Gender: Female

Kit: Super

Location: Storm City, Khazan


Alignment: Villain

Team: Solo Villain


Strength: weak (rank 0)

Agility: weak (rank 0)

Mind: standard (rank 1)

Body: standard (rank 1)

Spirit: (rank )

Charisma: (rank )


Infamy Points: 0

Personal Wins: 1

Personal Losses: 5

Team Wins: 0

Team Losses: 0

Tourney Wins: 0

Tourney Losses: 0


Status: Disabled

The Rookie

He’s sitting there and he’s nervous. He’s been looking at me all night and I haven’t really been hiding. In fact I’m dancing up a storm as some loud German industrial music blares from large speakers that that cause the ground to shake. I admit I’m a bit of an attention whore as I try to notice who’s looking at me. Most are boring, most are overt about their intentions with me. The shy boy by the bar though, that’s the one I want. That’s the one I have my sights set on.

I start to saunter over, swaying my hips, trying to show I’m having a good time. He’s still sitting there, the only tell showing her belongs here is his swept black hair. He drinks, looks miserable and ultimately I can’t have that. Life is about having fun, not moping about.

“An absinthe for me and my friend here!” I point at the bored boy as the bartender gets my order.

“So who put you up to talking with me?” His sardonic tone reveals his defense mechanism as I turn to look at him, his dark eyes even more appealing up close.

“You know this is a dance club and I was thinking it’d be great if we had a dance.”

“I don’t dance I just like the drink and the music here.”

The bartender comes back with our shots. I quickly grab mine and drink it down quickly. “Well I just hate seeing someone sitting here bored is all. I mean we’re only here for so long. Shouldn’t we enjoy the time we have on this earth?” I start running my hand over his thigh as he looks up at me.

“So what’s your idea of fun? Just dancing and being an idiot?”

I scoff and say “hardly. Look let me show you what my idea of fun is.”

Calling over the bartender I ask for the bottle of vodka.


The second worst thing is the fact that everyone thinks I’m some sort of victim. They hear about what I do and what I enjoy and they think I’m a prisoner in my own mind who is crippled by her compulsion towards pain. They look at me at sad eyes and say poor her, she can’t help herself and because of that she can’t live a happy and fruitful life. The thought patterns are the same, they think I’m a freak, they wonder if I was abused as a child, they begin to wonder how someone gets the way I do. I say this is the second worst thing because the worst thing was the fact at one time I used to think the way everyone else still think about me.

There’s nothing sick about pleasure. We’re all seeking it. We all want to enjoy our life. So just because I’m hardwired a little differently doesn’t make what I enjoy wrong or anything. However we have people and they judge, they look down at you with that scornful stare and they make you believe what you think is fun isn’t. Like I’ve been told many times it is part of the outdated thinking people seem to continue to push onto others. For a while I was buying into it but now I know it was wrong.

What’s that point of living if we’re miserable? I’ve had enough miserable. People told me my whole life that I should be miserable or else I was doing something wrong. I say screw miserable, what person who was constantly depressed has ever achieved anything? I need to make up for lost time. I need to be able to be happy again. The release of endorphins, the simple joys I have been denied. It’s time to take back what I had lost and if people get in my way while I do it then so be it.


A Warm Embrace

     Energy Absorption: supreme (rank 3)


Gripping the bottle of vodka in my hand I look over at the boy. “Your name?”

“Spencer, and yours?”

“My name is not even remotely important. Now Spencer do you want to see a magic trick?”

“I’m not really into…”

Before he could say anything I douse my arm in vodka. Reaching into my purse I pull out the small disposable lighter and set my arm on fire. The club patrons all start screaming as Spencer jumps out of his bar stool. I sit there holding up my burning arm up as I look at him.

“You don’t know how awesome this feels Spencer. It’s warm like a loving embrace.”

“Geez girl are you insane?” Spencer was half mystified half concerned as he grabbed my non burning arm and pulled me through the crowd. Half of them were elated; the other terrified as he pushed through them and ran to the emergency exist. He kicked open the door and pulled his long black trench coat off and smothered my arm in it.

“I don’t even know why I’m helping you! You’re clearly crazy!”

