Location: Detroit, Michigan
Team: Solo Hero
Strength: superior (rank 2)
Agility: weak (rank 0)
Mind: standard (rank 1)
Body: superior (rank 2)
Spirit: (rank )
Charisma: (rank )
Fame Points: 0
Personal Wins: 34
Personal Losses: 43
Team Wins: 0
Team Losses: 0
Tourney Wins: 0
Tourney Losses: 0
God, Family, Country. God, Family, Country. The echo of a father's voice. God, Family, Country. "Get up SON!!! The *vulgarity*'s my BEER?!" God, family, country. "Where the hell did you think your mom left, you piece of shit?! It was your fault!!â another mark across my face, more investigators. Then it all changed. The foster home, a religious family, maybe what I needed. Maybe what turned me into a monster. I can hear the preacher's voice, echoing across the church, my adopted family always sat in the front pew so that I could clearly hear the preacher ring out his words of wisdom, against a awe-inspiring stained glass background, the man looked as if he had been sent from God above, and heaven was lending him the spiritual light to continue his sermon. Words of wisdom? Words of Heresy? I looked in the preacher's eyes and watched. Watched and listened for the mark of evil, for shame, for hypocrisy. I didn't watch hard enough.
Fallujah. 2003. Marine Force Recon. I had never seen the damage a .50 bullet did to someone's head. Snipers are supposed to be detached, silent, deadly, calm. But the moment I saw that bullet, the moment I saw that head explode as if it was a watermelon. Everything changed. God, what kind of God would allow his children to massacre each other like this? I had 50 more kills that day, the most in my regiment, hell the most in the damn army, I remember it crystal clear. That's the bad thing about photographic memory; everyone deserves to have some things forgotten. The thing people tell you is that war is horrible, it destroys a man. War is the bigger picture, and yes, it is horrible. But combat, combat is the biggest adrenaline rush a person will ever have the pleasure to experience, any honest soldier will tell you. Combat takes the place of sex on the battlefield, and as I felt this incredible feeling, that man's head popped into my memory. What kind of monster am I? What kind of monster would take pleasure in this Godless killing? I was being ripped apart from the inside, my inculcated childhood ideals versus my experience one the battlefield. God vs. Country. I began to see blood marks on my uniform, when nothing was there, the chaplain offered only hollow words. Words that did not even begin to soothe the scar in my soul. My entire life I had been following God's principle, my entire life. They should have discharged me. Everyone knew I had lost it, but I was too good to be disposed. The CIA appeared at my barracks, asked me to get in a helicopter. I refused. Like I had a goddamned choice. Turns out, I was assigned to a special Task Force, the best of the best of international soldiers, making 1,000,000 dollars a mission. Money should not have swerved a disciple of God, right? Especially to take the lives of God's children. But money, money was the way to support my family, I needed it for my family, I needed it for me. Besides, I would be serving my country in the utmost highest regard, right? Only when you look back on your life do you realize how full of bullshit it was.
The CIA treated me well. I was rich, had a loving wife, and still went to church every day. God, family, country, I was living the ideal life of a citizen of the greatest country of the world, right? I was supposed to be morally perfect, I wasn't supposed to have nightmares in the nights, or Angels visiting me with bloodstained gowns, I was supposed to have a pure soul, a pure conscience. And God, I loved my wife more than life itself, but every morning, after having a blood filled nightmare, I would ask, why is this happening to me? Why? I ignored it, shoved it deep into my scarred, traumatic psyche, shoved it down there with my abusive childhood, and my doubts, and my killer instinct. My wife helped, she was the guiding beacon for me. God, I loved her. And then it came. A mission so top secret that we weren't allowed off base. This had never happened before. They gave me some kind of drug before departing, said it would help me sleep, help my combat performance. I didn't need it, but they forced me to take it anyway, why would I need it when I had God, family, and country? I laughed, as if it was funny.
