haze of prismatic light, stopping his advance. While it was harmless–its flat facing the man–it still served well enough, before vanishing the moment the elevator was closed.

Caiden chuckled to himself lightly and turned again, facing the elevator’s other door. People were so fun, hopefully, his team would be at least half as amusing as the receptionist and her would-be man.

When the door opened to reveal what were presumably all the other Wards–and the Director, naturally–already present and accounted for, Caiden just cleared his throat slightly and gave a wave as he entered the control room fully.

“Nice digs, Team, Director. Sorry I’m late, had some trouble with the family.” Sitting down directly across from Mr. Fukuda, Caiden noted the headphones everyone was wearing and gestured. “Mind sliding me a pair, boss,” he said, the word ‘boss’ somehow coming off as mocking despite the fact that he’d hardly put any emphasis or particular inflection on it. When the Director complied–as he surely would–Caiden would put the devices in his ears with practiced ease, the motions as relaxed and fluid as the rest of his mannerisms. Shrugging off his poofy coat in the warmth of the room, Caiden revealed the colorfully stylish hoodie beneath, which served to further accent his white hair and blue eyes.

“I’m Caiden McKay by the by,” he said in introduction once he was situated, his every word coming easily. It was clear immediately that he was someone used to talking, but not someone who talked too much. Similarly, there was a general air of ease about him, as if he could be utterly relaxed in any situation or in any group of people, like it was all the same to him. He smiled slightly, the expression lighting up his eyes with a subtle playfulness as he regarded his fellow Wards.

“I’ll be Crosspoint, in costume, but Caiden is fine otherwise. I hope we can get along.”

He left it at that, not even seeming to mind the not-inconsiderable amount of confetti that now occupied the room or the girl with the hodgepodge mechanical arm. Instead, he remained quiet and relaxed, just soaking up the atmosphere; reading the room.

Just on looks alone, it seemed the Wards might just turn out to be an interesting lot after all.

Perfect~

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story

Crosspoint

"Hey man, no worries. After all, I'm sure you'll make it up to me."

Hider

_{[ ♦ ] Bio}

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♦ Name: Caiden Mckay.
♦ Age: 17.
♦ Loyalty: Wards.
♦ Appearance: Standing at 6 feet exactly, Caiden is roughly 200 or so lbs, possessing a slim build with a small amount of natural muscle definition. He’s got an easy confidence about him that simply must have come from years of not having almost any reason to think less of himself. Beyond that, his blue eyes and white hair–obviously dyed–make him a rather striking figure, or at least he thinks so.

[+]

Casual

Costume

♦ History:

[+]

Born in New Haven, Connecticut, Caiden’s upbringing was filled with the subtle struggles of the not-so-well off. Fortunately though, both his parents were around during Caiden’s upbringing. Still, that didn’t mean that things weren’t rough, and though it was perhaps the least of their problems, Caiden was never happy with how much his dad was gone. Nonetheless, life was fairly routine until he reached the age of 13. Around that time Caiden’s father left, things between his parents having grown increasingly strained over the past couple of years. From there it was a slow road downhill as his mom picked up two jobs to make ends meet and he was forced to grow up fast to help take care of his younger sister, Kaelyn. Between her and school, Caiden had little time to hang out with friends or express himself. He took to using fashion–paying for clothes by doing odd jobs whenever he had free time. By the time he was about to enter high school, he’d amassed a considerable collection of clothes. Though things weren’t perfect and there was a quiet ember of anger in him, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better as Kaelyn was now old enough to largely take care of herself. However, as he entered high school, things would certainly take a turn that no one could have predicted.

Around his Sophmore year of high school, Caiden was in a bad place. Though he was popular at school he found himself more attracted to a particularly bad crowd of kids. Hanging out with some of them he became acquainted with some older students, be they seniors in high school or sophomores in college. As summer rolled around and he’d found himself spending a worrying amount of time with these people, his mother started to notice the changes in his behavior. Sneaking out, coming back smelling like cigarettes and once, weed–not to mention the terrible terrible argument. Confronting him, Caiden’s mom was on her last nerve. The next week it seemed Caiden had turned over a new leaf, however, having gotten a job to occupy his time over the summer. Little did she know that he’d gotten his job through the new ‘friends’ he’d made. Initially, it seemed like a decent way to pass the time, Caiden found, as it let him stay away from his difficult home situation and the constant reminders of his father’s absence. Then the hours got longer and the weight of dealing with shitty customers started to push him down. However, as his situation started to show, his coworkers noticed his weakness and capitalized on it. The true gauntlet began. Every day was a new exercise in torment. He’d be forced to work in the kitchen with the friers and often he’d get bumped or pushed far too close for comfort, often getting little burns here and there. Still, he grinned and bore it even as the pressure mounted. Then his coworkers, the bastards, started calling in or forcing him to take their shifts. He’d get called during time with those few friends who would still tolerate him, the ones who weren’t caught up in the shitty crowd he’d foolishly involved himself with.

