Realizing Time Lost
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Born: 12 December 1994
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Design, Creative Arts, Roleplaying, Video Games
Joined: 1-August 13
Last Seen: Apr 18 2017, 03:09 AM
Local Time: Apr 27 2017, 05:57 AM
333 posts (0.2 per day)
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Sep 3 2015, 10:30 AM
Thoughts swirled in Dr. Creed's mind as the morning dew settled along the rail above the large cement blocks that ingrained themselves into the ocean floor to provide a dry area for his fellow humans to traverse upon the water. The railing was cool to the touch as he held it, leaning over it and staring at the inky blackness of sky and sea. A lone lighthouse scintillated slowly, serving as a beacon to all who might be shipping goods to and from this port.
Creed's desires were growing more powerful now. He felt extremely motivated to find something, some sort of new font for his power. Twofold, he thought. Infiltrate, understand, control, dominate. It was no secret that drug smuggling happened here. It didn't help his goals that he knew so little about it, and that was something he aimed to change. He honestly believed that these docks would be his someday, and this thought brought a gleeful smirk to his face.
Relinquishing the rail, he strode alongside the warehouses dotting the southern end of the drydocks. He was looking for someone, to make a connection with. It was so early that there were only a handful of night watchmen left, and they were sluggish in their duties. He surmised by their slow gait and the way they checked their watches that their graveyard shift was up. This was the perfect time for him to act, if only he could find something to act upon.
Then came his break, the moment he turned a corner and saw the glow of the indoor lighting of a car - not just any car, a police car. A police car with a man inside. A man with experience, knowledge, know-how. A man that knew these docks pretty well. A man with connections, intel, strategy.
Sure, other men had seen things on these docks. But this one was different, for what he had locked up in that skull of his. It wasn't just a job, but a way of life. A way of life Creed hungered to learn about, exploit, control, and capitalize upon. With restrained glee, he approached the vehicle with a confident gait.
The window was closed, the occupant inside enjoying a meal. Like a moth to a flame, Creed grew closer and closer until he rapped the back of his knuckles on the window. Tap, tap, tap. The sounds startled the cop, who looked both directions in the vehicle with a skittish assessment of the situation. Swallowing, he strained out a muffled and frustrated "What?" as he spoke from within the car. The window was closed, but the officer pressed a button and began to lower it.
"This better have been good enough to interrupt my meal." The man said, looking out at the car at Creed, who leaned forward. However, Creed mustered a great deal of anxiety and worry. He plastered it all over his face, and his eyes began to water as he forced a pained yelp. It was all an act, but the officer's eyes widened with surprise as the facade.
"There's been a, a... been a..." Creed began to speak.
"Spit it out." The cop said, impatient.
"I, you should come see. Shooting, crate full of little kids. Bastards." Hook, line, and sinker. Creed found just the right words to entice this officer into a blind rage. There was a good chance he had a son or at least some attachment to a child. Creed backed away as the man threw his sandwich on the dashboard and swiveled out of his comfy seat.
Now standing in front of Creed, he could tell that the cop was somewhat new to the job. He had frizzy black hair and a youthful look to him. He'd grown tough fast, but he was naive. Creed assumed that the cop's naivety would be his downfall. He wouldn't think of a trap, but Creed's eyes traced the movement of the cop's hands as they went for the radio on his chest.
Creed wouldn't let that happen. A swirl of energy shot through his mind and ejected itself through his voice. "That isn't necessary." He commanded. He didn't want this man to have a recent history of possible demise or worse, call for backup. No, that would complicate things. He'd prevented it, swiftly enough.
The cop stared blankly, before snapping out of it. "Yeah, sure, you're right." He said. "Where's the crime scene?" He asked.
Creed continued to pander, reaching up and biting his nails. He wasn't under an illusion at the time, but he wondered how the man perceived him. He was disheveled, unkempt. Bags underneath his eyes, but he wasn't wearing the uniform of a security guard. Someone more perceptive might have asked a question about his role here on the docks, but he had already slipped the man enough reason to ignore what's in front of him.