The helicopter touched down, the flight was weird. I kept on having hallucinations, random images of my wife, of my commanding general, of... My preacher? Could it be the drug that they gave me? No, that was supposed to help my combat efficiency, not hinder it, I told myself. I loaded a clip into my Barrett .50 and sat on a hill over the target area. I got the go ahead from central command. I had a visual using my night vision scope on the targets, when all of a sudden they blurred. Into my wife, my general, and my preacher. As you can imagine, I wasn't unphased. But I regained my calm, and aimed. Blam! Blam! Blam! 3 dead in 2 seconds. Surprised, the soldiers started to run around in confusion. What kind of soldiers are these, I thought in puzzlement, why aren't they taking cover? If I had figured it out a little sooner, I might have saved a little piece of my soul. The soldiers were easy targets; I had them all down in ten minutes. I stood up, took out my sidearm, and slid down the hill to look for survivors. I walked over the dead bodies, and stopped, one was still alive. I wanted to shoot him, but something told me to stop, he was dying. "W-why," he asked. Then, it became clear. The figure on the ground morphed, its features convoluted, until it was not longer a man, it was a little bald girl. "My. God." I stammered, taking a sharp inhale as I unconsciously dropped my sidearm. "Is there a problem soldier?" a voice behind me said in an impassive tone. I knew it well; it was my commanding general, General McTavish. "These children were training to become terrorists. You did the right thing". The man thought I was stupid, they hadn't told me where I was going, but I knew geography, mountain ranges in the distance and moon calibration told me I was in South Africa, it was a skill THEY had taught me. Then it all came through, came through the brainwashing they had put me through, why the US was really here. I hadn't noticed it before. Or maybe I just didn't care. For my sanity, I chose the first one. These kids were made into terrorists by the US Government so they could have access to diamonds, now that the USA has depleted the diamond source; they had to kill the terrorists before they were made into a nuisance against further US operations. Those *vulgarity*ing bastards. I held my anger in though, "Yes sir. I understand". "Good, then get back on the copter son, let's return to base and get debriefed." He turned and walked away, his guard soldiers behind him. I hopped on the helicopter. When it was near the US, I kicked open the door to the pilot's cabin, shot the copilot, and trained my gun on the pilot. I commanded him to touch down on the roof of a mall about 2 miles away from where I lived, needless to say, he agreed, and changed course. He saved his life by doing so, About 5 minutes into our divergence, yells came from over the comm, the remainder helicopters ferrying soldiers were shot down. By the US Government. They couldn't afford loose ends running around. The pilot was scared shitless, I wasn't surprised. 30 minutes later we touched down on top of the mall, I shot the pilot, and made out on foot for my house. The CIA knew my address, so obviously I wasn't gonna hide there, but I had to say goodbye to my wife. After a teary goodbye, and a long kiss, I made my way out into the world.
1 year into hiding. I missed my wife so much, but the CIA was hot on my trail. I called her via prepaid phones, but I needed more. I had to see her. She was being held under CIA watch obviously, but she assured me that she would be alone and safe. I was worried, but not for my safety, for hers. Love had blinded me, my unceasing devotion had instilled a blinded trust that I could not imagine to be broken.
I sat in a barn I had rented discreetly; I had been waiting 3 days for my wife. I hadn't eaten, I hadn't bathed, I hadn't even slept in her anticipation. I had given her a call sign. I was supposed to say Sunshine (I always said my wife was as beautiful as the Sun itself), and she was supposed to give Oreos, Lobsters, 11:30 PM (Her favorite snack followed by her favorite food, followed by the time she usually went to bed.) If there was any hesitation, a wrong answer, anything, a slew of razor-sharp blades would drop down onto the imposter's head via a remote configuration I had setup. I also had immediate transportation out of the state. I was prepared, or so I thought. Soon enough, there was a knock at the door. "Sunshine", I called out tentatively. "Oreos, Lobsters, 11:30 PM, unless you keep me up with your snoring", my wife called in her joyful, melodious voice. I immediately sprang up, my body consumed by infectious joy. I unlocked the door and rushed to meet my wife. She came in, but immediately sidestepped the door."What th-", the thought registered too late, a pack of bullets slammed into my legs and body. I hit the floor with a thud. My wife stood over me with a smug General McTavish. "You put out a good fight old boy; we never coulda found you without your beautiful wife's help." He said with a smirk. Rage, confusion, extreme depression, they overwhelmed my dying body. I slowly turned my head to my beautiful wife, the focus of my life for 15 joyful years; "W-w-why?" was all I could muster out. My wife had tears in her eyes, why? "Everyone has a price son. Your wife's was lower than most, but she was still very useful. Both for Intel and for... Other things", the general said with that same goddamn smirk. Rage choked me, clouded my vision, but at the same time, I felt sadness, extreme sadness. I looked on my wife's face. The beacon of my life, before everything turned to black.
Everything was black. Was I alive? Is this the afterlife? Just lonely blackness? All of a sudden, a light shined upon a hooded figure. It was sitting down, working at something at a table. The only light spot in a world of black. I stumbled towards the figure, it seemed to take ages. Grabbing its shoulder, I turned it around. It was a skull, an impassive skull staring into my eyes, into my soul. I didn't blink. The figure rised to face me. Now I could see what he was working on, it was a clay statue. Of me. He was working on it with a scythe. It didn't take a genius to realize that I was facing Death itself. But I wasn't scared; in fact it was a familiar face. And then I realized it, this face had been around me for all my lifetime, following me. "What is this, where's Heaven, where is Hell?!"I demanded furiously, "Is this empty blackness some kind of sick joke?! Am I NOT ALLOWED IN EITHER?!". "You foolish mortal," Death's grim visage did not move when he talked, his eyes remained. Burning into my soul. "You mortals commit unforgivable 'sins' in the name of imaginary Gods. So foolish. So naive that you would think there is a salvation beyond the everlasting cold grip of death." Death was mocking me. But I could not hear. Everything I had ever known had collapsed around me. My country had betrayed me, my family had betrayed me, and now, God Himself, of his principles which I had tried to live my entire life by, He betrayed me. Whatever remained of my charred and blackened soul was forever cast away in that black place. I was now little more than my physical corpse, which had been denied eternal rest. I only had one goal then. Vengeance. Grabbing Death by his cloak, I pulled it near, "Give me my vengeance. It is the only thing I have left. Give it to me or I swear I will destroy Death itself in this God forsaken place," I roared. Death chuckled. "Very well Mortal, I will give you time on Earth." Death produced an hourglass filled with black sand from his robes. "When your time is up, you will be returned to me, and your soul will be all the better to consume". Death offered me his scythe; I grabbed it, still holding Death. The scythe transformed into an AA-12 Shotgun with deathlike detailing in my hand. I pushed Death away and grabbed the hourglass. The instant I did so everything turned black yet again.
