Fantasy Deadman S.W.A.T Characters

[EccentricFantasy]

Here is the base sheet. If you want to add more that is fine, but this is the base. Any questions, ask me in the OOC.

Name:
Age at Death:
Rank on Team:
Job/Jobs on Team:
Appearance:
(Art preferred, but description allowed)

Main Weapon:
Secondary Weapon:
Power/Ability:
(This can be supernatural or arcane. It can be simple and versatile or complicated and singularly focused or they can be a combination of both. Just run the ideas by me, but I can pretty much say that most powers will be accepted)

Personality:
Background:
(Remember, they do not remember their past lives. Just up till they reanimated)

Combat Specialty:
Other:
Theme Song:
(Not Required, but I do enjoy seeing the choices you make with a theme song)
​

Weapons must be modern weapons.

S.W.A.T Team Rankings from lowest to highest. These are not one spot. The bottom three are singular spots, but we can have as many of the others as we want:

1. Trainee
2. Private
3. Private First Class
4. Sergeant
5. Sergeant First Class
6. Staff Sergeant
7. 2nd Lieutenant
8. 1st Lieutenant
9. Captain
10. Major
11. Vice-Commander
12. Commander

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Name:
Jason Evans

Age at Death:
22

Rank on Team:
Major

Job/Jobs on Team:
Infantry and Heavy Assault

Appearance:

Main Weapons:
Infantry: BR18 Compact Assault Rifle
Heavy Assault: M32 Grenade Launcher

Secondary Weapon:
Infantry: M92 Beretta 9mm
Heavy Assault: SOB-13 Tactical Shotgun

Power/Ability:
His ability is considered Supernatural class. This ability allows him to create, manipulate and utilize flames and combustion in a variety of ways. He also has complete fire resistance, cannot be burned and does not feel heat until it reaches over 1,100 degrees Fahrenheit, the hottest a natural fire can get. However, this ability can only be used when a demon he named Sitri appears from his back. Sitri has two separate forms. These forms focus on two different styles of flame and combustion. In both forms Sitri is able to use and create fire in its own sentience. Sitri is like a separate entity all together whose primary goal is the preservation of Jason's life as his own life is linked to him.

Spoiler: Infantry Mode

This mode is a less power more finesse style. He uses this form for when he is performing Infantry duties. In exchange for less power he gains the ability to control and manipulate fire and combustion's to a staggering degree. In this mode he mainly uses Sitri to control the explosions from his fired bullets. This allows him to control direction, noise and velocity of his bullets to a very accurate degree. He can lower the bullets force to the point of only knocking them out and even change bullet paths mid-fire. On top of that, if he needs to be in a close range fight, he can light parts of his body on fire for extra damage. Sitri himself can also attack with its long arms and claw like fingers with the heat of a wildfire.

Spoiler: Heavy Assault Mode

In this mode there is no finesse at all. This mode is save specifically for situations where they can not afford to be patient, where there needs to be more brute force applied or they cannot wait for a slow entry. In this form, Sitri himself controls the fire as it is too much power for Jason's human body to handle. It focuses on the fire creation more than manipulation. In this form it is most common for Sitri to throw massive amounts of fire in small artillery like attack. This is a lot of power, but is very hard to control. It is one of, if not the most powerful singular assault ability that the Deadman S.W.A.T has available, but do to it's hard to control destructive capability, it is usually a no other choice type option. While in this form Sitri is still capable of close range combat, but it is significantly slower, but is far more devastating when attacks connect.

Personality:
Jason is not one to think highly of himself, but puts many others on pedestals. He has a nasty habit of thinking of himself as less than rather than as a person who matters. From his point of view, given his abilities and rank, the only thing that makes him any sort of impressive is Sitri. Given the fact that he has died once, he just assumed he was either a terrible person or his life was terrible. Why else would he be killed or die at such a young age.

When he looks in the mirror he sees scars from the end of a life that may as well have been a fairy tale. He didn't know how he got them, but they were just reminders that in his old life he was less than a good person and most likely got what he deserved. Jason understands he is well trained and works hard to be the best Deadman S.W.A.T team member he can be. That being said, there is a cloud hanging over him. Always a constant ray of negativity over him.

Despite all of that, he has the most cheerful outward attitude you could want around. He is a joker and a loving person. Always putting the joy of those around him. His own self deprecating attitude is very well hidden beneath his care for others. It is common knowledge that the United States Deadman S.W.A.T team always wants Jason behind them. They all know Jason is the first person to take a bullet for anyone on his team. Laying down his life for everyone around him is second nature to him. He will make sly jokes about himself being worthless and will actively hope that no one catches on to his not so subtle hints at his own self image.

Background:
Opening his eyes for the first time. A filthy room. Shower tile covered the walls and the smell of blood and soap scum. His eyes blurry and his heart beating fast. Why was his heart beating so fast? He felt the slightly warm shower tiles on his back through his blood soaked white T-shirt. As his vision cleared he saw something. A group of men with guns aimed down, but it was not at him. At least he knew why his heart was beating so fast. But he was confused. Why did he know the guns were aimed at him if his vision just now cleared up. He started to notice more things, things that made no sense. This room he was in was covered shower tiles and blood, but he wasn't cold. The tiles on his back were warm. Looking at them men he saw that they were scared. Not even pointing the guns at him. And the light clearly supposed to be a solid L.E.D bar light, but the light that dominated the room was more red and flickering. The light was not coming from the bulbs in the ceiling.

Turning his eyes from the men to behind him, he saw Sitri for the first time. Fear did not fill his mind, rather a sense of understanding. Seeing this demon, fire orbs formed around it as it stared down at the men with weapons aimed, it was a feeling he had. Like he knew exactly what it wanted. The way the government specialists put it, it was as if Sitri is the right half of the brain. Reacts off instinct and not rational thought. Jason was the left brain, the filter and controls for the reactive right brain. In this moment his heart calmed as he was finally able to fully get the information needed to react to the situation. Turning to the men and takes a moment to visibly calm himself and Sitri. This was enough for the team to confirm that this man was a Clear mind rather than a full blown Deadman.

From there Jason was put through the works. Medical work up, power and ability examination and even a physical. Through his confusion he felt this overwhelming negative feeling. Not towards this apparent new life he was granted or people around him, but towards himself. He couldn't understand it, but he was completely disgusted with himself. Not knowing who he was or what his old life way, yet he still found himself to be an unworthy person. He found himself to be worthless and not worthy of the gifts he was given. In spite of this fact in his head, he was not going to waste this gift. Given his inclination towards self deprecation, it seemed only natural that a person like him should dedicate his life to keeping others safe. It was in government mandated education classes he was taught about the Deadman S.W.A.T. It seemed like a perfect fit. A way to protect the average people and those who truly deserved this gift that was given to them.