"Follow me," Creed said, an overhand wave gesturing the impending movement he made towards the warehouses. There was an area of railing that was a blind spot to the security guards, and it was far enough away that he estimated there'd be at least thirty to forty-five seconds of time available for him to make his move. He didn't bat an eye as the officer drew his gun from its holster as they jogged.
Creed pressed his back to the cold, wet metal paneling of the warehouse as they approached the corner. "The man is somewhere up ahead, be careful." This cop, with no backup, walked ahead. Creed turned the corner as well, following behind the cop as they walked. Another step in Creed's plan played out as they walked, Creed making a facade of worried fear.
"You should stay back." The cop said, not looking at Creed who took a few long strides with a sense of giddiness. Cold, calculative hands reached out and enclosed either side of the cop's head. Energy surged from Creed's mind into the cop's noggen, investigating and prodding as the cop seized with shock. Mind throwing blanks, he was completely and utterly stunned. His hands locked up, squeezing the trigger of his pistol twice, but empty clicks followed. The safety was on.
Creed's mind delved into the memories of the cop, tugging at them and shipping them away. The strongest memories were family. His name was John Mars Bronson. He had an elderly mother, a brother, and a nephew. He was close to the nephew. Further back, Creed found himself learning of the police training academy. Police lingo permeated his mind, together with the intricacies of the gun and how to use it. The cop couldn't remember some of the codes, but most of them were at least fragmented to be remembered upon hearing them. Relationships with the force were brought to the forefront.
He had a crush on a female officer named Maggie, and he often went on patrol with another cop named Michael. Bits and pieces of his personality began to form an image in Creed's mine as to how this man behaved and acted. Hobbies, social life, interests, obligations. A near-death experience as a child had formed into a fear of swimming, and the ocean. He found B-movies such as those about sharks absolutely horrifying, irrationally so.
And then, there were the experiences on the docks. Police briefings, and his response to calls to the docks. There were several gangs on the docks involved in criminal activity, and he'd conducted much in the way of surveillance on them. There were the Valkyries, an all-female group. Then, the Shades of Purple. Perhaps the scariest of the groups was The Golem. Officer Bronson had paid the most attention to them. They were known for brainwashing orphans as foot soldiers, and recruiting many mentally unstable people to bolster their ranks.
Then he learned that Michael, a skinny and short officer that officer Bronson worked with, had gone undercover to try and infiltrate the organization. He had a supplier role and reported to officer Bronson each night with new information. Together, they had a lead on one of the recruiters, a man with a metal mask that facilitated the delivery of goods to suppliers, and then to a network of distributors. The chain was vast with this one, the cop and indeed the entire LCPD knowing nothing of the one in charge of this organization.
This intrigued Creed greatly, but his grip on the man's mind was faltering. Creed's energy had reached its limit. He let go, breaking the connection as the man stooped forward in delirium. then crumpling to the ground in a daze as his gun clattered to the ground. "The hell was that?" Asked officer Bronson as he stumbled to pick himself up off the ground.
Creed was coming down from his stimulation, staring down at the struggling cop. He mustered up a little bit more power, and he knew exactly how to answer that question. "You've fallen and hit your head, so you should give me your gun in case someone attacks us." Creed smiled to himself as the officer sat up, rubbing his temples.
"Alright, take it. It's for the best, you know how to use it right?" The cop was still recovering.
Creed nodded, "Yeah." He leaned over and picked up the gun, and then walked behind the cop. He clicked the safety off, extended his arm, and shot the officer in the back of the head. A flash of light left the barrel, and the bullet implanted itself in the center of Bronson's skull. Bronson fell over, dead.