Family outings interrupted, plans canceled, it was quickly becoming too much. Yet, while Caiden certainly wanted out, he wanted to get back at them so much more. After all, while the job was hard, the money was nice and it was a welcome distraction. Days passed him by and eventually on one of his particularly long shifts, on his 8th day in a row, one of the bastards took it too far and almost had him end up burning his whole arm. Absolutely furious, Caiden snapped, pushing the big idiot onto the ground with a bit more strength than he’d intended. With the hoodlum on the ground, looking like a stunned deer in the headlights. Cussing out the lot of them and throwing around insults that he’d never thought he was brave enough to say aloud, Caiden eventually–totally fed up with the situation–left. He felt their stares on his back even after he’d left. In the day that followed, one of oh so few days off he had that week–not that he intended to return–he got back-to-back calls from his manager. He didn’t answer. It was only as he checked his email and opened a message from that same boss that he realized how fucked he was.

“You better be in tomorrow, or all that shit you did is getting out, you little punk.”

In that moment he realized that he’d have to face them again. There was just no avoiding it, he couldn’t risk his mom finding out about the bullshit they’d made him do. Just as angry that he’d been so stupid as he was that they wouldn’t just let him off the hook, Caiden realized that things had well and truly spiraled far out of control. So, not knowing what to do, but understanding that the consequences of going back would be just as bad, he triggered.

Doing what was–fortunately–only a small amount of damage to his room, Caiden adjusted to his new powers surprisingly quickly. After all, he’d gotten used to changes in his situation, and honestly…having powers meant that he suddenly had a solution to his problem. What followed were a series of poorly conceived plans and decisions that would inevitably lead to a rather public case, followed by the PRT contacting his mother. After being given an ultimatum to figure his shit out and become a member of this new “Wards Program” or be grounded effectively forever Caiden relented. The months that followed were hard, but with funding and his mom’s savings they managed to move to Redline, Maine where the new program would be starting. From there, things started getting better as, despite the things he’d done, Caiden had learned some valuable lessons from his experiences and so had grown–if not in all the right ways.

_{[ ♦ ] Personality}

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♦ General: Caiden has a certain magnetism to him, the kind that rather easily lands him in the more ‘popular’ crowds among his peers. He’s good with people and seems to thrive in social situations, at least so long as he isn’t overtly challenged. After all, beneath his generally relaxed attitude and friendly demeanor there is a simmering repressed anger, and a desire to be needed, to belong. This can express itself in subtle barbs that he might pepper into an otherwise innocuous conversation, or perhaps as a more insidious manipulation of public opinion over an extended period. Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even notice a hint of arrogance about him, something he tries to keep under wraps…at least out of costume. Beyond that, Caiden is possessed of a fierce competitive spirit that belies his typically ‘chill’ mannerisms. Though he is intelligent and even internally critical of the world around him, Caiden is the sort that tends not to use his observations unless pushed to–though this is not to say that he can’t be unduly harsh at times. All-in-all, despite his faults, Caiden is a relatively pleasant person to be around…at least if social harmony is maintained.

♦ Derangement: Simply put, Caiden’s shard played off of his repressed anger to encourage a sort of enjoyment for violence in the young man, as well as dialing up his need to feel in control of situations and to a lesser degree, people.

_{[ ♦ ]
Parahumanism}

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♦ Skills:

Street Smarts - Having hung out with a rather…questionable crowd when he lived in New Haven, Caiden learned some unexpected pieces of knowledge about surviving on the streets. While the rules are often different in different cities, some things are universal. On top of this, he’s got a bit of street fighting experience when he was forced to rough house with some of the older ruffians. Simply put, he knows how to hold up an effective guard, and he can throw a mean punch. Though he’s managed to stay out of similar crowds since they moved–if only because he’s low-key terrified of ending up in a similar situation as his last encounter–Caiden has gotten to know the city well in the months he’s lived in Redline. As such, he’s got a good understanding of its layout, where the dead ends are, and how best to lose someone therein. Perhaps this will help him uncover the criminal elements in the city in his newfound role as a Ward.

Smooth Talker - Used to having to explain his way out of trouble due to his background, and furthermore possessed of a not insignificant charisma, Caiden is exceptionally good at talking his way out of or into a wide variety of situations. Similarly, he can lie without batting an eye and is rather good at not being caught in the lies he does tell.

Fashion Sense - As this is the primary way through which Caiden has expressed himself throughout his adolescence, Caiden could be considered rather fashionable. Furthermore, having been in a wide array of social situations, he’s got an eye for what sort of impression people want to leave based on what they’re wearing. While this doesn’t make him any sort of master detective, it does mean that people’s clothing tends to tell him a lot more about them than it might someone without his background. Beyond this it gives him another avenue to cultivate an image or particular impression when interacting with different people.

Endurance & Athleticism - Simply put, Caiden has a lot of energy and he’s in pretty decent shape. As such he can last for longer than average during physical activities and he finds most social engagements energizing, rather than tiring. Just don’t expect to outlast him if it’s a matter of human perseverance.