“Am I Spencer?” Pulling the coat off you can see the charred black skin on my arm as I simply said “because as bad as this looks all I feel is a huge sense of relief.”


Anti Emotion

     Mental Defense: supreme (rank 3)


My mom and dad grew concerned when they found me lying on the bathroom floor bleeding from my arms and the scissors opened and bloody on the counter top. I was laughing at the time which probably didn’t help things. Two things were discovered that day. One was that I was extraordinary. The second was the fact that I was unhappy with my life. My parents were beside themselves, two double whammies in one day. The first thing they told me was to not reveal my abilities. They told me not to make use of my natural toughness. The second thing they did was put me in therapy.

At first I played a long. I listened to the questions and I answered them honestly. I let the therapist slip into my mind, worm his way into his conscience and let me believe what he believed. That I needed to confront this supposed problem and find a way to deal with the urges. The sessions lasted for years and I did my best to be what he wanted me to be.

Soon though I learned he was wrong. His questions had no power over me. Eventually I learned how to shut myself off from him. I was able to stop from his spectral hands to dig deep into my head. My brain felt like it callused on the outside and during our therapy sessions I would become despondent, playing stories in my mind instead of listening to my therapist. Living in my own world instead of trying to fit into their.

It was then the sessions stopped.


The Bludgeoning

     Kinetic Absorption: supreme (rank 3)


“Pick up that board and hit me.” I gave him an impish smile as he shook and picked up a broken piece of a shipping skid.

“Are you sure about that?”

“As sure as I will ever be.”

Spencer seemed to be getting use to this as he swung at me with all his might. I felt it, the pain, the pin point of the purest sensation we can feel. Pain is so practical and yet on another level it can elicit the weirdest responses. Some people cry, some people laugh, I tend to do both as I start bawling, dropping down on all fours as I cry, Spencer running up to me trying to help me up.

“Are you ok?”

“God Spencer, I’m great. I need more!” Pushing him away I run head first into a brick wall, screaming out loud as blood seeps from the top of my head.

“You’re crazy! How far are you going to go?”

“See how far I CAN go Spencer.”

Running out of the alley I see a large truck speeding down the street. Without thought I run out in front of it, feeling it crush me under its weight as I’m sent flying through the air into a lamp post as I slump on the ground. Crying, laughing and feeling alive.


Pain Refraction

     Reflection: supreme (rank 3)


After the therapy sessions home life was becoming a drag. My malaise was affecting my parents as they wondered what to do with me. I was getting worse, the more they pushed the more I defied. They had to hide all the knives and scissors in the house. They kept me locked in my room most of the time and they even put a helmet on my head at night to prevent me from smacking my head in my sleep.

Sadness was killing me. In my isolation I felt nothing and that was the worst feeling of all. There was no sensation left in me, my numbness slowly eating away at my body and soul as I would lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling. I was sick of this existence. I was going to make my stand.

I hid the box cutter in my jacket from school as I made my way home. I walked into the living room where my mom and dad sat no doubt waiting for me to tell me about the forks they found in my bedroom. Before they could say anything out I pulled the blade out, lifted my wrist and started slashing right away. I stared into their eyes as a smile formed on my face, the first in weeks. However I watched my parents and they didn’t leap up, they didn’t try and stop me. Instead they just squirmed in their seats, their hands grabbing at their arms as the howled in pain. As I kept my self mutilating attack I realized something. What I felt I can project on others. I can teach them the pleasure of my pain.


Do It Again

     Regeneration: standard (rank 1)


“God you’re a mess.” I feel the cool midnight air hit me as I lay in Spencer’s lap. Breathing hard as I over did it; too much pain, too much pleasure, too much of a good thing as I try and figure out what to do next. However I could feel myself already starting to feel better. Displaced organs and broken bones setting back into place while superficial cuts on my arms, legs and face begin to slowly close up.

“Are you going to be ok?”

“Yeah Spencer, I’ll be alright, see?”

Pulling out my burnt arm Spencer watched as the blistered blackened skin slowly turned back, losing its dark color in a few minutes before already starting to heal. He simply sat there, shocked again as I smiled up at him.

“I told you we’d have fun.”