Guilt trip

Venezuela: Catholic Church of Unified Mutants, 8:00PM...

Father Cassidy was an old blind man, a blind mutant to be exact. Even with the power to heal the ailments of others, he was still a humble man, holding Christ above himself and upheld the word of god. This well respected holy man was praying at his bedside, praying to his lord to unite the humans and mutants in a peace they could all enjoy.

There was of course forces and beings that didn't fall under human or mutant. Ones that didn't care about religion, good or evil and a balance. The shadow's Imps were such creatures. With the sun long set, and the moon up high these creatures crawled out of the shadow's outside of the church. "They have religion here? Who the hell cares about that god stuff when they can do all sorts of cute tricks!?" One of the Imps laughed while they all bickered and chuckled.

Hobbs however, was standing at the front as usual with his clever eyes surveying the scene. Of course, the brilliant leader creased his mouth to reveal a fanged grin, scratching his scaly chin. "You know what I love about churches boys? They are really crazy about candles..Weak light. Don't think we'll be needing to worry about meltin' anytime soon! COME ON!" Hobbs pointed forwards while scurrying onward himself, the dark blue horde climbing, crawling and slipping into the church like maggots on a wound....

Meanwhile, father Cassidy begun his nightly prayer, his old humble voice was as light as a pin drop. "Lord, I ask you tonight what I hope for every night. That you can show the people we are not so different from your original image..."

An Imp leaped onto one of the priests, his claws digging deep through the back of his throat.

"...That the bloodshed can cease, and we can start to rebuild what we have already lost..."

Hobbs grabbed at a stranger's ankles who sat at one of the many benches, dragging him under with a brief scream and a splash of blood across the stone floor right after. "Sorry, church's closed!"

"...For Xenon to keep his wisdom and strength, but use it for peace and prosperity..."

A priest in the concessionary booth heard the other door open, a few laughs here and there but were hushed by another scratchy voice, he was unable to see who it was on the other side from the dark. "Yes my child?" The priest asked, his brow creased at the unsettling noises. Finally though, one of the Imps spoke from the other side. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned. See I killed this priest because I really REALLY wanted his collar...No wait, that hasn't happened yet. Let's change that guys!" Three sets of Imp arms came breaking through the weak wooden mesh, pulling the horrified holy man through violently.

All the candles had been blown out through this church, all but the table candle in Father Cassidy's secluded bedroom. Cassidy finishing his prayer "...May your light shine on this city in it's darkest times Lord. Amen." Little did the humble Father know, that around twenty five Imps were in his room behind him, having blown out the candle minutes before the finished prayer, their hands pushed together in a mocking prayer. Hobbs was wearing the collar of one of the fallen priests while the others, of course not fitting his scrawny small neck. "AMEN! HAHAHAHAAAAHAHAA!" Every single Imp said almost in sync before erupting in horrid laughter, the Father turning around in a fright just as Hobbs leaped onto him first, plunging his clawed fingers right through the poor soul's eyes.

While the other Imps ravaged Cassidy like lions to a zebra, Hobbs held the blind eyes up to his own and looked around. "I dunno guys..I think I got ripped off on these eyes, I mean I can't see a thing! BAHAHAHAAAA! HEY! Save me some of his heart you bastards..."

What the authorities would find the very next morning would not be a single Imp in sight. Instead they would find the massacre that was left in their wake, and what was left of the late Father Cassidy strong up on the cross at the main alter. The words "GUILT TRIP" scratched onto his head...

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Come play in the dark

New York City: Hell's Kitchen, 11:00 PM.

"You can run allllll you want pal! We're gonna get you soon enough!" A crackled voice shouted from the dark of the streets. Local cocaine slinger Bruce Lachance ran for his life, already bleeding from a few claw cuts on his chest. Stick to the light, is all he had to keep in mind.

"Yeah Brucie! Why don't you just step ova' here and let us patch up that wound, scout's honor and all that crap." Another voice, this time followed with an eruption of impish laughter. Bruce wasn't going to have anymore of it though, pulling out his 9MM and firing into the shadows. It only made the voices mockingly fret and giggle.

"Oh shit boys! HE'S GOT A GUN! Aww shit it looks like we're duped now, if only we were more careful!" Just in the corner of Bruce's eye, he could see another one of those small clawed hands reaching out to the street lamp, black flesh smoking while plunging those nails into the bulb to shut it off. "OW OW OW! Ok NOW my hand's all fcked up." "Shoulda been more careful doofus! Ya know light burns us up like a goth at the beach." "How's about I kick ya right in the dick, give you somethin' to worry about!"