Creed began to whistle a tune as he reached into his own mind for the location of important belongings. He dropped to his knees. Thirty seconds. He began to systematically pull the wallet, keys, and phone from the corpse. It had contacts, numbers within the police force. While he was at it, Creed became the man. In his mind, he pieced together Bronson's psyche so that he could better portray him. Outwardly, his energy radiated forth to those that would likely soon look upon him and give him the appearance of the cop he had slain.
A figure of authority, nobody would ask questions. With one last act, he unpinned the badge from the man's uniform after stuffing his own pockets with the man's personal belongings. Stowing that away, he hoisted up the man by the front of his jacket and let out a grunt as he muscled the dead weight towards, up, and then over the railing. With one more shove, the corpse sailed the open seas.
The flashlight of a security guard flashed by him. "Officer, I heard a bang. Is everything alright?"
"I fired a warning shot at some gangbangers, and they ran away." Said Creed, under the guise of Officer Bronson. "They shouldn't be back for awhile, but be warned that they are armed and highly dangerous."
That was enough for the security officer, who turned the other way without another word. He likely didn't want to get involved. Creed turned his attention to the skyline as the body drifted out into the ocean. The blue uniform and the black hair made it difficult to see the corpse bobbing on the tide, which was taking it out further and further. This identity wouldn't last forever, but he surmised it'd be long enough to meet up with this officer Michael and take his position too.
Walking over to Bronson's car, no, -his- car, Creed leaned back on the posh seat of the victoria. He tossed the half-eaten sandwich into the passenger seat and remembered that the officer kept a water bottle in the glove box. A little parched, he popped the glove box open and retrieved the bottle of crystalline room-temp water. Unscrewing the cap, he guzzled it back as his mind settled and he thought about what to do next.
Might as well go on patrol. He finished the entire bottle and tossed it into the passenger seat with the other trash. He knew how much money was in the wallet, and took a mental note of how many credits he now had and how many bullets were left in his pistol. Fishing out the key, he put it into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared to life, and he turned on the police radio. A stream of ongoing crime and emergencies buzzed into his ears as he put the vehicle into reverse and turned it around before heading out into the city with his stolen police vehicle.
Aug 30 2015, 11:06 AM
Identity: Marcus Salvo
Known to Public As: Dr. Creed
Powers: Dr. Creed has control over the basic electrical impulses in the brain that he utilizes to manipulate minds. Energy is drawn from social contact and then stored within. His abilities are executed as if they were a sixth sense, something extremely natural to him. He's most powerful when his manipulations are numerous.
Power Origin: Mutant
Experience Level: Lvl 1 and 0XPAppearance and Personality
Disheveled, unkempt, but clean - Dr. Creed has never had to worry about his own appearance beyond hygiene. His face is slightly wrinkled, that of a man in his late thirties. Bags underneath his eyes are the tell-tale sign of an insomniac though most would never see them due to his abilities. To others, he's usually someone entirely different.
Personality: Dr. Creed is driven by necessity. He must feed on social manipulations and emotion. Because of this, he's a bit crazy. He's the kind of crazy that you won't know about until it hits - he can perfectly mimic a sane individual, but he has ulterior motives in the form of feeding. If his hunger were ever to be curbed, he might have a chance at redeeming himself morally. However, it's just too strong for him to fight back against.
Dr. Creed is a psychologist, which is something of a misnomer considering his mental health. That said, he's trained himself to isolate and then mimic personalities. He's always there underneath the surface, but it's as if he's become someone entirely different. Perhaps surprisingly, he sometimes believes his own manipulations and gets far too into the role he plays and becomes emotionally attached.
Philosophically, he is quite open. He understands culture to be a force that shapes and drives people, and he's always open to new ideas and perceptions. He can be quite driven, putting his mind and body towards a task until it's solved. He has very little to fear save for his own death, but there are a handful of things he will irrationally or perhaps rationally, to him, avoid. He fears isolation and sleep, knowing that such things leave him incredibly vulnerable.
Likes: Toying with people, their reputations, and so on. Satiating his hunger. Consuming knowledge.