♦ Classification: Blaster|Shaker.
♦ Mechanics: Crosspoint’s power allows him to conjure blade-like projectiles from prismatic energy within a five (5) foot radius of his person. These blades take a fourth of a second to manifest and upon materializing fully, the prismatic energy becomes bound to them. These blades are treated mostly as if they are mundane objects, meaning that they do not demanifest after striking something else. Notably, the young man can hold up to ten (10) of these blades within his manifestation radius with each blade being roughly equivalent to wood in durability. Additionally, Crosspoint is capable of telekinetically maneuvering his blades at roughly twenty (20) mph while they remain within his manifestation radius. While the blades remain under his control in this field, Crosspoint may alter their post-launch attributes, allowing him to adjust their durability, velocity, and launch type with each of these traits drawing from the same ‘pool’ of power. Furthermore, it should be noted that Crosspoint is capable of creating ‘composite projectiles’ by melding two (2) to four (4) of his blades into one, giving the resulting blade a greater allocation of potential that may be divvied between its three properties. These composite blades will always be visually distinct, as the prismatic energy surrounding them becomes more pronounced due to a consistent ‘pulsing’ pattern that is observed to occur. Lastly, testing has revealed that despite composite blades technically reducing the total count of active projectiles, that until used, they will still take up the same amount of his total capacity as if they remained separate (i.e. if Crosspoint has ten (10) blades active, and merges three (3), he will not be able to manifest an additional two (2) blades until he has launched some of those that are already active).

PRT Testing Document Version 8 ‘Property Allotment’

Blade Details

Length: 3 feet.
Blade Width: 3 inches.
Guard Width: 9 inches.

Crosspoint’s explanation for how the allotment of power to a given trait functions was, essentially, to compare his pool of power to a set number of ‘stat points’ with each property of his blades being an individual stat. The following information was compiled after extensive testing on Crosspoint’s power after the allotment of varying ‘stat spreads’ to different blades.

Durability

This property, as expected, dictates how much punishment a given blade can handle before shattering, be it pressure, tearing, or cutting force.

1st Tier (Brittle) - At this tier, the blades are much like glass in durability and will break relatively easily even from forces a normal human could output.

2nd Tier (Hardwood) - About as durable as particularly dense wood, these blades can be destroyed with significant effort, making them remain somewhat formidable if only due to their density.

3rd Tier (Stone) - Roughly equivalent to concrete or granite in durability, these blades can be cracked or shattered by similar forces as these materials.

4th Tier (Steel) - Roughly as durable as processed steel.

5th Tier (Titanium) - Roughly as durable as processed titanium.

Velocity

This property, simply put, dictates the speed at which Crosspoint’s projectiles will travel prior to being ‘launched’.

1st Tier (Slow) - Moving at an almost glacial pace, blades at this tier will barely even appear to be a threat as they fly forth at a measly 10 or so mph, barely faster than the fastest human olympian.

2nd Tier (Steady) - Crossing distance considerably faster than the first tier, blades at this speed tier will move at 40 mph.

3rd Tier (Pitch) - Equivalent to the fastest human throw, these blades can move at roughly 100 mph.

4th Tier (Split) - Finally far outstripping any human limit, these blades move at a startling 300 mph.

5th Tier (Blind) - Stunningly fast, blades given this tier of velocity can be propelled at a startling 1000 mph, somewhat slower than the speed of your average bullet (1700), though still 300 mph faster than the speed of sound. Notably, blades charged with this tier will glow more brightly than others and will flash once before firing.

Launch Type

The only non-standard property of Crosspoint’s blades, Launch Type dictates how released projectiles will behave.

1st Tier (Directional) - The most basic launch type, the first tier allows the blades to be fired in a single straight line decided prior to launch.

2nd Tier (Angular) - Building on the tier before it, the Angular launch type allows Crosspoint to have his projectiles turn once at a 90-degree angle. The time that they turn, and what direction they turn in are set prior to launch.

3rd Tier (Trajectory) - Breaking the mold, this launch type allows the blades to have complex preprogrammed trajectories, allowing them to curve multiple times. As before, the trajectory is decided prior to launch and cannot be changed afterward.

4th Tier (Tracking) - Further exceeding limits, this launch type allows Crosspoint to choose a target prior to launch and then have his blade(s) track its movement until they strike something.

5th Tier (Liminal) - Obliterating the previously established blueprint, but keeping to the trend, the liminal launch type gives Crosspoint a drastically increased amount of control of his projectiles. While still unable to manually control their movement after launch, the Liminal tier allows him to combine up to two launch types for a single projectile. In this way a blade could be fired with a Directional Launch Type, only to swap to Tracking at a point of Crosspoint’s choosing. Notably, Crosspoint can only swap the movement type once, though he does not have to choose when this switch happens prior to launch.

As a predictive measure used to approximate the properties of any given individual projectile, we have worked with Crosspoint to create a basic ‘stat pool’ which serves as a rough equivalent to the pool of power that he draws from. As such, it must be assumed that any individual–read: Not composite–projectile will have a maximum of eight (8) ‘points’ to divvy between its three aspects. Furthermore, when creating composite projectiles, some power is lost in the melding process, causing each joined projectile to allow an additional two (2) such ‘points’ to the pool.