While the dozens of voices bickered, Bruce was still panicking at the fact that he was now standing in the light of the remaining street lamp here. Glowing eyes now at all sides, daring not to go into the light. The occasional small hand swept into the light to grab at his ankles, but failing while more dark flesh burned.

Finally though, this would all end when a bullet struck the bulb, and there was that moment of silence. Only Bruce's shaky breathes could be heard for a second before the now apparent imps rushed the human, leaping onto him and slashing his ankles open like a butchered pig. "FCKERS! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU!? AAAAAAAAAGH!" Bruce screamed while flailing about on the ground, his arms and legs held by three imps each.

"Brucie Brucie Brucie, I ought to thank your bookie for the pistol...Well I mean if he wasn't all dead and such." The shooter's voice approached the downed Bruce, it was an imp just like the others. However this one was much more scarred and slightly bigger than the rest, at least four feet. "Word in the dark is you've been dropping dime bags on a red coated bastard, a miserable one at that..We like miserable and dangerous" The boss imp scratched his ass with the barrel of the weapon, then put it in Bruce's mouth while pulling back the hammer.

"They call me Hobbes, like the tiger or some shit. And me and my pals here need a new host, a new boss man. If we don't? We fade away. So some piece o' crap dealer ain't going to get in the way of our potential new boss. Hopefully this will sweeten the deal when we hit him with it..." Hobbes leaned in closer, biting just the very tip of Bruce's nose off with his razor teeth, making him squeal through that barrel.

"We know you've been talkin' bout taking him down, the big green archer for some big bad rep eh? Well sorry pal, looks like your plan got cut short..." Hobbes tossed the pistol away, grabbing Bruce by the shoulders and sinking his teeth right on his forehead, stripping the flesh off. As the human screamed, the imps laughed as started to rip him apart.

"DIBS ON HIS WALLET!" "This doucher can't even afford some decent shoes, I mean they taste like crap" "He tastes like cocaine and hooker sweat...I LOVE IT!" "Dime bags all around" "Ewwwwww! I got dealer under my nails. HAHAHAHAHAAAA!"

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"I see how things work..."

Manhattan's Mercy hospital, the day of Dr. Watson's resignation.

There Watson stood, the chair he sat for the best five years in his life, where he climbed this hospitals ranks with his powers. His slender pale thumb traced the old black suspenders hugging his white buttoned shirt, a tick he often performed while thinking. The doctor finally snapped it as soon as the elevator all the way down the hall popped open, almost hearing the ding before it had occurred.

Walking down the hall was the news team here to interview him, apparently his leaving was something of an event, he didn't really think so...Let the show go on, anyhow.

New people were always a burden for Watson to meet, his mutant eyes sending his brain all of their information..How they worked. Who had a twitch, who has a gland problem, a smoking problem and a small cluster of tumor's developing near the right primary bronchus in the lungs.

"Now Dr. Watson, you have been chief physician for three years at Mercy. Would you care to tell us what brought on such a sudden resignation of your job here?" The blond with the crooked smile held that mic in his face, making Watson lean back in very subtle annoyance.

"Well Diane, me mutation is not secret. I am a public mutant and support their cause, but with that being said..Things work a little differently when you have a bit of a gift or burden in your genes. For me, I consider my eyes a bit of both. Sure I can see "anything" as the government has labeled, they even tried to have me detained for my "possible intrusion of the globe's privacy"...With that being said, at least for this hospitals walls. I have seen more blood than alot of doctors with my experience in this field, see rooms of heartbreak and dread..Everyday...I did some good here, or so I feel. But I simply am overburdened by what these eyes have seen."

Watson got to his feet, walking over to the window and started dissolving buildings in his vision, seeing them to the molecular point. "So what do you plan to do with your time off then, doctor?" The interviewer inquired, Watson still looking at Avalon now, the only building left in it's average definition within his sight. "I intend on finding employment as a physician elsewhere, somewhere that needs it..."

Doctor Watson was only hoping Ms. Dain didn't already have a personal doctor on staff.

