New Britannia, Rhode Island, USA (CVxU Open Location)

The universe is giving me a watchmen vibe and so far, I like it.

Finished the OP, now there is more than a picture to base that off of (LOL)

A picture was all I needed. Place seems like the new Gothic so far, and well, I like it and wish to see how it all unfolds.

*cough*kickthisshitoffalready*cough*

Waking in his apartment the beaming sun showering his face in a golden huw, Oliver began to stur. The remnants of the same dream withering away, draining from his mind as the subliminal forces of his brain once again surrendered to the waking cognitive thought. Why the same dream, what does it mean. Was it some kind of message. Was it a lost memory?. Who knew? all he knew was it was already fiveteen years into the new century and he can barely remember anything from more than two years ago. All he could remember was the dream and what he could do. Even his name was simply taken from the first book he found. A mystery wrapped in an enigma. Where he came from, his parents, why he had powers what he had done with his life. These things would eat away at lesser man he thought. Assuming he was any more than any other man, pulling on his clothes he head out the front door and into the city looking to find work. He needed money, then he could get to fixing the rest.

@oliver_athos:

Nice to see someone break it in, one of my alts is going to be from here himself (Arbitrator)

I can see the Gothic comparison due to the grittier nature of the location, but it's a little more complicated than that.

IMO a better description would be if someone tried to build downtown Singapore (from the center out) within the heart of an above-ground Rapture/Columbia from Bioshock. The Neo London district has all the high tech amenities of the 21st century, while the surrounding Old Town is forced to struggle to keep the antiquated steampunk technology running as no one can afford to replace it at such a scale.

Most people would think returning to their home town to be an event looked forward to, but Malcolm Hayter was far from most people, and had far form the best childhood. Returning to the Old Town district of New Britannia was something he never did unless necessary, and to his chagrin his current case had forced his path towards roads that in his mind were best left unfollowed. For all the money in the world a mercenary or assassin can accumulate from mark after mark, one still needed to maintain a firmly and constantly established cover or risk being discovered for who they really are. In the modern world one could only live as large as their tax record would justify or it was only a matter of time before someone used that carelessness against you. Even if they cannot necessarily prove who you are, they can prove you aren't who you claim to be, from that point on your days are numbered before the walls close in.

Because of this Malcolm had established himself with a small office from which to operate as a licensed private investigator many years back, doing just enough work to maintain a work history that would allow for his comfortable and modest lifestyle. A two bedroom apartment in the Prospect Heights section of Brooklyn and the classic muscle cars he restored by hand did not require a six figure income to explain. As for the money he earned from his other job, what the IRS doesn't know won't hurt them, besides he would much rather see it go to his kids than the government. If anyone had a grudge to be a tax dodger it was him, as those same tax dollars once paid for his years of militarily-approved torture.

With his business done Malcolm reached into his pocket to pull out the keys to his current restoration project, a black on black 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS he rescued from layers of dust in a garage and rebuilt from the frame on up. Turning the key the roar of the heavily modified 454 cubic inch big-block engine resonated through the cabin, a sound that would only feel out of place were it not for the 485 horsepower at his disposal. Peeling off he looked for the nearest exit that would take him out of the ruins of his childhood home, feelings of bitterness overcoming whatever small pangs of nostalgia tried to push through.

This place always did look best in the rear view mirror

@oliver_athos

(Continuing in this thread as this is on-site here now - will reply later.)

Malcolm gave a single eye-raise worthy of a Mr. Spock impersonation at the cavalier manner in which Oliver exposed his metahuman nature to him, not only did he apparently not remember who he was, he had no idea just how dangerous such an act could be.

Amnesic and a metahuman? This guy hit the lottery by running into me and not some other gumshoe

Malcolm - "Let's get something very clear here friend, don't ever perform that little trick in public again, unless you want to garner the wrong kind of attention. In fact don't even talk about it with anyone outside of me until told otherwise, people like you get hunted for showing off like that."

The long drive between Brooklyn and New Britannia was spent grilling his amnesic client as to any one of a countless number of facets, looking to spark even the smallest of memories with which to build upon. Part of him wanted to question the nature of his abilities, but decided it best left unsaid for now, that is if Oliver even knew himself at this point. Once arriving in front of his apartment building in the Old Town section of New Britannia he locked up the Chevelle and took a grimaced look at the scenery of his childhood.

I hate this god-damn town

Malcolm - "Best to toss around your apartment first, we can play nice with the neighbors soon enough, you lead the way and I'll just poke in when needed."

@_arbitrator_:

His new friends stinging forwardness echoed around Oliver's head as they arrived at his apartment. Perhaps the abilities he had had lead to his current state?, perhaps they where a bye product. But the detective was correct he should be more careful with them they could save his life in a tight spot or at the very least garner enough attention to save another.

"Ok here it is, Kitchen is over there. Bedroom and bathroom through there and the rest is here. Its not all that big so looking around shouldn't take to long. So where do you wanna start?"

@oliver_athos:

Oliver had an almost childlike innocence about him, all too trusting of complete strangers and with no concept of the reason for caution and personal boundaries. He did not even know enough to realize being different in such an extreme manner could be of danger to him, left to his own devices it was only a matter of time before someone took advantage of him, perhaps leading him to a fate that once befell Malcolm himself. As much as he really did not want to take on the burden of hand holding a fully grown amnesic, abandoning him in this state was all but serving him on a silver platter.