Immediately he started to train. Learning the limits of his powers and how to apply them. Over two years he discovered that he could split the powers and concentration of what Sitri could do. Along the way he learned how to put Sitri into his two separate forms. This using the weaker form for great control and the stronger form for really big missions. After mastering his ability, he moved on to combat training. At first, it was hard. Focusing on his powers it was hard to get a grasp on weapons. It wasn't until he started applying his abilities to his duties that it started working out for him.

It took a while to fully put it together, but eventually he discovered that he could apply the increased control of bullets that was offered by the Infantry mode of Sitri to make him an irreplaceable member of the team. He even showed his prowess as a Heavy Assault soldier.

It wasn't long until his abilities were recognized as an indispensable S.W.A.T member. Within 4 years on the team he was promoted to Major. That meant he was third in command and was mainly the on ground command giver. It was him who made snap tactical moves on the fly. He proved over years of service that he was a leader and despite what he felt about himself, he was capable of keeping people safe.

Combat Specialty:
Short-to-Mid range shooting and unarmed combat

Other:
Jason does not tell anyone, but he can sometimes hear a voice deep in his mind. He can't hear the specific words, but he simply assumes it is Sitri.

Theme Song:
​

 

[Ace Cream]

Name: Sharon Silvester
Name: Ai Viralist
Age at Death: 24
Rank on Team: staff sergeant
Jobs on Team: scout/support
Appearance:


Main Weapon: various drones and bombs
Secondary Weapon: a pair of handguns
Power/Ability:
The exact nature of her ability isn't well-known yet, but Ai is able to separate a part of her soul and instill it into an object to posses it. She can control the possessed objects. There doesn't seems to be any distance limit but the more objects that she possess at a time, the more absent-minded she becomes.

Personality: Ai speaks in a robotic manner, the psychologists assume this might be due to prolonged possession of the super computer. She's a stoic person, barely change the expression on her face and usually states her emotion instead. The training she received in the S.W.A.T make her really obeys hierarchy without questioning it.

Background:
Ai reanimated while having her neck hung on a rope, in a deserted private island, with several other people hanging around her. She almost dead again from the rope choking her neck but fortunately she was able to cut the rope before it happens. Confused as what was happening, she lives in abandoned villa on the island for several days before she felts like something creeping inside her. In a panic she board an abandoned ship on the island's pier and made her way into the mainland.

Still confused, she wandered aimlessly and learned to use her ability to hack into machines for survival. It didn't take long before her crimes were tracked down and she was captured. She was almost mistaken as a deadman but due to the non-violent nature of her crimes she was finally clarified as a clear mind. Her versatile ability immediately caught the attention of the higher ups and she was recruited into the S.W.A.T. They found out that she can enhance her calculating capabilities by possessing a supercomputer.

Combat Specialty: mid/long-range bombardment.
Other:

• She likes 'elevator music' and is a rhytm game goddess.
• She secretly joined a weird cult centered around death.

Theme Song:

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Name: Sharon Silvester
Name: Ai Viralist
Age at Death: 24
Rank on Team: staff sergeant
Jobs on Team: scout/support
Appearance:
View attachment 768258

Main Weapon: various drones and bombs
Secondary Weapon: a pair of handguns
Power/Ability:
The exact nature of her ability isn't well-known yet, but Ai is able to separate a part of her soul and instill it into an object to posses it. She can control the possessed objects. There doesn't seems to be any distance limit but the more objects that she possess at a time, the more absent-minded she becomes.

Personality: Ai speaks in a robotic manner, the psychologists assume this might be due to prolonged possession of the super computer. She's a stoic person, barely change the expression on her face and usually states her emotion instead. The training she received in the S.W.A.T make her really obeys hierarchy without questioning it.

Background:
Ai reanimated while having her neck hung on a rope, in a deserted private island, with several other people hanging around her. She almost dead again from the rope choking her neck but fortunately she was able to cut the rope before it happens. Confused as what was happening, she lives in abandoned villa on the island for several days before she felts like something creeping inside her. In a panic she board an abandoned ship on the island's pier and made her way into the mainland.

Still confused, she wandered aimlessly and learned to use her ability to hack into machines for survival. It didn't take long before her crimes were tracked down and she was captured. She was almost mistaken as a deadman but due to the non-violent nature of her crimes she was finally clarified as a clear mind. Her versatile ability immediately caught the attention of the higher ups and she was recruited into the S.W.A.T. They found out that she can enhance her calculating capabilities by possessing a supercomputer.

Combat Specialty: mid/long-range bombardment.
Other:

• She likes 'elevator music' and is a rhythm game goddess.
• She secretly joined a weird cult centered around death.

Theme Song:

I like her and the ability you have on her. It does make for a wonderful part of the team. Her back story is great, kind of scary. She is all sorts of in.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Birth Name:
Andrew Anderson Mueller
Deadman Name:
Robert Strauss
Age at Death:
35
Rank on Team:
Vice Commander -- VC.
Job/Jobs on Team:
Infiltration specialist
Appearance:

Spoiler: DUTY

Main Weapon:
An M4A1 with an Aimpoint Micro T-1 sight and a combined flashlight/laser module.
Secondary Weapon:
A P229 pistol with an under barrel laser module.
A six inch blade.
Power/Ability:
Supernatural:
Enhanced Agility Robert's agility is unmatched by normal humans or most deadmen, he is able to balance himself on a piece of rebar with his toes and one foot in the air.
Camouflage Robert is able to blend into his surroundings although not truly invisible, he is nigh impossible to detect while standing still.
Arcane: Status Unknown.

Personality:
Robert is a particularly level-headed guy, expressing himself more positively than a normal deadman. He'll be there for you when you need him, always willing to drop what he's doing and come around to see if he can help. He'll crack a joke when a mission goes well but will remain eerily silent when it goes astray. A man of focus, he can sometimes lose himself in hours and hours of whatever task that he is doing, from paperwork to hobbies. He might bust your chops when you screw up in the mission but that's only because he cares about the team. He doesn't hold a grudge but never does he forgive, especially betrayals. Doesn't take too kindly when collateral damage is caused by his team, whether as a result of their actions or inaction. Sometimes when he sees a happy family, he becomes... saddened by the sight.

Background:
In a secluded building outside of the city's reach, two individuals stood behind a one way glass pane. One dressed in a lab coat with clipboard in hand, the other in an expensive suit."As you know the subject's full name is Andrew Anderson Mueller, he preferred to be referred as Anderson when he was alive." The one in the lab coat spoke.

"Why is that?" The suited individual questioned."Andrew was the name of his grandfather, according to police reports and the Mueller family therapist, it's been determined that the grandfather had been problematic, rather abusive before his death." The doctor(?) answered.

"Is it possible that Anderson became such an overconfident money hog because old grandpa didn't give a hoot about them?" Another question between the two individuals as they looked at the man in question being examined by multiple physicians, psychiatrists and other people of various medical fields.

