Marc Dollar

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 8 Wins!

Brutal - 1 Fatalities


Alignment: Villain

Team: The Fallen


Strength: Weak

Agility: Standard

Mind: Standard

Body: Weak


Personal Wins: 8

Personal Losses: 3


I remember the rain. It dripped through my roof. I was a cold, miserable child with a poor immigrant for a father. He never talked about my mother. Whenever I asked about her, he would quickly change the subject. She'd left him for another man, I found out purely by accident. It shamed him. I suppose we all have our shames. Mine was poverty. Cold and shivering in dirty rags in a house that was barely able to hold together, a house that swayed and rocked in strong winds, I swore that I would improve my station in life. I shined shoes for nickels in the upscale districts. It was there that I cleaned the footwear of the rich and the powerful. I told them I was going to be like them one day. They thought it was cute. One man, copper king Moody, owner of a thousand copper mines, destroyer of unions and subjugator of entire governments, told me things which I hold dear even today. As I took a rag to his shoes he told me that if I truly desire wealth, I must be willing to take it. Everything, he told me in his wisdom, is yours. You need only have sufficient will and drive to take it and keep it and never let anyone else have it. Never let anyone stand in your way, he said. Never let anything stop you in your quest. Family, friends, love, all these things are worthless in the quest for power. When, I asked him, does one have enough power? His answer never came. His silence, I inferred, was that one can never have enough. There is always more. More money, more resources, more influence. All I had to do was take what was mine and never let anyone stop me. Years passed and I did just that. I am nineteen and my father is long dead, a gunman killing him for what was thought to be a loaf of bread but, instead, was a sack of rubbish to be used for fire fuel. I have turned his simple concession stand into a convenience store unrivaled by anyone in the city. My former friends and neighbors cursed my name as the bulldozers rolled over their shacks. "How could you betray us like this?" I remembered the words of Moody. Never let anyone stand in your way. Not even those who you once shared a load of bread with on a cold winter day when there was nothing else to eat. I live in comfort. But there is still more. The stock market is my next point of attack. I am only twenty one years old and the second largest shareholder in United Copper Company. I am twenty two years old and through a series of legal forgeries, fine corporate manipulations and a cadre of several hired killers I am now the largest shareholder in United Copper Company. My former mentor Moody's funeral, I made sure, was exquisite. I resisted the temptation to mourn. I, instead, planned ways to destroy my competition . I am thirty years old. I have done just that. The government calls me out for having a monopoly. I admire their perception, but not their judgment. Surely if I were not deserving of this, I would not have it. The only reason my competitors lost their mines was due to their inability to prevent me from taking what was mine. Six months later, and the papers tell me that Marc Dollar has been acquitted. Several Congressmen have retired with luxurious homes and new cars. Several have retired in shame, past indiscretions coming to present light. Several more retired due to an untimely death, replaced by those who are more compliant to my views. Many more are merely intimidated by my power. My reach is far beyond copper now. Iron, coal, oil, steel, lumber. What if I sold them not to the US military, but to the Reich? They must go with my will. I am thirty five years old. I own 85% of all radio and TV stations, 90% of all oil in the world, 98% of all iron, copper, coal and timber and god alone knows what else. The question of whether or not I have a monopoly is no longer in doubt. I avoid the temptation to call my holdings an empire. I am still a businessman, through and through. There have been times when others, in their ignorance, have tried to stop me. My monopolistic control of the world's resources has gone on long enough, they say. Some men have costumes. Some do not. To both, I tell them "Then stop me." They pause at that point. I tell them the truth: should I, in fact, be stopped, then the world shall undergo such depression, such economic collapse and decay, that we shall all be reduced to the status of savages living hand to mouth. Most realize I am right. Those that do not are... Dealt with. Organized crime long ago bowed to my rule and they have the most excellent assassins and bodyguards. I am fifty years old. I am now referred to as the Man Who Bought the World. They offer to crown me emperor. I, once again, resist the temptation. I practically AM the emperor, but to call myself such would be unprofessional. Many people have died in my eventual hostile takeover, but more would have would I have tried it in the traditional way. The world is united under one banner, Dollarcorp. International war ceases. The occasional rebellion flares up, but the world is, for the most part, safe. But I remember Moody. There is always more. But where? I am seventy years old. Technology has accelerated under Dollarcorp rule. I plumb the depths of space and conquer the stars. Several alien nations are encountered and subjugated. Some give themselves to Dollarcorp, either willingly or unwillingly, as the company slowly devours their economies. Others are taken by force, Starfleet matching Starfleet until only Dollarcorp remains. I reflect in my quiet moments. It is getting harder and harder to find new things to take, to buy, to conquer. My own life I do not fret for. Longevity treatments have extended my lifespan into near immortal levels. The few times I have been able to be killed, I have been cloned and imprinted with my memories up until my death. It is Dollarcorp I fret for. With nothing to take, nothing outside ourselves, can a company truly survive? I decide not. I am three hundred years old. Dimensional travel is discovered. More conquest. More submission. Some repulse us, but most fall like grass in the wind. Khazan is discovered. It is all. By owning Khazan, one could possible own everything. There MUST be more. I don't think I can stop getting more, anymore. I don't think, psychologically, I am able to. I am four hundred years old. Khazan refuses to fall. The Heroes, they thwart me if I try to make a move too blatant. But I am patient. I have all the time in the world. One day, Khazan WILL fall. And with that, so too, shall all existence. What DO you get the man who owns everything? I wish to truly create this problem.

Sociopath-Noun-Someone possessing little to no Conscience. Someone who will stop at nothing, never thinking about who he or she is stepping on, to achieve his or her goals; draws no distinction between moral and amoral behavior and will use either, depending on which will best suit the completion of his or her goals. See also: Ruthless, Egocentric, Hubris, and Marc Dollar.