Dislikes: The feeling of the hunger from his powers.Abilities
Deceive [Shapeshifting] - For up to an hour, everyone around will perceive the user as another person or creature the user has met before of his choice, complete with clothing. This extends to cameras, scent, and sound (voice). It is only a deception, as there is no actual physical change. It stays active until the user is knocked unconscious, and may be used again to change form. Basic wearable objects such as clothing and small weapons can also be made apparent. Actual weapons can easily be hidden underneath the illusion, such as firearms. The power works on people and cameras by latching on to the image or contaminating their minds with residual energy, so the illusion will become flawed if too many people view it at once due to the power being overloaded. Things will begin to look off such as hair, clothing, eyes, height, build, and so on.
Beguile [Offensive Debuff] - Magically convince one other to believe information given to them regardless of the evidence, or command them to perform an action for you. Weaker wills may be converted into unwitting thralls after multiple uses. Relies on the victim being able to hear the user, and may be used through voice communication devices.
Extract [Offensive Buff] - The user hijacks the electrical impulses of the brain through several seconds of uninterrupted physical contact with a target, briefly stunning them while he extracts their memories. This allows the user to better understand occupations, develop new skill-sets, and discover secrets. This ability takes the full concentration of the user, and other actions cannot be taken while doing so.Stats
Intelligence: 1Skills and Weaknesses
Professional Psychologist [Knowledge] Before discovering his latent mutant powers, Marcus attained a doctorate in psychology. He knows people. He knows just what to say, at just the right time to bring people to their knees. He can tell when they're afraid, or bluffing. He is also capable of performing hypnosis on those who are willing, extracting information from them with ease. His knowledge of the mind allows him to fake facial expressions and control his heart rate, which can be used to fool a lie detector test. If you need a shrink, he's one of the best.
Skilled Impersonator [Expertise] His knowledge of the mind has developed into an ability to quickly study and then mimic those he impersonates. He knows to find out pertinent information such as social circles, responsibilities, and personality traits. A masterful actor, slipping into the shoes of another comes easy to him.
Perceptive [Expertise] Very little escapes the gaze of Dr. Creed. He has good night vision, for a human. He can pick individual people out from crowds, and notice the smallest details. He can put together evidence into a picture in his head relatively well, giving him insight into past conflicts.
Socialite - Dr. Creed is addicted to his own power, which comes from social contact of any form. It may put him at unnecessary risk if his smooth talking goes awry or works too well. If deprived of social contact, his power may weaken considerably.
Insomniac - Dr. Creed is exceptionally tired most of the time. He is vulnerable to abilities that drain stamina or cause sleep such as hypnosis.
Isolation - Dr. Creed's greatest fear is to be completely alone and unable to see other people for long periods of time. This stems from his addiction to his own power.
Sleep: An insomniac, he struggles to find sleep or places to sleep where he feels safe. He always fears someone will find him in his sleep, and he knows that his ability to be perceived differently does not function when he's asleep. He is most comfortable when he is in control, a control freak.History
Dr. Creed's life began in a hovel of a home on the eastern side of the city. He was pretty normal as far as kids go though he had an unhealthy envy for supers. He would often joke about discovering his latent mutant powers one day, though deep down he wished it were real. He didn't expect his powers to manifest the way he did, and it wasn't until after he graduated college after working several jobs to pay his tuition that he began to slowly uncover more about himself.
He believes mutant powers manifest based on knowledge and personality traits. He reasons this based on his own experience, discovering that his powers were of manipulating others when he had spent many years of his life studying those around him. It was almost as if his mind had evolved to suit his needs on the fly. At first he underestimated his powers, as he had always imagined them to be something more flashy or destructive.
At one point in time, he had good morals. His powers came with a hunger, and this hunger twisted him and drove him mad after a bout of severe depression. He didn't know how to satiate his hunger - he didn't know it had something to do with his powers. Now, he's a bit wild. He is a creature driven by his own baser instinct - the demands of his powers. And the demands are strong, resentful of his own stray thoughts that he might be going too far.