"Andrew certainly did have an effect on Anderson but his overconfidence and greed are entirely his own. Let's review Anderson's history:

Anderson grew up in a loving family of 4, he lived out most of his childhood and teenage years in Ohio. At 20, Anderson broke into the racing scene as a prodigy, almost exclusively placing in the top three. We can assume this is where his overconfidence first appeared simply by reviewing his behaviour before and after the races. During this time, he was also a lot more aggressive than he was in the last few years of his life. Frequently getting into arguments or if the situation got heated enough, fights. The media consistently reported his bursts of anger while his fans made up excuses.

At 26 years old however Anderson met his future wife, Jessica Bresten. She made a notable improvement to Anderson, making him get his act together and start behaving more professionally. Three years later, they married and another year later, they have a son. Around this time, it became clear that Anderson's greed started taking over his actions. He became more aggressive on the track, earning multiple first places. Secretly however Anderson started participating in street races, he even got a new car which he used during said races. For a time, he seemed invincible. That is until he slipped up."

"Right, I remember the headlines."

"Yes, the media got a hold of concrete evidence that Anderson participated in these illegal races. The organizers of them were not savoury people, their bad publicity leaked into Anderson's life. He was attacked from all fronts, at home by his wife chastising him and by the public with insults or questions. During one night, Anderson stormed out of his suburban home, drunk. He got into his car and drove at maddening speeds. That is when the incident occurred. A cargo truck slammed into his vehicle, sending it flying down the street. Anderson met his tragic end instantly, his body mangled and lacerated by glass and metal."

"And then here we are, can't say I feel sorry for the guy. What's his new name?"

"Robert Strauss."


Combat Specialty:
Mid - Long Range Rifle Fire.
Other:
Robert has two hobbies: Lock-picking, and acrobatics;
He still maintains the muscle memory to drive a race car;
He adopted a stray cat named Dex;
In the underworld, he earned the nickname Skell for his signature mask.
Anderson had a blood alcohol concentration level of 0.24 over three times the legal limit at the time of driving.

Theme Song:

Spoiler

​

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Birth Name:
Andrew Anderson Mueller
Deadman Name:
Robert Strauss
Age at Death:
35
Rank on Team:
Major -- MAJ.
Job/Jobs on Team:
Infiltration specialist
Appearance:

Spoiler: DUTY

Main Weapon:
An M4A1 with an Aimpoint Micro T-1 sight and a combined flashlight/laser module.
Secondary Weapon:
A P229 pistol with an under barrel laser module.
A six inch blade.
Power/Ability:
Supernatural:
Enhanced Agility Robert's agility is unmatched by normal humans or most deadmen, he is able to balance himself on a piece of rebar with his toes and one foot in the air.
Camouflage Robert is able to blend into his surroundings although not truly invisible, he is nigh impossible to detect while standing still.
Arcane: Status Unknown.

Personality:
Robert is a particularly level-headed guy, expressing himself more positively than a normal deadman. He'll be there for you when you need him, always willing to drop what he's doing and come around to see if he can help. He'll crack a joke when a mission goes well but will remain eerily silent when it goes astray. A man of focus, he can sometimes lose himself in hours and hours of whatever task that he is doing, from paperwork to hobbies. He might bust your chops when you screw up in the mission but that's only because he cares about the team. He doesn't hold a grudge but never does he forgive, especially betrayals. Doesn't take too kindly when collateral damage is caused by his team, whether as a result of their actions or inaction. Sometimes when he sees a happy family, he becomes... saddened by the sight.

Background:
In a secluded building outside of the city's reach, two individuals stood behind a one way glass pane. One dressed in a lab coat with clipboard in hand, the other in an expensive suit."As you know the subject's full name is Andrew Anderson Mueller, he preferred to be referred as Anderson when he was alive." The one in the lab coat spoke.

"Why is that?" The suited individual questioned."Andrew was the name of his grandfather, according to police reports and the Mueller family therapist, it's been determined that the grandfather had been problematic, rather abusive before his death." The doctor(?) answered.

"Is it possible that Anderson became such an overconfident money hog because old grandpa didn't give a hoot about them?" Another question between the two individuals as they looked at the man in question being examined by multiple physicians, psychiatrists and other people of various medical fields.

"Andrew certainly did have an effect on Anderson but his overconfidence and greed are entirely his own. Let's review Anderson's history:

Anderson grew up in a loving family of 4, he lived out most of his childhood and teenage years in Ohio. At 20, Anderson broke into the racing scene as a prodigy, almost exclusively placing in the top three. We can assume this is where his overconfidence first appeared simply by reviewing his behaviour before and after the races. During this time, he was also a lot more aggressive than he was in the last few years of his life. Frequently getting into arguments or if the situation got heated enough, fights. The media consistently reported his bursts of anger while his fans made up excuses.

At 26 years old however Anderson met his future wife, Jessica Bresten. She made a notable improvement to Anderson, making him get his act together and start behaving more professionally. Three years later, they married and another year later, they have a son. Around this time, it became clear that Anderson's greed started taking over his actions. He became more aggressive on the track, earning multiple first places. Secretly however Anderson started participating in street races, he even got a new car which he used during said races. For a time, he seemed invincible. That is until he slipped up."

"Right, I remember the headlines."

"Yes, the media got a hold of concrete evidence that Anderson participated in these illegal races. The organizers of them were not savoury people, their bad publicity leaked into Anderson's life. He was attacked from all fronts, at home by his wife chastising him and by the public with insults or questions. During one night, Anderson stormed out of his suburban home, drunk. He got into his car and drove at maddening speeds. That is when the incident occurred. A cargo truck slammed into his vehicle, sending it flying down the street. Anderson met his tragic end instantly, his body mangled and lacerated by glass and metal."

"And then here we are, can't say I feel sorry for the guy. What's his new name?"

"Robert Strauss."


Combat Specialty:
Mid - Long Range Rifle Fire.
Other:
Robert has two hobbies: Lock-picking, and acrobatics;
He still maintains the muscle memory to drive a race car;
He adopted a stray cat named Dex;
In the underworld, he earned the nickname Skell for his signature mask.
Anderson had a blood alcohol concentration level of 0.24 over three times the legal limit at the time of driving.

Theme Song:

Spoiler

​

I love him. One problem. I stated that the top three ranks are singular and my character has Major. However, Vice-Commander or Commander is all yours if you want.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

I love him. One problem. I stated that the top three ranks are singular and my character has Major. However, Vice-Commander or Commander is all yours if you want.

Changed.

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Worthlessplebian He is in.

 

[Ian Temero]

Rafi Istar​

Age at Death: 18
Rank on Team: Trainee
Job on Team: Medic


Main Weapon Equipment: Unit One Pack
Secondary Weapon: M9 Pistol

Power/Ability: Nano Thread
"Okay, lets see if I can remember what the lab guys said about this... I have the ability to create and manipulate nano-molecular tendrils. Well 'create' isn't quite the right word since those tendrils are technically my hairs, and not just the ones on my head mind you. So anyways, I'm able to grow these tendrils up to about a meter and can control them like my own limbs. With them I can manipulate objects, stitch up wounds, and cut through objects at a molecular level. Freaky, right? Well the lab guys say I might be able to do other things with these threads but we didn't have enough time to run all the tests they wanted, so I guess I'll find out as I go."