I woke up on the ground yet again. I looked around. A graveyard. I stood up, my muscles felt extremely powerful. I had been revived on someone's grave. I looked down on the tombstone. It read Able Brown. I looked down on the epitaph, it read, "A Man Who Lived His Life by Three Ideals: God, Family, and Country." I screamed. A roar so loud it could be heard miles away. I was about to turn away, but something caught my eye. It was a mirror. I picked it up; there was an engraving on the back. "From your old buddies Omega Squad to Able Brown, may this mirror help anyone who comes to this grave, look inside themselves to find a soul as pure as Able Brown's." Omega Regiment, the soldiers that had betrayed me. That killed me. I looked in the mirror, and saw myself. I was resurrected in the form of an angel. A bloody angel. I cried at the irony.
Souls of Damnation
Psychic Vampire: standard (rank 1)
Primary power is the ability to suck soul energy from a person. This makes the blast from his undead shotgun increase in power.
As I stood over my grave, I heard something. An elderly woman, probably to pay respects to her dead husband. She saw me, obviously, its not like I was hard to miss. "R-Richard," The Old Lady stammered, "R-richard, is that you?" "No", I growled, "you don't understand, you have to go now." The lady came closer, "Richard please, I've been waiting so long..." "I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE", I roared as all of a sudden the lady crumpled. "N-no. NO! What have I done?!" I cried. I stood over her. The lady had a pulse, she was breathing. But she was inexplicably dead. I had never seen anything like it. All of a sudden I saw that man so many years ago, the man with the exploded head. The smoke billowing from my sniper rifle. I was alone in this world. Good. I had no time to waste.
Decals of Death
Concussive Weapon: standard (rank 1)
- Ranged Attack
Able's undead AA-12, deals damage with shells powered with dark energy.
But I had to take care of something first. I noticed my shotgun was glowing, it was humming with energy, but not a dead, mechanical hum. It was the hum of a Siren, deceptive in its beauty. I leveled the shotgun at the tombstone. I obliterated it, my past life, my family, my God, my country. All in a million stone fragments at my feet. The shotgun was powerful, accurate, and it seemed it had unlimited ammo. The glowing nature of the shotgun suggested that whatever I did to the lady, the shotgun must have absorbed the power. Interesting. The death decaling was eerie, but I had no time to gaze at tools of death.
Art of Retribution
Tactician: standard (rank 1)
Able's military training allows him to quickly assess a situation and form a plan. A skill without which, he would be dead many times over.
I quickly strategized a plan to take my vengance before Death could take my soul. I would be saving my wife for last, first, I needed to kill that bastard general. I wasn't doing it for those kids in south Africa, I was doing it for me. The problem was, the general was inside the Pentagon. I had been inside the Pentagon before, for mission breifings and whatnot, and my photographic memory ensured that I remembered the details of the security systems. One of the most heavily gaurded places on Earth. But I would breach it. It would work. I would make it work. I took in account every little detail, the calculated mind of an assasin, the mind dead to the touch of Love and Passion, nothing in my soul was warm to their embrace. Sympathy would not be a factor in my kill. Mercy would not be a factor in my kill. Only Retribution. Be careful to fight the monsters lest you become one, a childhood quote my father drunkenly passed on my young conscious. It hit me now. But I did not care.
Marksman: standard (rank 1)
Also a result of military training, Able is proficient at handling any firearm.
But first, I had to get there. I kicked open the steel graveyard gate and my way onto the street. I could hear the ringings of Church bells in the distance, It was late at night, but the shallow light of the moon guided my actions. For some reason, the moon and the churchbells contradicted eachother. I had once thought of the bells as pure, truthful. I could only imagine church bells ringing in the day. Night is the time when inner natures can manifest themselves, when humankind can rear its dirty head without judgement, without pay. During the day, interiority is once again hidden from public view, and secrets remain secrets, the world is again beautiful, truthful. Church bells always represented truth, revelation, and maybe even peace. Peace. I scoffed. the sound of a truck interrupted my thoughts, it was probably making rounds to the gas station nearby, if I didn't want to set the entire neighberhood ablaze, I had to watch my shot. I hid around the corner and heard the truck approach. As soon as the cab broke my line of sight, I shot. A clean headshot, blew off the driver's head perfectly, no more, no less.