Crazy Abdul

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 10 Wins!

Brutal - 4 Fatalities


Alignment: Villain

Team: Freelance Villain


Strength: Weak

Agility: Standard

Mind: Superior

Body: Weak


Personal Wins: 10

Personal Losses: 3


Let it never be said that I wanted to be a hero or a villain. I just wanted business. Your business. And you betrayed my loyalty to you, the customer. I don't blame you, but you must blame yourself for how I must operate now.~You don't even remember me, do you? I was the best. One of the best. Seven years ago, if you wanted a gun, there were two options: Wally's or Crazy Abdul's. Our competition was fierce, and we showcased our stuff in the FPL to prove it worked. I made myself a celebrity, hosting gala events, major auctions, the works. I drove Wally into obscurity.~Then that no good son of a bitch Joe throws his support behind some puissant fourth rate company called Kill-O-Matic and, bam, I'm out of the number one spot. Do you know they lost money making the Deathmoon for him? That first Deathmoon nearly ended them. But no, the new hero had their logo on his gun, a few crap automatics that I could have made twenty times better, and you stopped caring about old Abdul. Screw him. We have Joe. Joe will lead us in our arms choices.~Oh, I still had number two. Then you let Marc Dollar muscle in. Dollar, I don't know why he needed in this business. He made more money than God in everything else. The guy bid a PLANET in one of my auctions, he did not need cash from me. But he took another chunk of my business with more mass-produced low quality piece-of-shit guns. Dollarcorp isn't quality, but it sells. It sells because it's everywhere. And then KOMBG, which was horrid to begin with, starts losing quality so they can get a few more guns into someone's hands each quarter and match earnings with Dollar. I figured that people would still want a gun, made by a real gunsmith, that isn't going to crap out on you in your time of need.~Guess I was naïve. Sorry for assuming you all had taste or a sense of quality.~Oh, don't count me out. No, you can't get my guns at most stores, or any store at all. But go up to the shop owner and ask him about Crazy Abdul. They remember me, they know my quality, and they know that they can't even afford a pistol that I made.~In terms of sales, I am now a distant third behind the two corporate machines. In terms of profit margins, I am killing them. I make more on five rounds of AP bullets than they do on a crate of plasma rifles. My customers know why. Maybe I should remind the rest of you.

They call me Crazy Abdul. It's an old nickname, don't even remember how I got it. I was never crazy, really. I did sign an exclusive deal with the LotMU that nearly finished me. Ramon once paid me in a bottle of bleach for some rocket launchers. Dumb bastards. Glad they're gone. Not to mention Spunky. I never approved that rat bastard as a spokesman.~I hold no more illusions about what I do. I used to sell guns because I love guns. I thought they were beautiful, magnificent creations and that we could all appreciate fine craftsmanship in them. I thought I would have a sense of responsibility and sell only to causes I endorsed. I thought that if I kept my guns out of the hands of the evildoers, I would gain sales. That is bullshit. KOMBG and Dollarcorp proved it, their weaponry puts more Khazanians to death each year than cancer, heart disease, and natural disasters combined. I got a wake-up call. If I wanted to make a profit, I couldn't sell to the average Khazanian; they wanted brand-name options, not me. Fine.~I sell to the best. I sell guns to the Sentinels' top men and women. I've worked with the Reavers. I am on a first-name basis with Don Sanders of the Khazanian Mafia. Toc Darkoné has placed orders with me. I would like to sell to Mr. Graves, but he's never asked me. The KPD's lower officers try to raid me once a week, but as long as the brass gets its best tools from me, they can't do shit. The only people I won't sell to are the Fallen. I like my Universe existing, thank you.~Once you pick up your order, I take your name, file, all the data I've got, and I delete it. I can't trace my guns. I don't try to trace them. I will not trace them. Murder investigations by both the "good guys" and "bad guys" have come to a screeching halt when they find it's my gun. And the government lets it go on because the Presidents, both past and current, have used my guns for less-than-savory missions.~I don't care what you do with my guns. I don't care at all. Caring got me to third place. Now, if you really want someone dead, and you have a few million to spare, I'm your man.

If you can dream it, I can build it

     Weapons Creation: Ultimate

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


There's no secret about why I'm good. I know all the technology. I invented a lot of it. I've been ripped off by the two bigwigs so many times, I've lost count. I never made a Deathmoon because I didn't have to. I've made particle accelerator attachments for semi-assault rifles, grenades that open miniature black holes at a target's feet, beam rifles that teleport whatever they hit (buildings, swords, arms) to other universes, shoulder-mounted nuke launchers that shield from their own blasts, everything.~If it has armor, my weapons break it. If it moves fast, they seek it. They spread out over a large area, they work well up close, they do it all. If you don't like technology alone, I've got a few mages to enchant the guns. I can make whatever you need from me, and all for an appropriate price.~Just never try to rip me off. I'm always packing some of my guns.


Scimitar Grade B

     Mechanized Armor: Superior

  • Reinforced Defenses


At one time, my armor was known throughout Khazan. It was my symbol: a mech of my own creation, fully loaded with my guns, with a huge sword arm. The Scimitar. My private mech.~I don't use it except in emergencies now. I use a smaller, more human-sized model for most combat situations. It works well enough, and I haven't needed anything stronger in quite a while. It's not the most durable mech I've made, but it'll do. Besides, if my guns can't kill it before I get hit, I probably couldn't have lived in anything stronger for much longer.


What Goes Around...

     Reflection: Superior


I still have a blade on this suit. Again, it's strong, I mean, I built it, but it has an extra feature. I used it on the big Scimitar, too.~I came to realize that the best weapons are right in front of us. Look, if that guy over there has a flamethrower from Hell itself, send some of the flame back to him. See how he likes it. Make the swarm of bullets go back at the shooter. They never expect it.~Well, this version's weaker than the big one, but it does the same thing: it emits a small reflecting shield around the suit. It's just that much less damage I take and that much more damage back at them.~I try to make it look like I deflect the bullets and such with the blades. In truth, that's for show only. It just looks better, and I know how to advertise when I need to.


Tricks of the Trade

     Marksman: Standard


The number one rule of all gunsmiths: be able to use your products.~At one time, over half my clients thought they could get away with killing me to not pay their bills. This is why I now ask for money up-front. This also is why I spend some time each day at a firing range.~I'm not the best shot in the city; but I can hit most targets. That's been good enough so far. After all, you don't have to be a great shot when your gun is a sonic cannon with a thirty-foot blast radius.