"Oh! And I can control my hair length! Which is a great thing since my tendrils actually have nerve endings so getting a hair cut would kinda hurt. Well, if the scissor didn't get cut first that is..."

Personality:
Raphi is your typical plucky recruit, all sunshine and rainbows and happy to be there. At least that's how she'd like everyone to see her. In reality she deals with some serious depression and self-esteem issues and is anxiety prone. When it comes to her job as a medic she tends to do well under any amount of pressure, but when other stressers get involved she can easily spiral down into a panic attack, and when that happens it's best to keep away from her as her threads unconsciously start lashing out at everything around her.

Background:
"You know what's a really weird morning? Waking up and climbing out of bed to to find a crap ton of people staring at you in shock and then have them start screaming. Yeah, ends up my 'bed' was a coffin and all those folks were attending a funeral, mine apparently. Funny, right? Well three of the people weren't panicking and instead started crying and tackle-hugged me. I guess they were my family or something? I don't know, the whole thing was confusing. And then a whole bunch of guys with guns burst in and started pulling people away. I...uh, don't exactly remember what happened next. I think I had a panic attack and... and I think I hurt some people... not sure why they didn't just kill me..."

"Anyways! Next thing I know I'm waking up in a facility with armed guards and guys in lab coats. They spent awhile examining me and putting me and my weird tentacles through a bunch of tests. Then they told me I was going to become some kinda super soldier. I was like 'Hell nah!' but it wasn't something I had much of a choice in sadly. However they were willing to compromise and put me in a less combat oriented position since apparently I have a knack for medicine! Who knows, maybe I was a doctor or something before? Hah... yeah right. I'm too young for that."

Combat Specialty: Close Combat
"Okay, saying I have a combat specialty might be pushing it a little. Hippocratic Oath and all that, you know?"

Theme Song:

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Rafi Istar​

Age at Death: 18
Rank on Team: Trainee
Job on Team: Medic


Main Weapon Equipment: Unit One Pack
Secondary Weapon: M9 Pistol

Power/Ability: Nano Thread
"Okay, lets see if I can remember what the lab guys said about this... I have the ability to create and manipulate nano-molecular tendrils. Well 'create' isn't quite the right word since those tendrils are technically my hairs, and not just the ones on my head mind you. So anyways, I'm able to grow these tendrils up to about a meter and can control them like my own limbs. With them I can manipulate objects, stitch up wounds, and cut through objects at a molecular level. Freaky, right? Well the lab guys say I might be able to do other things with these threads but we didn't have enough time to run all the tests they wanted, so I guess I'll find out as I go."

"Oh! And I can control my hair length! Which is a great thing since my tendrils actually have nerve endings so getting a hair cut would kinda hurt. Well, if the scissor didn't get cut first that is..."

Personality:
Raphi is your typical plucky recruit, all sunshine and rainbows and happy to be there. At least that's how she'd like everyone to see her. In reality she deals with some serious depression and self-esteem issues and is anxiety prone. When it comes to her job as a medic she tends to do well under any amount of pressure, but when other stressers get involved she can easily spiral down into a panic attack, and when that happens it's best to keep away from her as her threads unconsciously start lashing out at everything around her.

Background:
"You know what's a really weird morning? Waking up and climbing out of bed to to find a crap ton of people staring at you in shock and then have them start screaming. Yeah, ends up my 'bed' was a coffin and all those folks were attending a funeral, mine apparently. Funny, right? Well three of the people weren't panicking and instead started crying and tackle-hugged me. I guess they were my family or something? I don't know, the whole thing was confusing. And then a whole bunch of guys with guns burst in and started pulling people away. I...uh, don't exactly remember what happened next. I think I had a panic attack and... and I think I hurt some people... not sure why they didn't just kill me..."

"Anyways! Next thing I know I'm waking up in a facility with armed guards and guys in lab coats. They spent awhile examining me and putting me and my weird tentacles through a bunch of tests. Then they told me I was going to become some kinda super soldier. I was like 'Hell nah!' but it wasn't something I had much of a choice in sadly. However they were willing to compromise and put me in a less combat oriented position since apparently I have a knack for medicine! Who knows, maybe I was a doctor or something before? Hah... yeah right. I'm too young for that."

Combat Specialty: Close Combat
"Okay, saying I have a combat specialty might be pushing it a little. Hippocratic Oath and all that, you know?"

Theme Song:

I see you went with Mercy from Overwatch as your faceclaim. Awesome choice. I like her.

 

[WARWOLF01]

​

Here is the base sheet. If you want to add more that is fine, but this is the base. Any questions, ask me in the OOC.

Name: Erick "Owens" Wolf
Age at Death: 29
Rank on Team: O-12 Commander
Job/Jobs on Team: Team Commander
Appearance:

(Art preferred, but description allowed)

Main Weapon:
Heckler & Koch G-36 Assault Rifle, chambered in 5.56mm Nato

Modifications: Match trigger, Magazine extension to 45 Rounds, Internal Bolt mechanism to up FPS and be stable. Addition of a howling wolf's head emblem on the right lower part of the magazine guard. PEQ-15 Custom Rail mount, Adjusted Magnified Sight for cross-com integration.
KRISS Vector Champered in Nato 9MM