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Conrad bio (Beta/Coming soon)

  • Name: Conrad "?"
  • Alias: Kid Pyro/Kid resurrection
  • Age: 18
  • Hair: Blond
  • Eyes: Blue
  • Genealogy: Kurt's son (from a paradoxical universe)
  • Species: Mutant
  • Mutation: Force field manipulation

The impossible son

Conrad, the son of Kurt's future. His mother was destined to be Abigail, Kurt's former love interest. The son traveled from his own time to watch over his parents...Or so that was the original plan. Kurt and Abigail had gone their separate ways, whether this was Conrad's fault or not doesn't matter, that future has been erased...But yet Conrad lives.

He is a fragmented echo of that reality, the only remnant of it. This child that wasn't technically ever born.

This change resulted in Conrad losing his memory, and a change of mutation since his genealogy is basically changed, a different mutation.

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Crash, the con cat. (Backup bio)

  • Faction: His own.
  • Title / Code Name: Con Cat, Puzzler
  • Real Name: Crash (Name on tag before X gene)
  • Gender: Male
  • Hair Color: Brown/White
  • Weight:115lbs
  • Age: 2 cat years= 24 human years
  • Eye Color: Yellow
  • Height: 5'8
  • Super Power Origin: Feline with X gene
  • Identity: Public.
  • Place of Birth: Arkham Massachusetts
  • Status: Alive.

Grid Points:

  • Agility: 5
  • Durability: 3
  • Energy Projection: 1
  • Fighting Ability: 4
  • Intelligence: 3
  • Mental Power: 1
  • Speed: 4
  • Stamina: 5
  • Strength: 4
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A cat's cunning

Gothic city

Thomas, a mutant who can fly was soaring on over to what he assumed would be some decent support. For Thomas belonged to the demographic of mutants who actually resented what he is, inhuman, unnatural. Then out of nowhere, fliers for a sort of support group started to show up all over Gothic, for people like him.

He landed right near the meeting location, a disused foundry near dock-town, where archers prowl. Thom removed his hood and saw some graffiti that was the same on the flier, and so he entered the foundry. "H-Hello? Support group?" He started to get a little anxious, almost ready to leave. That is until the scratch of a match could be heard from the shadows, along with some shimmering eyes.

"You're a little early...That's alright though.." A bipedal feline stepped out of the shadows, purring menacingly as smoke billowed out of his wet nose. Thom of course was surprised, even for mutant standards. "What the..?" Was all he could mutter, but this cat was used to that reaction, even among his own kind.

"Before ya ask kid..No..Not a human that turned into a cat. Was a cat..Had an X-gene...Mutated into this. First of my kind as far as I know..And now before you ask also? There's no support group.." The cat grinned with sharp teeth, claws popping from his fingers. Thom was now officially freaked out, and he was out of here. An opening on the ceiling screamed escape, so he took flight.

"That's just not gunna fly with me bud!" Cat grabbed a rusty chain near him, grabbing Thom by the ankle, slamming him face first into the pavement. His captor leaped a good six feet to land right on his back, claws digging into the young man's back.

"Rumor has it, there's a place out there, a camp for muties.. I reckon they are giving out some decent coin for muties...I like some coin, trust me.." He crouched down the grab Thom's scalp with clawed fingers, spitting out a tooth and some blood. "Who Are...Why...?" He said between pained groans, this feline's dirty claws repeatedly digging deeper into his back. "Name's Crash...And why? No profit to be made in being a good guy bud..Not too sorry about this.." Crash chuckled and slammed Thom's face into the pavement, knocking him out.

Gothic Harbor, hours later.

Crash stood at the end of his tug boat, puffing on a fresh cigarette. On the back of the boast was a cargo container filled with half a dozen captured mutants, their destination? this camp that has been murmured about by the mutant community. Crash had the thought of if he helped out on his end of things, maybe the con of a cat could avoid being a prisoner to the very same place. The main problem was going t be finding this place, before his "cargo" starved.

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Spiller (Up to date)

  • Faction: His own.
  • Title / Code Name: Puzzler/Puzzle Punk
  • Real Name: Spiller B Lancer
  • Gender: Male
  • Hair Color: Pink.
  • Weight:115lbs
  • Age: 17
  • Eye Color: Blue (pink when using powers)
  • Height: 5'8
  • Super Power Origin: Mutant.
  • Identity: Public.
  • Place of Birth: Liverpool
  • Status: Alive.