Expanding upon the above, Crosspoint’s blade-like projectiles have two secondary abilities, both of which are directly tied to the prismatic energy that surrounds them. The first, and simpler of these, is that Crosspoint can detonate this prismatic energy at will, causing it to erupt outwards in a blast of kinetic force easily capable of sending loose material flying some distance, or–conversely–knocking a person or large object two (2) to four (4) feet in a given direction. Notably, these blasts are typically diffuse enough that they cannot cause significant damage to all but the weakest objects or substances. However, should someone be hit point-blank by such an eruption of force, it could cause low-end blunt force trauma in line with what is needed to cause minor bruises.

Significantly more noteworthy than the prior application of Crosspoint’s prismatic energy is the secondary manifestation of such. Rather than releasing the energy outright, Crosspoint’s power allows him to position multiple blades in the environment in the interest of creating arrays, the smallest of which require at least three (3) blades. After being positioned properly, Crosspoint may trigger this secondary manifestation, causing the prismatic energy to blanket the inner bounds denoted by the array. Upon activation, anything, or anyone caught within the bounds of an array is subjected to incredible pressure. This is the result of the prismatic energy exerting kinetic force therein. This effect becomes more pronounced–and dangerous–as additional blades are added to a given array, with a basic three (3) blade array drastically impeding the movement of a normal human or conversely causing surface-level damage to inanimate material (i.e causing cracks in stone or slowly warping metal). Though extensive testing on this effect was conducted, no upper limit of potency could be found and due to the significant risk involved, testing was aborted after [redacted] blades were utilized. However, though no limit to potency could be established, it became clear that the strength of a given array is inversely proportional to the length of time it will remain active. It has been estimated that while a basic three (3) blade arrangement may last almost indefinitely, larger arrangements are increasingly unstable. As such, though the results of the tests were somewhat inconsistent, it has been theorized that for each order of magnitude, an array’s duration is reduced by roughly a half.

♦ Equipment/Belongings:

Costume: Surprising Fashionista and her department with his choices, Caiden made sure that his costume was sufficiently impressive. The costume is much easier to maneuver in, often making it seem like he’s not wearing it, with the way the cloth somehow actively doesn’t get in his way. Further, it’s more akin to leather in durability than regular cloth, despite appearances, and it is startlingly light considering.

Smartphone: For personal use.

Non-canon Snip/Favorite power

The villain lunged at him, building up speed with every inch of the distance she traveled, her power clearly ramping up as black energy arced across her form. Reacting quickly, Crosspoint gestured, manifesting six silver blades at his right which he swiftly calibrated. Each would be as durable as steel, with half tracking his adversary, while the other half would follow set trajectories. He keyed the latter set to move more swiftly than the former and then without any hesitation released them. Snapping, a small grin forming on his lips, Crosspoint manifested four more blades even as the villain was forced to take a zigzagging path to evade the blade he’d sent her way.

Satisfied that he’d bought enough time, Caiden watched as three of his blades rose a few feet into the air, angled off suddenly, and then thrust themselves downwards and into the ground. As he kept track of his adversary’s movements, he noted that his other blades–finally–had all missed, instead striking other targets much as he’d expected she would manage. Noting as she turned on a dime and rushed at him, he gestured again, releasing two of the four projectiles he’d conjured. These weren’t terribly durable, nor were they as fast as he could manage. However, in exchange, he could toggle them between tracking and manual. Thus as the villainess dodged both of them, ducking under their movement, Caiden took direct control. Turning on a dime, the blades spun into motion and then stabbed downwards in an instant. The attack was unbelievably precise, piercing her clothes, without touching her flesh, before digging directly into the ground. At the same time, he hopped backward and sent one of his last two projectiles downwards into the ground.

“Checkmate,” he said with a smug air, and then the secondary effect of his power activated. The woman’s inhuman eyes widened as she surely felt an immense pressure suddenly come into being, pushing inwards on her body from all directions. Unwittingly, she’d walked right into his trap. Fortunately for her, the pressure was nowhere near-fatal, only rendering her immobile as she pressed her forearms and legs against the ground in an attempt not to be flattened to the ground. All around her, prismatic energy swirled and pulsed inwards, seeming to caress her form even as it battered her into submission.

“Man, that cannot be pleasant, but while I’ve got a captive audience, did you even have a plan?” Pausing, his grin unrelenting, his eyes glittering faintly with mischief as he stared through the gaps in his mask. “Like, attacking one of the Wards I can see. You get some street cred, some rep, if you will, but attacking their base of operations? That’s just idiotic. What if the local Guardians show up? What if the PRT soldiers respond first and you aren’t equipped for that? How do you deal with consistent reinforcements fighting on their home turf? Like, honestly woman, rub some brain cells together for once in your villainous life.” Shaking his head as she merely growled and grunted from the intense strain required to keep resisting the pressure of his power.