Secondary Weapon:
Glock Model 17, chambered in .45ACP

M-14 Enhanced Battle Rifle Chambered in Nato 7.62 MM

Modifications: Match trigger, Magazine extension to 35 Rounds, Internal Bolt mechanism to up FPS and be stable. Addition of a howling wolf's head emblem on the right lower part of the magazine guard. PEQ-15 Custom Rail mount, Adjusted Magnified Sight for cross-com integration.
Power/Ability:
Erick has the ability to slow down time and go into a 'bullet time' stasis of time, allowing him the ability to easily maneuver around the bad guys and come up behind them, surprising them.
He also has the ability to create a bulletproof wall between himself and his teammates so that way no one has to get too hurt, he can also telepathically communicate with the rest of his team if he needs to. While these abilities are an extra gain for the team, there are limitations to his ability, such as whenever he uses these abilities, he can either get tired and lethargic or he can become completely distracted for about a few minutes or so, after using one of his abilities.
He does have a limitation to his powers and can only use them for 15 seconds before he has a 10-minute cooldown, before he can use his abilities again.
Erick is one the very rare deadmen that has multiple abilities when he awoke and joined Deadman SWAT
Personality:
Erick is the kindest soul anyone could ever know, always willing to give someone a hand, whether it be for his own benefit or not, he is always looking to help. Joining the police force, was the best thing that could have ever happened to him, He is calm and collected, but also serious whenever he needs to be, he will usually never be mad at someone, unless they provoke him and will make him mad beyond normal.
Background:
Erick is a police officer, he is a career member of the police force and a workaholic, he tends to spend more time with his work stuff, then to actually have some semblance of a normal life.
He died originally in the line of duty, while wearing tactical body armor and was breaching into a room, while a school shooter was on the loose in a middle school. His body armor took the full round impact of several large-caliber rifle rounds, while putting himself between himself and a group of scared preteens that were about to be fired upon by the masked gunman.
When he woke up, he seemed to look around for a moment and was taken to a heavily armed room full of guys that had been more heavily armed and kitted out than he had been.
At first though, he didn't realize that he was dead, instead of accepting it right away, he was shocked and in disbelief. When he was told that he will be a part of a tactical unit that would deal with the worst of the undead, he was skeptical at first and definitely did not like the idea of having to deal with the worst of the undead, but, it was his duty to help the innocent, or as innocent as the dead would have been in that scenario anyways, so he accepted and after training and showing that he had the skill, he was given a leadership position for the deadman SWAT team.

Combat Specialty:
Door Breaching Specialist, Close Quarters Battle Specialist, Command/Control Specialist
Other: Uses a Cross-Com Integrated Communication and heads up display device.
Erick is one of the very rare Deadmen that was able to have multiple abilities whenever
Theme Song:
(Not Required, but I do enjoy seeing the choices you make with a theme song)
​

Weapons must be modern weapons.

S.W.A.T Team Rankings from lowest to highest. These are not one spot. The bottom three are singular spots, but we can have as many of the others as we want:

1. Trainee
2. Private
3. Private First Class
4. Sergeant
5. Sergeant First Class
6. Staff Sergeant
7. 2nd Lieutenant
8. 1st Lieutenant
9. Captain
10. Major
11. Vice-Commander
12. Commander

 

[EccentricFantasy]

​

So I have one thing to say and one question to ask.

Firstly I think you forgot to add the limitations we talked about for the time thing. My question is if we get to see his face or does he just keep it covered at all times? I just ask cause there isn't really a faceclaim.

 

[WARWOLF01]

He keeps it covered at all times, I'll add it now

 

[EccentricFantasy]

He keeps it covered at all times, I'll add it now

Okay. Since that is the case once you add those limits, he is good to go.

 

[WARWOLF01]

done

Okay. Since that is the case once you add those limits, he is good to go.

done

 

[Pepsionne]

Name: Cora Everett
Age at Death: 21
Rank on Team: Sergeant
Job/Jobs on Team: Surveillance/Sniper
Appearance:


Tactical Appearance:

Spoiler

Main Weapon:
M82 Sniper Rifle

Secondary Weapon:
9mm Pistol
Fixed Blade Knife

Power/Ability:
Light Manipulation. Cora can dip small areas into complete darkness, or generate areas full of light. She uses this to blind enemies who creep up on her, giving her an advantage in close range combat. When shooting long range, she can optimize the level of light to obscure her positioning or to enhance her sight. The power has its limits, mainly in the side effect of raising Cora's internal temperature. If she uses the ability to a large degree, she runs the risk of damaging her internal organs.

Personality:
Cora, in the simplest of terms, is bubbly. She has a lighthearted and easy going personality, which is often looked at oddly within the context of her job. She looks at situations and their circumstances with the benefit of the doubt. Cora tends to poke fun at some of her more serious teammates, whether it be by pushing their buttons or pestering them with small talk. Naturally, conversation comes easily to her; she can have a meaningful conversation with just about anyone she meets. Although she comes across as aloof, Cora is extremely capable of getting her job done right, especially under pressure. As a sniper, her level of concentration and focus is intense. She isn't afraid to ask questions, most of them stupid, and will always point out her opinion on a matter. Cora is a critical and judgmental person. She does not hesitate to tell someone when they've messed up, and due to her overall vivacious demeanor, her threats and insults are drenched with a smile.

Background:
Cora’s first memory from her new life was the sight of scattered glass across dark, bumpy asphalt. The small pieces glinted in a monotonous, blinking light. They had long reflections that stretched down in a growing puddle of deep, warm liquid.
There was a woman wailing incoherently in the background, but she soon went silent as she saw the movement of Cora’s eyes. With the state of her body, twisted and mangled on the road, Cora shouldn't have been moving her eyes. It wasn’t long after that Cora was brought to a private wing in the hospital to receive medical treatment, her visitors restricted and of high security clearance.
In the months leading up to her death, Cora had been deeply involved with a man she considered too good to be true. He spoiled her with gifts, took her out on lavish vacations and dates. She ignored her friends and family's concerns over the flimsy lies they managed to see through, blinded by her own mentality that she had met her soulmate, a concept she had dreamed about since she was a child. They were engaged after a mere 6 months, but that short lived fantasy all came crashing down around her when Cora stumbled across the her fiancé with his wife and children as they wandered through a mall.
Heartbroken and betrayed, Cora had decided to simply disappear from the man's life without a trace, but upon discovering that she had become pregnant, decided to turn to the wife for help or some kind of support. The wife, enraged at her husband's cheating and the development of a baby, began to beat Cora wildly. Cora escaped the house and began to run down the street for help, but was struck at a high speed and killed violently by none other than the man's wife, who played victim and began to scream to play off the murder as an accident.
Cora was declared DOA by the paramedics who arrived as a formality to curb her family's concerns. They declared her body to be too mutilated to recover and give to the family, who accepted her terms of death begrudgingly. Some still pry around the official documents and witness accounts to uncover something about the truth behind her death. The woman who had murdered Cora was sworn to secrecy in a deal that spared her jail time for the accident.
Cora, having been declared a clear minded deadman, was quickly ushered into the S.W.A.T forces, taking to long range marksmanship like a fish to water. She had excellent focus and clarity when surveying from far, always proving useful to back up her teammates' blind sides. She had a talent for nicking high value targets under pressure when missions had turned for the worst, saving the team from a heavy lecture and the weight of failure.

Combat Specialty:
Long Range Marksmanship, close range combat when needed

Other:
Cora believes she had a soulmate in her past life who disappeared along with her memories, so she is constantly searching for him in her current life. She can be quite the flirt as she tests out different people for compatibility.

Theme Song:

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Name: Cora Everett
Age at Death: 21
Rank on Team: Sergeant
Job/Jobs on Team: Surveillance/Sniper
Appearance:
View attachment 769340View attachment 769341

Tactical Appearance:

Spoiler

Main Weapon:
Long Range Sniper Rifle

Secondary Weapon:
Pistol

Power/Ability:
Light Manipulation. Cora can dip small areas into complete darkness, or generate areas full of light. She uses this to blind enemies who creep up on her, giving her an advantage in close range combat. When shooting long range, she can optimize the level of light to obscure her positioning or to enhance her sight.