Jul 23 2015, 03:13 AM
This powerset was just a test and should not be reviewed. I will be posting a full powerset later.
Blessing of the Light Fey - [Passive] Hummingbird-like wings sprouting from your back allow you to hover off the ground a few inches while enhancing the speed and control of movement. The wings also serve to slow the descent of falls. You are difficult to discern the details of due to having the appearance of bright white light draped over your form. All of these features may be willingly suppressed and you appear human doing so.
Tracking Shot - [Offensive] Fire a projectile from your weapon that follows the target and will find them beyond obstacles. If it connects, you will be able to sense the location of that target within a mile for the next 24 hours. 3 round cooldown.
Blinding Radiance - [Defensive] The character can give off a blinding and intense glare of light that completely blinds his enemies and disables any inhuman or supernatural senses for 2 rounds, making him difficult to hit. 4 round cooldown.
Imbue Projectiles - [Buff] Enhance your ammunition with light that may either drive a small armor or barrier piercing spike consisting of light into the target to pave the way for the ammunition itself, or make the ammunition non-lethal - incapable of directly or indirectly causing death with no penetration. Lasts 3 rounds, with a 2 round cooldown after expiration.
Light Reconstruction - [Travel/Defensive] Scatter into light for 1 round, illuminating the area with blinding blue light, then rebuild yourself in any location of your choice that the light can reach at the beginning of your next turn. 4 round cooldown. May be used for long distance travel, but has a longer cooldown period (1 hour) if the distance is greater than a mile.
Chains of Light - [Summoning] Four lightning-fast chains of light burst from a surface and near instantly wrap themselves around a single opponent or up to four targets (splitting strength accordingly,) restraining them and restricting physical movement. The chains adjust to the target and sap the travel abilities of those they bind, making escape from these methods impossible. They can only be broken with a powerful offensive attack. The chains last for as long as concentration is maintained, or up to three rounds otherwise. 1 hour cooldown.
Sep 5 2014, 04:41 AM
Morals are such a pitiful thing to the wicked. The heartstrings are toyed with and pulled by the old, the despised who hold sway over all simply by age and by right. King Nile is known by the unspeakable acts he blanketed the lands with in his youth. He is the epitome of this kind of man. He is the king of the underworld.
Wasting away and on the brink of insanity, crooks and thieves of all manner and even those few good souls have sought to broker knowledge and advice from the dying self-proclaimed 'king' of Liberty City. Prophet of Ill those who work against him call him, for he 'knows' when something truly terrible is upon us all. And they blame him.
They see him as an orchestrator, the seat of all evil and all things to come. They pray for his swift death, and for an end to his hundred years of terror. They pray he is reincarnated a kind soul to atone for his sins. They pray his next move will not be the end of all of us.
And yet nothing happened. The king vanished. For twenty years the prophet was silent, and those that feared him rejoiced and moved on, finding something else to fear and gawk and scream at. His reign had come to an end, but his story had only just begun.
When he should have been but bones and dust in an unmarked grave, he plotted his return. Long had he sought to conquer age and live the dream of eternal youth, and through his dealings he succeeded. Something so vile, so dark, even hell itself could not resist cursing such a creature to continue roaming the mortal realm in search of new and forgotten evils.
For his very soul was cast upon a newborn child as his ancient corpse finally fell still. The price? His soul grew blacker still, tainted by demonic meddling. And like all things great and all things nefarious, there was an oversight in the prophet's own plans. The vessel he inhabited was not empty, and the soul within was brighter than he could have ever anticipated.
A kind soul and a dark soul as one, vying to cast one-another out. What will it be? Good or evil? Will he begin anew and bring forth another century of terror, or will that unfortunate soul eventually win its battle against the thing that opposes everything that it is?
The story has yet to be written, for the future is a fickle thing.