“Tsk.”

Turning away, Caiden waved as he crossed the street and poked his head into the PRT’s office. “Hey, can we get some restraints out here,” he called out in the interest of prompting the so-called adults into action. That said he took up a post to the right of the door leaning against a wall while he kept watch–a bored expression on his features. However, after a few brief moments, Caiden found himself growing bored and so pushed off of the wall and walked over to the edge of his bounded field. Crouching down he got close to eye level with the villainness he’d captured.

“You know, I’m curious, your own power can’t be your favorite. It’s just too…” he made a gesture with his hand, as if to imply that it wasn’t even worth explaining. The woman merely gritted her teeth and spat. He snapped his fingers in response, “Exactly! Wishy-washy. I mean, you villains have got to look up to someone right? Me, personally, I figured that a hero should only aspire towards the best of the best. That said, Guardian’s sort of my jam. I mean, what’s not to love about hyper-potent forcefields, you know?”

The Wards: A Grimdark Teenage Superhero Story

Crosspoint

"Hey man, no worries. After all, I'm sure you'll make it up to me."

Hider

_{[ ♦ ] Bio}

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♦ Name: Caiden Mckay.
♦ Age: 17.
♦ Loyalty: Wards.
♦ Appearance: Standing at 6 feet exactly, Caiden is roughly 200 or so lbs, possessing a slim build with a small amount of natural muscle definition. He’s got an easy confidence about him that simply must have come from years of not having almost any reason to think less of himself. Beyond that, his blue eyes and white hair–obviously dyed–make him a rather striking figure, or at least he thinks so.

[+]

Casual

Costume

♦ History:

[+]

Born in New Haven, Connecticut, Caiden’s upbringing was filled with the subtle struggles of the not-so-well off. Fortunately though, both his parents were around during Caiden’s upbringing. Still, that didn’t mean that things weren’t rough, and though it was perhaps the least of their problems, Caiden was never happy with how much his dad was gone. Nonetheless, life was fairly routine until he reached the age of 13. Around that time Caiden’s father left, things between his parents having grown increasingly strained over the past couple of years. From there it was a slow road downhill as his mom picked up two jobs to make ends meet and he was forced to grow up fast to help take care of his younger sister, Kaelyn. Between her and school, Caiden had little time to hang out with friends or express himself. He took to using fashion–paying for clothes by doing odd jobs whenever he had free time. By the time he was about to enter high school, he’d amassed a considerable collection of clothes. Though things weren’t perfect and there was a quiet ember of anger in him, things seemed to be taking a turn for the better as Kaelyn was now old enough to largely take care of herself. However, as he entered high school, things would certainly take a turn that no one could have predicted.

Around his Sophmore year of high school, Caiden was in a bad place. Though he was popular at school he found himself more attracted to a particularly bad crowd of kids. Hanging out with some of them he became acquainted with some older students, be they seniors in high school or sophomores in college. As summer rolled around and he’d found himself spending a worrying amount of time with these people, his mother started to notice the changes in his behavior. Sneaking out, coming back smelling like cigarettes and once, weed–not to mention the terrible terrible argument. Confronting him, Caiden’s mom was on her last nerve. The next week it seemed Caiden had turned over a new leaf, however, having gotten a job to occupy his time over the summer. Little did she know that he’d gotten his job through the new ‘friends’ he’d made. Initially, it seemed like a decent way to pass the time, Caiden found, as it let him stay away from his difficult home situation and the constant reminders of his father’s absence. Then the hours got longer and the weight of dealing with shitty customers started to push him down. However, as his situation started to show, his coworkers noticed his weakness and capitalized on it. The true gauntlet began. Every day was a new exercise in torment. He’d be forced to work in the kitchen with the friers and often he’d get bumped or pushed far too close for comfort, often getting little burns here and there. Still, he grinned and bore it even as the pressure mounted. Then his coworkers, the bastards, started calling in or forcing him to take their shifts. He’d get called during time with those few friends who would still tolerate him, the ones who weren’t caught up in the shitty crowd he’d foolishly involved himself with.

Family outings interrupted, plans canceled, it was quickly becoming too much. Yet, while Caiden certainly wanted out, he wanted to get back at them so much more. After all, while the job was hard, the money was nice and it was a welcome distraction. Days passed him by and eventually on one of his particularly long shifts, on his 8th day in a row, one of the bastards took it too far and almost had him end up burning his whole arm. Absolutely furious, Caiden snapped, pushing the big idiot onto the ground with a bit more strength than he’d intended. With the hoodlum on the ground, looking like a stunned deer in the headlights. Cussing out the lot of them and throwing around insults that he’d never thought he was brave enough to say aloud, Caiden eventually–totally fed up with the situation–left. He felt their stares on his back even after he’d left. In the day that followed, one of oh so few days off he had that week–not that he intended to return–he got back-to-back calls from his manager. He didn’t answer. It was only as he checked his email and opened a message from that same boss that he realized how fucked he was.