Personality:
Cora, in the simplest of terms, is bubbly. She has a lighthearted and easy going personality, which is often looked at oddly within the context of her job. She looks at situations and their circumstances with the benefit of the doubt. Cora tends to poke fun at some of her more serious teammates, whether it be by pushing their buttons or pestering them with small talk. Naturally, conversation comes easily to her; she can have a meaningful conversation with just about anyone she meets. Although she comes across as aloof, Cora is extremely capable of getting her job done right, especially under pressure. As a sniper, her level of concentration and focus is intense. She isn't afraid to ask questions, most of them stupid, and will always point out her opinion on a matter. Cora is a critical and judgmental person. She does not hesitate to tell someone when they've messed up, and due to her overall vivacious demeanor, her threats and insults are drenched with a smile.

Background:
Cora’s first memory from her new life was the sight of scattered glass across the dark, bumpy asphalt. The small pieces glinted in a monotonous, blinking light. They had long reflections that stretched down in a growing puddle of deep, warm liquid.
There was a woman wailing incoherently in the background, but she soon went silent as she saw the movement of Cora’s eyes. It wasn’t long after that Cora was brought to a private wing in the hospital to receive medical treatment, her visitors restricted and of high security clearance.
Cora had been struck and killed violently while walking along the road. Upon her revival, she was quickly ushered into the Deadman S.W.A.T team forces, classified as a clear minded deadman.

Combat Specialty:
Long Range Marksmanship, close range combat when needed

Other:
Cora believes she had a soulmate in her past life who disappeared along with her memories, so she is constantly searching for him in her current life. She can be quite the flirt as she tests out different people for compatibility.

Theme Song:

I like her. I would like you to specify your weapons with names and models. Other than that though, shes all good.

 

[Pepsionne]

Edited! ty

 

[LibbyM098]

Name: Dakota Rains
Age at Death: 24
Rank on Team: 1st Lieutenant
Job/Jobs on Team: Front liner.
Appearance:
(Art preferred, but description allowed)



When on missions:


Main Weapon: Two, Black bladed, Katana Swords
Secondary Weapon: Two TiSAS Zigana Sport pistols that sit on both of her hips. She also has a submachine gun strapped to her back so if she ever puts her hands behind her head to surrender she can easily get it. She also has the matching submachine gun strapped to her outer left thigh.

Power/Ability:
There's a reason she covers her eyes. She keeps the blindfold on as even with it on she can see and react at superhuman levels. But, if she removes the blindfold it will bring her skills to a new level. When her eyes are uncovered she can see through walls and her perception of time slows. It slows to a point that she can block and cut down bullets from an assault rifle from 60 feet away. Her ability to see through walls only works within a 30 foot radius around her. The draw back is that the longer her eyes are uncovered, her vision becomes more damaged, made clear by the black substance from her eyes. This can be haulted through her closing her eyes, but the more damaged they become the longer she needs to recover

Personality: Sensible and a little cheeky. She's always up for some fun when not on a mission, but when she is, she is strong willed and self driven. She is incredibly stubborn, but when you are on her good side she is loyal and protective.

Background:
(Remember, they do not remember their past lives. Just up till they reanimated)
Light blue eyes flung open and looked up at the hot sun beaming down onto pail white skin.
White long hair had entangled itself in the burning sand.

What the hell had happened... where was she?

She sat up and felt a small, hot metal object slide down her chest.
She looked down at it to see that half of the metal had been broken off somehow, but the chain that hung around her neck was still intact.
Dakota Rains was all that it said, everything else had been broken away.
She squinted and looked around the hot desert.
All that was around her was burning rubble and some of the objects being burnt looked like human remains.
Her legs were covered with the hot sand and she had to dig them out in order to stand up.
When she stood up she looked down to realise her clothes had been all ripped and she had some kind of strange tattoos on her body. All that looked to be some kind of symbols she didn't understand.
She started to walk away from the remains of what she had no idea of and just kept walking. From her eyes came some kind of black blood and the more she didn't cover them the more the her vision disappeared.
She tore off some of her clothing and wrapped it around her head to cover her eyes.

Days turned into weeks until she came across something. It looked like some kind of village.
She knew someone would have to know what is going on.
As she got closer to the village some men came running out with shocked looks.
They all had helmets on and were wearing some kind of green clothing. It was the same kind of green cloth that was barely covered her own body.

"I need help... where am I?"
Her voice was soft and calm. Too calm.

One of the men walked up to her holding his gun by his side. He stood at least 60 feet away from her and yelled.
"Afghanistan, I'm Captain John Hughes. Who the hell are you?"

She took off the blindfold and looked him dead in the eyes.
Wrong move.
As soon as he saw her blue, glowing eyes he called out as he pointed his gun at her. "Get on the ground!"

Her eyes were bleeding the black fluid profusely and she didn't move. She knew he was going to shoot.
Her whole world slowed down as soon as she heard the large bag.
Slowly floating towards her was a bullet. So slowly that she reached out and grabbed it with her right hand.
She closed her eyes as she felt the pain start to completely consume her.

That's when she heard the call go out...
"Deadman! Call it in!"
Everything went back after that.

Combat Specialty: Close Combat.
Other: "Well... we all got to die some day... some of us just don't get buried." - Dakota
Theme Song:

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Name: Dakota Rains
Age at Death: 24
Rank on Team: 1st Lieutenant
Job/Jobs on Team: Front liner.
Appearance:
(Art preferred, but description allowed)
View attachment 769518
View attachment 769519
Main Weapon: Two, Black bladed, Katana Swords
Secondary Weapon: Two TiSAS Zigana Sport pistols that sit on both of her hips. She also has a submachine gun strapped to her back so if she ever puts her hands behind her head to surrender she can easily get it. She also has the matching submachine gun strapped to her outer left thigh.

Power/Ability:
There's a reason she covers her eyes. She keeps the blindfold on as even with it on she can see and react at superhuman levels. But, if she removes the blindfold it will bring her skills to a new level. When her eyes are uncovered she can see through walls and her perception of time slows. It slows to a point that she can block and cut down bullets from an assault rifle from 60 feet away. Her ability to see through walls only works within a 30 foot radius around her. The draw back is that the longer her eyes are uncovered, her vision becomes more damaged, made clear by the black substance from her eyes. This can be haulted through her closing her eyes, but the more damaged they become the longer she needs to recover

Personality: Sensible and a little cheeky. She's always up for some fun when not on a mission, but when she is, she is strong willed and self driven. She is incredibly stubborn, but when you are on her good side she is loyal and protective.

Background:
(Remember, they do not remember their past lives. Just up till they reanimated)
Light blue eyes flung open and looked up at the hot sun beaming down onto pail white skin.
White long hair had entangled itself in the burning sand.

What the hell had happened... where was she?