The Puzzler effect

His ever evolving mutation, what stemmed from dysfunctional telepathy, is now something broader. The Puzzler effect refers to the mutation in his brain, almost like pocket space to store more knowledge with ease, making his mind process information at an inhuman rate. This makes learning new skills, at least related to the mind, relatively simple and achievable very fast. This bestows many mental mutations, each varying in skill.

Telepathy (Skill: Ωmega)

Spiller's telepathy is easily one of the most powerful and prominent on earth. It is infamous on file for being very tricky to defend against due to it's aggressive yet complicated manner of how it invades the brain. To this day, Spiller is one of the first telepaths to be able to break down or detour past mental barriers and blocks, of course taking effort and time to do so. Below is a list of ways Spiller has, to date, used his telepathic powers.

  • Able to read almost anyone's mind, even break some mental defenses.
  • "Pushing": The ability to make a thought seem more appealing to a person. This can range from persuasion, to making murder seem as likable as buying a cake.
  • Tele-comm: Able to communicate to anyone via thought over amazing distances, possibly even countries.
  • Control: With great effort, can freeze, move and remotely control a person's movements.
  • Command: Much like control, but verbally telling a person what to do with them complying without question. This could range from telling someone to move, to committing suicide.
  • Mirage: Make someone see what isn't there.
  • Scramble: Send a harsh frequency to someone's mind, causing immense head pain.
  • Radar: Map out an area via sensing out people's brainwaves.
  • Mindscape: Astral project himself into a person's mind, able to traverse their psyche and inner thoughts.
  • Mind link: Much like with taking thoughts from someone, he can also project his own memories and knowledge to a person as well.
  • Flash read: A very finicky skill, able to read the mind of per-say an attacker just as they are about to strike, giving him moments to possibly avoid the attack.

Telekinesis (Skill: Ωmega)

After an exile dedicated to training. Spiller has finally evolved his mind to embrace the ability to move solid matter with his mind. Much like his initial telepathy, the TK is limitless, like a muscle to be strengthened. His strength does seem formidable however, a list of feats and acts accomplished by Spiller:

  • Easily lifting and moving his own body about with no effort.
  • Able to lift a small car with focus.

Mental constructs (Skill: Ωmega)

Another mental evolution in Spiller's mind is the ability to create solid energy straight from his mind. The construct is directly linked to the mental health of Spiller. Things like focus are involved in the strength of said construct. The larger and more complex the object? The more of Spiller's time and focus need to be applied to it.

Grid Points:

  • Agility: 2
  • Durability: 3
  • Energy Projection: 1
  • Fighting Ability: 1
  • Intelligence: Ωmega
  • Mental Power: Ωmega
  • Speed: 2
  • Stamina: 2
  • Strength: 2
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Puzzle Punk! #2

Spiller sprints down the hallway from a woman made of fire. "SPILLER YOU ASSHOLE!" She shouts while casting an orb of flame towards Spiller's back, but he simply laughs and turns the corner. With the time he had, the punk used his TK to rip a lock off one of the lockers, and throw himself inside while closing it.

Camcorder on, night vision activated shows Spiller glaring at the camera through the dark of the closed locker. "Huff huff Spiller again, log number two, December twenty seventh, twenty thirteen. Probs wondering why I am in a locker yeah? Well Gena Wilden of course, starts talking bad about the pink hair...What do I do? Read her mind and announce her secret love during lunch for quarterback Donny Buten....Cliche girl freak out-" He pauses to look through the grating of the locker, then looked back.

"-ensues. What a load of crap...Anyway, day two at Val Huntington's school for fat cat students. I signed up myself actually..Only to cause the mayhem that can only happen in my youth..And to show the world's greatest telepath that..Well that there needs to be a recount on that title!" Spiller chuckled arrogantly before his eyes flared pink for a moment.

"She just gave up the search, heard her thinking it.." Spiller opens up the locker, the camera floats a little bit above the teen as he starts walking down the hall. "Now as for my big prank for the first week of school? Enter the world Inquisitor..Infamous for talking heaps of garbage about celebrities. One of their favorite targets?"

Spiller enters his dorm to be greeted by a blast of punk rock and dirty laundry. The camcorder gets floated on over to his desk in which he takes a seat in front of, pushing up his glasses. "Valerie Huntington, the female hunk as it were..I plan on spray painting copies of the scandal pages involving her onto EVERY door I can find over Thursday night. The student body will wake up, and laugh at what the world thinks our headmistress is sleeping with these days. It's gold in the making!"