“You better be in tomorrow, or all that shit you did is getting out, you little punk.”

In that moment he realized that he’d have to face them again. There was just no avoiding it, he couldn’t risk his mom finding out about the bullshit they’d made him do. Just as angry that he’d been so stupid as he was that they wouldn’t just let him off the hook, Caiden realized that things had well and truly spiraled far out of control. So, not knowing what to do, but understanding that the consequences of going back would be just as bad, he triggered.

Doing what was–fortunately–only a small amount of damage to his room, Caiden adjusted to his new powers surprisingly quickly. After all, he’d gotten used to changes in his situation, and honestly…having powers meant that he suddenly had a solution to his problem. What followed were a series of poorly conceived plans and decisions that would inevitably lead to a rather public case, followed by the PRT contacting his mother. After being given an ultimatum to figure his shit out and become a member of this new “Wards Program” or be grounded effectively forever Caiden relented. The months that followed were hard, but with funding and his mom’s savings they managed to move to Redline, Maine where the new program would be starting. From there, things started getting better as, despite the things he’d done, Caiden had learned some valuable lessons from his experiences and so had grown–if not in all the right ways.

_{[ ♦ ] Personality}

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♦ General: Caiden has a certain magnetism to him, the kind that rather easily lands him in the more ‘popular’ crowds among his peers. He’s good with people and seems to thrive in social situations, at least so long as he isn’t overtly challenged. After all, beneath his generally relaxed attitude and friendly demeanor there is a simmering repressed anger, and a desire to be needed, to belong. This can express itself in subtle barbs that he might pepper into an otherwise innocuous conversation, or perhaps as a more insidious manipulation of public opinion over an extended period. Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even notice a hint of arrogance about him, something he tries to keep under wraps…at least out of costume. Beyond that, Caiden is possessed of a fierce competitive spirit that belies his typically ‘chill’ mannerisms. Though he is intelligent and even internally critical of the world around him, Caiden is the sort that tends not to use his observations unless pushed to–though this is not to say that he can’t be unduly harsh at times. All-in-all, despite his faults, Caiden is a relatively pleasant person to be around…at least if social harmony is maintained.

♦ Derangement: Simply put, Caiden’s shard played off of his repressed anger to encourage a sort of enjoyment for violence in the young man, as well as dialing up his need to feel in control of situations and to a lesser degree, people.

_{[ ♦ ]
Parahumanism}

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♦ Skills:

Street Smarts - Having hung out with a rather…questionable crowd when he lived in New Haven, Caiden learned some unexpected pieces of knowledge about surviving on the streets. While the rules are often different in different cities, some things are universal. On top of this, he’s got a bit of street fighting experience when he was forced to rough house with some of the older ruffians. Simply put, he knows how to hold up an effective guard, and he can throw a mean punch. Though he’s managed to stay out of similar crowds since they moved–if only because he’s low-key terrified of ending up in a similar situation as his last encounter–Caiden has gotten to know the city well in the months he’s lived in Redline. As such, he’s got a good understanding of its layout, where the dead ends are, and how best to lose someone therein. Perhaps this will help him uncover the criminal elements in the city in his newfound role as a Ward.

Smooth Talker - Used to having to explain his way out of trouble due to his background, and furthermore possessed of a not insignificant charisma, Caiden is exceptionally good at talking his way out of or into a wide variety of situations. Similarly, he can lie without batting an eye and is rather good at not being caught in the lies he does tell.

Fashion Sense - As this is the primary way through which Caiden has expressed himself throughout his adolescence, Caiden could be considered rather fashionable. Furthermore, having been in a wide array of social situations, he’s got an eye for what sort of impression people want to leave based on what they’re wearing. While this doesn’t make him any sort of master detective, it does mean that people’s clothing tends to tell him a lot more about them than it might someone without his background. Beyond this it gives him another avenue to cultivate an image or particular impression when interacting with different people.

Endurance & Athleticism - Simply put, Caiden has a lot of energy and he’s in pretty decent shape. As such he can last for longer than average during physical activities and he finds most social engagements energizing, rather than tiring. Just don’t expect to outlast him if it’s a matter of human perseverance.

♦ Classification: Blaster|Shaker.
♦ Mechanics: Crosspoint’s power allows him to conjure blade-like projectiles from prismatic energy within a five (5) foot radius of his person. These blades take a fourth of a second to manifest and upon materializing fully, the prismatic energy becomes bound to them. These blades are treated mostly as if they are mundane objects, meaning that they do not demanifest after striking something else. Notably, the young man can hold up to ten (10) of these blades within his manifestation radius with each blade being roughly equivalent to wood in durability. Additionally, Crosspoint is capable of telekinetically maneuvering his blades at roughly twenty (20) mph while they remain within his manifestation radius. While the blades remain under his control in this field, Crosspoint may alter their post-launch attributes, allowing him to adjust their durability, velocity, and launch type with each of these traits drawing from the same ‘pool’ of power. Furthermore, it should be noted that Crosspoint is capable of creating ‘composite projectiles’ by melding two (2) to four (4) of his blades into one, giving the resulting blade a greater allocation of potential that may be divvied between its three properties. These composite blades will always be visually distinct, as the prismatic energy surrounding them becomes more pronounced due to a consistent ‘pulsing’ pattern that is observed to occur. Lastly, testing has revealed that despite composite blades technically reducing the total count of active projectiles, that until used, they will still take up the same amount of his total capacity as if they remained separate (i.e. if Crosspoint has ten (10) blades active, and merges three (3), he will not be able to manifest an additional two (2) blades until he has launched some of those that are already active).