She sat up and felt a small, hot metal object slide down her chest.
She looked down at it to see that half of the metal had been broken off somehow, but the chain that hung around her neck was still intact.
Dakota Rains was all that it said, everything else had been broken away.
She squinted and looked around the hot desert.
All that was around her was burning rubble and some of the objects being burnt looked like human remains.
Her legs were covered with the hot sand and she had to dig them out in order to stand up.
When she stood up she looked down to realise her clothes had been all ripped and she had some kind of strange tattoos on her body. All that looked to be some kind of symbols she didn't understand.
She started to walk away from the remains of what she had no idea of and just kept walking. From her eyes came some kind of black blood and the more she didn't cover them the more the her vision disappeared.
She tore off some of her clothing and wrapped it around her head to cover her eyes.

Days turned into weeks until she came across something. It looked like some kind of village.
She knew someone would have to know what is going on.
As she got closer to the village some men came running out with shocked looks.
They all had helmets on and were wearing some kind of green clothing. It was the same kind of green cloth that was barely covered her own body.

"I need help... where am I?"
Her voice was soft and calm. Too calm.

One of the men walked up to her holding his gun by his side. He stood at least 60 feet away from her and yelled.
"Afghanistan, I'm Captain John Hughes. Who the hell are you?"

She took off the blindfold and looked him dead in the eyes.
Wrong move.
As soon as he saw her blue, glowing eyes he called out as he pointed his gun at her. "Get on the ground!"

Her eyes were bleeding the black fluid profusely and she didn't move. She knew he was going to shoot.
Her whole world slowed down as soon as she heard the large bag.
Slowly floating towards her was a bullet. So slowly that she reached out and grabbed it with her right hand.
She closed her eyes as she felt the pain start to completely consume her.

That's when she heard the call go out...
"Deadman! Call it in!"
Everything went back after that.

Combat Specialty: Close Combat.
Other: "Well... we all got to die some day... some of us just don't get buried." - Dakota
Theme Song:

Now she is wonderful and amazing. She's in.

 

[FentasticFen]

Casefile: Masaaki Winter.
Name: Kiichirou 'Cherry' Rivers.
Age at Death: Twenty two years old.
Rank on Team: 2nd Lieutenant.
Job/Jobs on Team: Crowd-control | Field assist.
Appearance:

• Height: 6’2” ft.
• Skin: Fair, unmarred complexion of smooth texture. Leaning, just minorly, to a paler tone.
• Body: A tall, well-built athletic individual on the leaner side; slimmer waist, not-so-broad shoulders with a healthily shaped physique, fit.
• Hair: Side-swept vermilion dyed locks kept at a medium length, often kept in a wild, only fleetingly combed, style.
• Tattoos: He has no tattoos.
• Scars: No significant scarring.

Main Weapon: Blaser R93 Tactical.
Secondary Weapon: TP9 SF Elite.

Power/Ability: "The willing control over probabilities over events ranging between 1 to 99% to (or not to) happen. Whilst it seems as mere manipulation in hit-or-miss situations, it does carry complexity to its performance. Cherry possesses an extraordinary capacity: to, under his own predictions, prevent (or induce) a preferred outcome over another. Founded, firstly, the supernatural , something akin to foretelling, however dependent to the unnatural shift of the course of actions — they cannot be applied independently; there's no conscious future-reading of which he, without his own calculated assumptions, can draw several outcomes — . Whether there’s a chance to change the ‘future’, Cherry is capable of twisting it to his own favor or — not simultaneously — to someone else’s benefit/disadvantage. Alas, it does take an immense amount of energy to perform large-scale changes. The significant difference between forcing a dice to fall in a preferred number and whether a bullet does or does not proceed with the death of a person is wide, therefore Cherry is forced to act cautiously.

Of course, it does have other limits.

1. Cherry cannot perform changes on two completely different events at the same time. To be explained easily, he cannot turn the result of a dice and the outcome of flipping a coin at the same time.
2. If it’s performed on himself, the reliability is variable.
3. If the event has a 0 or 100% chance, Cherry cannot twist the outcome. For example: A bullet shot directly into someone’s head.
4. If Cherry wishes to ‘prevent’ something to happen, he’ll have little control of what will occur otherwise.

Personality:
Outwardly, Cherry emanates an initial docile demeanor; serene, quiet, undisturbed by mundane happenings that could, potentially, bother one’s tranquility. However, despite that ostensibly introverted way of carry, Cherry’s nowhere less social than your common person: approachable, an odd sense of civility to his posture eloquently contradicted by a, rather flourishing, range of vocabulary that may contradict first assumptions. Blunt to a fault. Amiable, confident, reliable. An individual whose compass forever aims to 'security' as his north. Scarcely do people appear wary of his presence, regardless of his capacities.
Notwithstanding Cherry’s most prominent behavior, the male can, sometimes, thrive in the thrill of the unexpected: he’s an adrenaline addict when paired with the right people. Yet his energies tend to dim, ever so often. Namely, it’s a state wherein Cherry simply seeks for company within himself; whenever adversities strike, he’s prone to grow dimmer, however still amiable, whilst not as social as when his moods are lifted. It’s a rough patch, hit-or-miss, to find him actively seeking for interaction whenever he’s feeling somewhat down on himself.

Cherry, rarely, isolates himself completely. Whilst still in a similar wavelength as his other states ― for he’s always, even if more excited, passively approachable, or actively seeking for new friends, a calm presence to be around ―, this one it’s an absolute shut-off. This, to the other’s safety, for he, while rationally harmless, is not inherently. Anger, fear or great sorrow can, quite possibly, unleash a storm around himself. It’s sharp, cold and relentless, his bluntness acute to a point as he seeks to push people away, keep them safe as it’s to keep them from interfering in the inner turmoil brewing within himself.
Background:

"Dreamt I was a tiger once..."

It's — humorous, truly, how fate indiscriminately partakes in circumstantial irony: Masaaki Winter, born and raised within strictly traditional familiar binds, whose life had, always, been something akin to a gamble. Whether he'd live or die, months prior his birth. His education, both academic and home-given; his health; his own self. While certainly non-optimal, Masaaki knew, few years shy from adolescence, healthy wasn't properly portrayed between those secluded walls of the household. Still, he prevailed — barely. For, they'd all come to notice, there was an ultimate flaw: outspoken stubbornness. Values varied, personalities clashed. Such a disorderly issue; traditions, when met by unbidden defiance, scarcely yields nutritious debate. No, no. In lieu of compromise, Masaaki met his first gamble: to stay, to lay quiet. Or, otherwise, to face the unknown, lest his identity be forgotten to false pretenses of normalcy.

"And I was bigger than the sky."