Malcolm - "Lay out every bill, invoice, receipt, anything to start a paper trail as to who you are and what you are tied to. If we are lucky one string will lead to another. Your money came from somewhere and was spent on something."

@_arbitrator_:

"Thank you so much for the help, will get right on it" Rushing around the small and crazily frantic little apartment. Grabbing a box and tipping it over the table "here is the paperwork i have" Oh and i found this last night in what appears to be an old photo album handing over a small note with a key taped to it. "No idea what it's for. ARRHH" Suddenly dropping to one knee as his shoulders and neck began to burn, his skin aflame as the nerves flared and rapidly contracted sending agonising pulses throughout his torso. The epicenter of his agony between the blades of his shoulders, erupting into flame. A circular seal ablaze on his back his body convulsing his jaw clenched and then it all went dark. And he passed out on the floor.

@oliver_athos:

Malcolm looked around at the small and cramped confines of Oliver's domicile, while being miles from the actual apartment building in which his own childhood was spent, it shared the same worn nature and state of repair. None could fault the architects or workmen who constructed the bones themselves, anything that could still stand after almost a century of life, and nearly fifty years of constant neglect was an achievement to be noted. Sadly whatever pride one could have in such a fact was all too quickly forgotten, in place left the grim acknowledgement that barring a miracle its days were numbered.

Any guy who lives here probably can't afford my bill...f*ck it...not the first pro bono job I've done, won't be the last.

Taking the photo album, the taped note and key instantly garnered his attention. Pictures would at least give faces with which to potentially spark his memory, if he was really lucky names and dates may be marked on the back of them. Malcolm was about to dive in and examine what had so far been the most promising clue when his client began to scream in agony as his newly revealed powers began to cascade around him in an uncontrolled manner.

Oh shit, this isn't good.

Unsure as to how long this seizure would last it was imperative to douse the flames before he inadvertently lit the entire building on fire. Ignoring caution and hoping his limited superhuman durability would be enough, Malcolm yanked the old thick rug from the floor and dove upon Oliver, rolling him in it in an effort to smother the flames, only to find the idea futile as his back erupted in a fiery sigil and reducing the rug to ash. Seeing the surging flames slowly lessen in intensity as the seal disappeared, Mal held fast and felt his clothes burn and skin blister from being so close to a flame of unnatural sources, only when Oliver passed out and finally came to a rest did he allow himself to let go and roll away.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu*k that hurts like a bitch.

Standing tall he gritted his teeth and threw off his now ruined coat and shirt, the skin beneath slightly discolored and scarred. Swearing to himself in a therapeutic manta Mal paced as his healing factor kicked in and slowly began to mend the minor damage done. Keeping one eye on Oliver he could see whatever had happened was now at an end and there was little to do now but wait for him to awaken, taking him to a hospital was out of the question. Should another outburst occur there would be no way to cover it up,not that they could likely do anything for him in the first place. After verifying his vitals, Malcolm took a seat on the worn-out sofa nearby and sat back shaking his head at what a pain in the ass this client had already proved to be.

This is not worth $125 an hour that I don't really need in the first place, what asshole decided to be a P.I. in the first place? Oh yeah, me.

@_arbitrator_:

"Wake my son"

A flash of long blonde hair floated across his face its origins hidden in a glistening white hood. A memory ? a dream,a mental connection, Oliver didn't know. But as he stirred he did know one thing, Insurmountable pain. His muted grumble as he stirred breaking into a an epicly loud shout "FUCCCC********" what the hell happened?." Gritting his teeth as he reached over to his back still glowing shoulders. The angry flesh slowing knitting itself back together Oliver making the decision to recover himself with another top in order to try and hide the biological response to his trauma. Wincing as the fabric touched up against the red raw skin across his back turning back towards Malcolm "I' am sorry , i don't know what happened. Are you ok?. What did you see?. What happend to my back?"

@oliver_athos:

Malcolm sat there with a less than amused look upon his face, the charred remnants of his shirt and coat the first and most obvious non-verbal answer to Oliver's query. The skin beneath had already mended itself of all obvious damage outside of the still reddened and marginally discolored nature from the unnatural heat. As far as his client would know the damage was inconsequential, Mal saw no reason to entrust a complete stranger as to his own unique abilities and secrets. How does one place trust in someone who does not even know themselves, there was no way to even guess as to what he would do with such information should he regain his faculties. That was a decision that leaned far more towards high risk in return for minimal reward, if any, for now he was best kept in the dark.

Malcolm - "Short version? You handed me the photo album sitting next to me, screamed like a baby who got their milk bottle stolen, dropped like a sack of potatoes....of yeah, and started on fire."

With that he pointed at the burned beyond recognition old rug, then held up the scraps of his own shirt and coat to further the point.

Malcolm - "I'm going to assume this is a new thing for you, otherwise you'd have burnt up your wardrobe, not to mention this place down to the ground long before coming to see me. Your back erupted in flame like you did with your hands before, but this time shaped in a distinct pattern, some kind of sigil or mark. If you have some scrap paper that isn't charred I'll jot you a rough sketch."

Standing up he slipped the ruined clothing off of his shoulders and placed them in the nearest trash bin.

Malcolm - "I barely got singed, but that shirt and coat, fatally wounded."