PRT Testing Document Version 8 ‘Property Allotment’

Crosspoint’s explanation for how the allotment of power to a given trait functions was, essentially, to compare his pool of power to a set number of ‘stat points’ with each property of his blades being an individual stat. The following information was compiled after extensive testing on Crosspoint’s power after the allotment of varying ‘stat spreads’ to different blades.

Durability

This property, as expected, dictates how much punishment a given blade can handle before shattering, be it pressure, tearing, or cutting force.

1st Tier (Brittle) - At this tier, the blades are much like glass in durability and will break relatively easily even from forces a normal human could output.

2nd Tier (Hardwood) - About as durable as particularly dense wood, these blades can be destroyed with significant effort, making them remain somewhat formidable if only due to their density.

3rd Tier (Stone) - Roughly equivalent to concrete or granite in durability, these blades can be cracked or shattered by similar forces as these materials.

4th Tier (Steel) - Roughly as durable as processed steel.

5th Tier (Titanium) - Roughly as durable as processed titanium.

Velocity

This property, simply put, dictates the speed at which Crosspoint’s projectiles will travel prior to being ‘launched’.

1st Tier (Slow) - Moving at an almost glacial pace, blades at this tier will barely even appear to be a threat as they fly forth at a measly 10 or so mph, barely faster than the fastest human olympian.

2nd Tier (Steady) - Crossing distance considerably faster than the first tier, blades at this speed tier will move at 40 mph.

3rd Tier (Pitch) - Equivalent to the fastest human throw, these blades can move at roughly 100 mph.

4th Tier (Split) - Finally far outstripping any human limit, these blades move at a startling 300 mph.

5th Tier (Blind) - Stunningly fast, blades given this tier of velocity can be propelled at a startling 1000 mph, somewhat slower than the speed of your average bullet (1700), though still 300 mph faster than the speed of sound. Notably, blades charged with this tier will glow more brightly than others and will flash once before firing.

Launch Type

The only non-standard property of Crosspoint’s blades, Launch Type dictates how released projectiles will behave.

1st Tier (Directional) - The most basic launch type, the first tier allows the blades to be fired in a single straight line decided prior to launch.

2nd Tier (Angular) - Building on the tier before it, the Angular launch type allows Crosspoint to have his projectiles turn once at a 90-degree angle. The time that they turn, and what direction they turn in are set prior to launch.

3rd Tier (Trajectory) - Breaking the mold, this launch type allows the blades to have complex preprogrammed trajectories, allowing them to curve multiple times. As before, the trajectory is decided prior to launch and cannot be changed afterward.

4th Tier (Tracking) - Further exceeding limits, this launch type allows Crosspoint to choose a target prior to launch and then have his blade(s) track its movement until they strike something.

5th Tier (Liminal) - Obliterating the previously established blueprint, but keeping to the trend, the liminal launch type gives Crosspoint a drastically increased amount of control of his projectiles. While still unable to manually control their movement after launch, the Liminal tier allows him to combine up to two launch types for a single projectile. In this way a blade could be fired with a Directional Launch Type, only to swap to Tracking at a point of Crosspoint’s choosing. Notably, Crosspoint can only swap the movement type once, though he does not have to choose when this switch happens prior to launch.

As a predictive measure used to approximate the properties of any given individual projectile, we have worked with Crosspoint to create a basic ‘stat pool’ which serves as a rough equivalent to the pool of power that he draws from. As such, it must be assumed that any individual–read: Not composite–projectile will have a maximum of eight (8) ‘points’ to divvy between its three aspects. Furthermore, when creating composite projectiles, some power is lost in the melding process, causing each joined projectile to allow an additional two (2) such ‘points’ to the pool.

Expanding upon the above, Crosspoint’s blade-like projectiles have two secondary abilities, both of which are directly tied to the prismatic energy that surrounds them. The first, and simpler of these, is that Crosspoint can detonate this prismatic energy at will, causing it to erupt outwards in a blast of kinetic force easily capable of sending loose material flying some distance, or–conversely–knocking a person or large object two (2) to four (4) feet in a given direction. Notably, these blasts are typically diffuse enough that they cannot cause significant damage to all but the weakest objects or substances. However, should someone be hit point-blank by such an eruption of force, it could cause low-end blunt force trauma in line with what is needed to cause minor bruises.