Dollarcorp's Finest Defenses

     Damage Shield: Ultimate

  • Area Affect


"So... Who is my target anyway? I mean, given the eight thousand billion credits you're giving me, it's gotta be big, right?" The cyborg shifted in his seat, eagerly eyeing the briefcase. Dermal plating glimmered off the single light dangling above. One electronic eye scanned the room. The man with the briefcase sighed. Here's the tough part, he thought to himself. "Marc Dollar." The table overturned as the cyborg quickly got up. "Marc Dollar? Marc Dollar? THE Marc Dollar? Are you insane?" The man in the suit wrung his hands. "Well, yes, we're quite aware that he is very well protected, but..." The cyborg started putting on his coat. There were holes in the front where his razer sharp talons had before pierced the material before. "Well protected, some understatement there. Do you know how tough it is to even get CLOSE to Marc Dollar?" The man in the suit wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Well, he does have quite a large number of his personal elite guard cyborgs armed to the teeth, hunter-killer robots, biologically engineered specimens that come directly from the twisted imagination of Doctor Nomar himself, ninjas, snipers, ninja snipers and who knows what other assassins and bodyguards he has in his entourage at the time." The cyborg sneered. "You forgot the Special Ops team, the Elite Special Ops team. The best of the best of the best. I may be greedy, but I'm not stupid." He opened the door. He heard the man behind him. "But you can take him out long range, can't you? That sniper laser of yours has quite the range, doesn't it?"


Troop Deployment

     Matter Animation: Ultimate

  • Ranged Attack Only
  • Area Affect
  • Target Seeker
  • Multi-Attacks
  • Ranged and Melee Attack


"So what?" The cyborg continued. "You know what? It doesn't matter." He looked around cautiously. "They say that sometimes even the sniper called Glimpse guards over him. I refuse to go anywhere that that man would be. You're not even taking into account the fact that he can actually deploy his guards and strike! His armies are powerful. Too powerful for one man. You'd need an army or something to get to him. Maybe. Last army I heard that tried directly attacking Marc Dollar, the troops protecting him, they expanded through the city and were fighting in the streets. Anything that got to Dollar after getting through the defenses were bleeding to death, burnt to death, dismembers, evaporated or worse. When times get harsh, he breaks out the orbital bombardiment. Attack satellites and starfleet strikes. His range isn't just defensive, you know. He can and does attack if he thinks he's being threatened."


The Art of Business

     Tactician: Superior


The cyborg continued to rant and rave. "What's more, he's no idiot that Dollar. He didn't built that huge company by being stupid, that's for sure. Sure, he's got generals... Oh, excuse me, 'executives' under his command who can formulate better battle plans than him, but even just by himself, he's the kind of guy you just plain do not wanna fight. He's smart. Remember that army that tried to attack Dollar himself? They hid in the sewars at first and struck out guerella style. Solution? Use orbital bombardiment to collapse the sewar system in that area. Those that managed to crawl out were attacked immediately. More tried to parachute in. He knew just what troops to call in. Microjets. Tiny airplanes, they cut the paratroopers to pieces. A few planes tried to bomb him. He just sighed and dialed in his own planes. Anything passing by overhead was immediately destroyed, missiles shooting down the intruders."


Radar Glasses

     Radar: Standard

  • Weakness: Power in Item - Easy to Lose
  • Weakness: Not usable in terrain - Steel Cage


"And the worst is that he knows you're coming. He wears glasses, yea, but those aren't just glasses. At the very least they're radar equipped, letting him see things that normal people usually don't see coming. I mean, the only place he probably wouldn't use it is is somewhere where you can see your opponent anyway, like a steel cage or something. Forget this, man, I'm going home. You can keep your money, I don't want it. Hell, Dollar'll probably kill us for even HAVING this conversation. Surveilance networks and spies and all." It was at that moment that the Fist of God satellite fired from high orbit and annihilated the building. Marc Dollar didn't even bother reading the report.


Everywhere It Wants to Be

     Super Speed: Ultimate


We are everywhere. We are in the clothes you wear, we are in the food you eat, we are in the heat that keeps you warm and in the alarm systems that keep you safe. Dollarcorp is everywhere you could possibly look. You, who have raised the ire of our mighty corporation, you naturally panic. Who wouldn't when they become aware of the awsome force they now face. You think to flee the plane. Perhaps into Luditania, where all technology refuses to work, or maybe into the socialist paradise of Kropotkingrad. But before you even stuff the papers, the papers that could cause Dollarcorp Electronics to loose quite a bit of money, into your suitcase, you hear them. Dollarcorp mobilizedits forces far faster than you could ever imagine. Three cyborgs break through your door, eight hunter drones smash through your windows and a nerve gas grenade falls through your chimney. Anticipating this, you doin your gas mask and set off the EMP bomb you saved for just this occasion. The hunters are totally unshaken, pursuing with eight legged determination that none could possibly match while the cyborgs wobble momentarily before firing on the place where you used to be. You, on the other hand, are making your way down the fire escape when a bullet enters your brain. The Special Ops team decloaks, crawls out of the sewer tunnel and sets your body aflame. The teeth are collected and smashed. Less than one minute later, your personal records, identification, birth certificate, bank records and social security are all uncerimoniously shredded. How did they find you so quickly, you ask yourself in your dying moment. The answer is simple: Dollarcorp is everywhere. Their reach is far and they can extend that reach to you many times before you're even able to blink, sometimes even before you're able to think. Dollarcorp has a proactive philosophy when it comes to business. Their first strikes are swift and brutal and few ever survive.