Spiller creates a pink baseball bat constructs and gives it a few flips. "One thing that the school is proving useful for is honing my construct abilities and TK abilities. I would use my TP alot more? If it weren't for the fascist white queen that is watching for all ill-used telepathy..Total drag! Oh! Almost forgot.."

Next, the punk pulls up a book of fake I.D's and hall passes. "Been making a mighty fine small profit off of selling pretty decent fakes. Not my usual menacing work? But Energy drink money is energy drink money.." Spiller grinned while rubbing his fingers together in a money gesture, tossing the book behind him.

"That's all for now folks! This is your favorite Puzzle Punk saying, you are the resistance."

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Puzzle Punk! An online Vlog series #1 (IC)

A camcorder flicked on by Spiller while he was cleaning his glasses. He was clearly sitting at a desk, a room littered with his own graffiti and punk rock posters. The rebel finally put his glasses back on and looked to the camera.

"Alright, first vlog. My name is Spiller B lancer..And I'm a mutant. Born with a brain that has geniuses shitting their pants and telepaths look like gypsy fortune tellers. But whatevs, no big deal or anything. I have moved out of my recent..Stomping grounds as of yesterday. I am now living with my 'friend' Kurt, you know, the archer?

Found this decent arms storage, cleared it out and turned it into my bedroom. Not bad yeah? I would explain a bit more but it's a cliche "secret base"..What a tosser.." Spiller put his fingers in a quote before scoffing and leaning back in his chair.

"So, back in Gothic city, big plans. I have no idea what the hell to do otherwise though, feelin' a bit lost you know?" He rubs his temples. "Do you know how frustrating it is to have thousands of brilliant thoughts and not a single one points you in the right direction? Horrible. I guess find Anya? I dunno. As if she would want to see the guy that ditched her three months ago for bloody school..."

The rebel gave a sigh before holding up one of his most recent T-shirt creations. "In case you didn't know, I make my own shirts. Cause f*ck paying for sh!t everyone else is wearing. Big fan of this one, cause it's true. No way that fat cat corporate hero is dead. And I mean if he is? Then there really is nobody fighting against the economic rapist that's our government in the U.S of tossing A. Trust me..I'm working on a "lovely" little tribute to that cheesy goatee of a Prez, Stark.."

Spiller chuckled before chucking the shirt behind him, onto his bed. And with a mocking salute, he grinned. "That's all for now, rebels. Puzzle Punk, signing off."

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Spiller B Lancer

  • Faction: His own.
  • Title / Code Name: Puzzler
  • Real Name: Spiller B Lancer
  • Gender: Male
  • Hair Color: Pink.
  • Weight:115lbs
  • Age: 17
  • Eye Color: Green (varies)
  • Height: 5'8
  • Super Power Origin: Mutant.
  • Identity: Public.
  • Place of Birth: Liverpool
  • Status: Alive.
  • Avatar Appearance: Riddler
  • Mini Biography: Spiller is the bastard son of the cape killer legend Bill Lancer, who left his mother pregnant with him after Bill was done in the U.K. And just like his mother, Spiller was a mutant, but of course didn't yet realize. When he did, was the days after his mother passed away from cancer, transforming Spill into a punk rebel orphan who lived hard on the streets. This all changed of course when his powers emerged, discovering he had immense telepathy, arguably one of the most powerful on earth. He went from living on the streets to living at the grandest hotels for free (trashing them while he was at it) for he could bend the will of most average people, he even delved into frying peoples brains when they gave back talk. This quickly got the attention of Meta-affairs, swiftly detaining the boy and putting him in a supermax prison.

The Puzzler effect

His ever evolving mutation, what stemmed from dysfunctional telepathy, to what he assumed was simply magic, is now something broader. The Puzzler effect refers to the mutation in his brain, almost like pocket space to store more knowledge with ease, making his mind process information at an inhuman rate. This makes learning new skills, at least related to the mind, relatively simple and achievable very fast. Oddly enough, magic, flows through his mind due to it's radioactive nature.

Grid Points:

  • Agility: 2
  • Durability: 3
  • Energy Projection: 7
  • Fighting Ability: 1
  • Intelligence: 5
  • Mental Power: 4
  • Speed: 2
  • Stamina: 2
  • Strength: 2
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