Significantly more noteworthy than the prior application of Crosspoint’s prismatic energy is the secondary manifestation of such. Rather than releasing the energy outright, Crosspoint’s power allows him to position multiple blades in the environment in the interest of creating arrays, the smallest of which require at least three (3) blades. After being positioned properly, Crosspoint may trigger this secondary manifestation, causing the prismatic energy to blanket the inner bounds denoted by the array. Upon activation, anything, or anyone caught within the bounds of an array is subjected to incredible pressure. This is the result of the prismatic energy exerting kinetic force therein. This effect becomes more pronounced–and dangerous–as additional blades are added to a given array, with a basic three (3) blade array drastically impeding the movement of a normal human or conversely causing surface-level damage to inanimate material (i.e causing cracks in stone or slowly warping metal). Though extensive testing on this effect was conducted, no upper limit of potency could be found and due to the significant risk involved, testing was aborted after [redacted] blades were utilized. However, though no limit to potency could be established, it became clear that the strength of a given array is inversely proportional to the length of time it will remain active. It has been estimated that while a basic three (3) blade arrangement may last almost indefinitely, larger arrangements are increasingly unstable. As such, though the results of the tests were somewhat inconsistent, it has been theorized that for each order of magnitude, an array’s duration is reduced by roughly a half.

♦ Equipment/Belongings:

Costume: Surprising Fashionista and her department with his choices, Caiden made sure that his costume was sufficiently impressive. The costume is much easier to maneuver in, often making it seem like he’s not wearing it, with the way the cloth somehow actively doesn’t get in his way. Further, it’s more akin to leather in durability than regular cloth, despite appearances, and it is startlingly light considering.

Smartphone: For personal use.

Non-canon Snip/Favorite power

The villain lunged at him, building up speed with every inch of the distance she traveled, her power clearly ramping up as black energy arced across her form. Reacting quickly, Crosspoint gestured, manifesting six silver blades at his right which he swiftly calibrated. Each would be as durable as steel, with half tracking his adversary, while the other half would follow set trajectories. He keyed the latter set to move more swiftly than the former and then without any hesitation released them. Snapping, a small grin forming on his lips, Crosspoint manifested four more blades even as the villain was forced to take a zigzagging path to evade the blade he’d sent her way.

Satisfied that he’d bought enough time, Caiden watched as three of his blades rose a few feet into the air, angled off suddenly, and then thrust themselves downwards and into the ground. As he kept track of his adversary’s movements, he noted that his other blades–finally–had all missed, instead striking other targets much as he’d expected she would manage. Noting as she turned on a dime and rushed at him, he gestured again, releasing two of the four projectiles he’d conjured. These weren’t terribly durable, nor were they as fast as he could manage. However, in exchange, he could toggle them between tracking and manual. Thus as the villainess dodged both of them, ducking under their movement, Caiden took direct control. Turning on a dime, the blades spun into motion and then stabbed downwards in an instant. The attack was unbelievably precise, piercing her clothes, without touching her flesh, before digging directly into the ground. At the same time, he hopped backward and sent one of his last two projectiles downwards into the ground.

“Checkmate,” he said with a smug air, and then the secondary effect of his power activated. The woman’s inhuman eyes widened as she surely felt an immense pressure suddenly come into being, pushing inwards on her body from all directions. Unwittingly, she’d walked right into his trap. Fortunately for her, the pressure was nowhere near-fatal, only rendering her immobile as she pressed her forearms and legs against the ground in an attempt not to be flattened to the ground. All around her, prismatic energy swirled and pulsed inwards, seeming to caress her form even as it battered her into submission.

“Man, that cannot be pleasant, but while I’ve got a captive audience, did you even have a plan?” Pausing, his grin unrelenting, his eyes glittering faintly with mischief as he stared through the gaps in his mask. “Like, attacking one of the Wards I can see. You get some street cred, some rep, if you will, but attacking their base of operations? That’s just idiotic. What if the local Guardians show up? What if the PRT soldiers respond first and you aren’t equipped for that? How do you deal with consistent reinforcements fighting on their home turf? Like, honestly woman, rub some brain cells together for once in your villainous life.” Shaking his head as she merely growled and grunted from the intense strain required to keep resisting the pressure of his power.

“Tsk.”

Turning away, Caiden waved as he crossed the street and poked his head into the PRT’s office. “Hey, can we get some restraints out here,” he called out in the interest of prompting the so-called adults into action. That said he took up a post to the right of the door leaning against a wall while he kept watch–a bored expression on his features. However, after a few brief moments, Caiden found himself growing bored and so pushed off of the wall and walked over to the edge of his bounded field. Crouching down he got close to eye level with the villainness he’d captured.

“You know, I’m curious, your own power can’t be your favorite. It’s just too…” he made a gesture with his hand, as if to imply that it wasn’t even worth explaining. The woman merely gritted her teeth and spat. He snapped his fingers in response, “Exactly! Wishy-washy. I mean, you villains have got to look up to someone right? Me, personally, I figured that a hero should only aspire towards the best of the best. That said, Guardian’s sort of my jam. I mean, what’s not to love about hyper-potent forcefields, you know?”