The latter brought fortune —, a life, albeit humble, of liberty. No imposed values, no wrathful words of disdain, no repulsion reflected upon a beloved's eye as expectations built on sole projections weren't met. By his lonesome self he's sufficient, a well-oiled machine arduously built for unconditional adversion. With mediocre jobs scattered throughout off-times —refuged under a friend's roof—, he pushes forth. He's got an eye for survival; a calculating brain restlessly pondering on his options: opportunities contrasting hurdles. Bet after bet, gamble after gamble. None less relevant, as there's considerable risk, when one's support at such tender age relies solely on limited assistence, to his every choice. He's a runaway, after all. But, let it be set in stone: a runaway with a voice.

Misfortune has an odd timing; never sits right, unpredictable. There's an eerie sensation whenever luck's balance tends to favor you, like karma is bound to claim for dues. And so it did, indeed. Record narrate, though with flawed loyalty, a familiar altercation —of which Masaaki thought himself freed from— manifesting itself as legal matters: a divorce, an accident, inheritance. Those warranting Masaaki's untimely return to a household he'd long ago deserted. With no expectations of reconciliation beyond agreeable relationships, the escapee found himself witnessing a particular scenery: his father, whose voice still resounds within his skill, in disarray, alone. "I have nothing," Was the first thing Masaaki's father shared, "A widow, penniless. After you? No son or daughter of mine sticks by." Ah, there it was — hatred. "And you — you. A runagate, coming to strip me of every dollar under my name, huh? How did you do it?"

But Masaaki knew: there's no science. "Got lucky." Reponded the son, unphased. Stoic. Or, rather, forgone. The answer he got was bitter, "Lucky, huh? You cheeky shit. Then, do your old man a favor, with that luck of yours." The man, with an unsteady stance — inebriated, he notes — . A card was passed, "For your father. All or nothing."

"And when my mouth would open wide."

It was all. But that all, costed everything.

Irony always makes tragedy laughable. For, while fortunate on that single Black Jack match, it only cut Masaaki's life in half. It's an outrageous amount, what he earned: more than he's managed in one-sitting, however righteously under his father's name. Yet that didn't sour his last seconds of life. It's the manhandling, the roughness of hands, the endless interrogation to spare a — now — stranger's livelihood ("No, I'm not friends with him," "No, I didn't know he owed you," "No, I don't want to die — I didn't know. I just got lucky, please — ." ) It's brutal, and nowhere swift. A death he hadn't deserved: he'd gambled for the unknown, yet never knew, until late, that he cannot know what follows afterwards.

Twenty two years of life: seven of supposed liberty, however severed by binds he'd never known remained. There wasn't a gamble, now was there? Fate's a cruel thing, but, surely, unavoidable.

"There was another world inside."

Combat Specialty: Long-range combat.
Other: He's famously approachable; a person whose stance, when challenged by adversity, hardly staggers. Thus, quite often, he's a go-to person to chat, have a drink with, blow off steam through whatever method convenient. Though, he is partial for a good deal of cards, or harmless competition.
Theme Song:
"I Was A Tiger Once."

 

[EccentricFantasy]

Casefile: Masaaki Winter.
Name: Kiichirou 'Cherry' Rivers.
Age at Death: Twenty two years old.
Rank on Team: 2nd Lieutenant.
Job/Jobs on Team: Crowd-control | Field assist.
Appearance:

• Height: 6’2” ft.
• Skin: Fair, unmarred complexion of smooth texture. Leaning, just minorly, to a paler tone.
• Body: A tall, well-built athletic individual on the leaner side; slimmer waist, not-so-broad shoulders with a healthily shaped physique, fit.
• Hair: Side-swept vermilion dyed locks kept at a medium length, often kept in a wild, only fleetingly combed, style.
• Tattoos: He has no tattoos.
• Scars: No significant scarring.

Main Weapon: Blaser R93 Tactical.
Secondary Weapon: TP9 SF Elite.

Power/Ability: View attachment 769351 "The willing control over probabilities over events ranging between 1 to 99% to (or not to) happen. Whilst it seems as mere manipulation in hit-or-miss situations, it does carry complexity to its performance. Cherry possesses an extraordinary capacity: to, under his own predictions, prevent (or induce) a preferred outcome over another. Founded, firstly, the supernatural , something akin to foretelling, however dependent to the unnatural shift of the course of actions — they cannot be applied independently; there's no conscious future-reading of which he, without his own calculated assumptions, can draw several outcomes — . Whether there’s a chance to change the ‘future’, Cherry is capable of twisting it to his own favor or — not simultaneously — to someone else’s benefit/disadvantage. Alas, it does take an immense amount of energy to perform large-scale changes. The significant difference between forcing a dice to fall in a preferred number and whether a bullet does or does not proceed with the death of a person is wide, therefore Cherry is forced to act cautiously.

Of course, it does have other limits.

1. Cherry cannot perform changes on two completely different events at the same time. To be explained easily, he cannot turn the result of a dice and the outcome of flipping a coin at the same time.
2. If it’s performed on himself, the reliability is variable.
3. If the event has a 0 or 100% chance, Cherry cannot twist the outcome. For example: A bullet shot directly into someone’s head.
4. If Cherry wishes to ‘prevent’ something to happen, he’ll have little control of what will occur otherwise.

Personality:
View attachment 769352 Outwardly, Cherry emanates an initial docile demeanor; serene, quiet, undisturbed by mundane happenings that could, potentially, bother one’s tranquility. However, despite that ostensibly introverted way of carry, Cherry’s nowhere less social than your common person: approachable, an odd sense of civility to his posture eloquently contradicted by a, rather flourishing, range of vocabulary that may contradict first assumptions. Blunt to a fault. Amiable, confident, reliable. An individual whose compass forever aims to 'security' as his north. Scarcely do people appear wary of his presence, regardless of his capacities.
Notwithstanding Cherry’s most prominent behavior, the male can, sometimes, thrive in the thrill of the unexpected: he’s an adrenaline addict when paired with the right people. Yet his energies tend to dim, ever so often. Namely, it’s a state wherein Cherry simply seeks for company within himself; whenever adversities strike, he’s prone to grow dimmer, however still amiable, whilst not as social as when his moods are lifted. It’s a rough patch, hit-or-miss, to find him actively seeking for interaction whenever he’s feeling somewhat down on himself.

Cherry, rarely, isolates himself completely. Whilst still in a similar wavelength as his other states ― for he’s always, even if more excited, passively approachable, or actively seeking for new friends, a calm presence to be around ―, this one it’s an absolute shut-off. This, to the other’s safety, for he, while rationally harmless, is not inherently. Anger, fear or great sorrow can, quite possibly, unleash a storm around himself. It’s sharp, cold and relentless, his bluntness acute to a point as he seeks to push people away, keep them safe as it’s to keep them from interfering in the inner turmoil brewing within himself.
Background:

It's — humorous, truly, how fate indiscriminately partakes in circumstantial irony: Masaaki Winter, born and raised within strictly traditional familiar binds, whose life had, always, been something akin to a gamble. Whether he'd live or die, months prior his birth. His education, both academic and home-given; his health; his own self. While certainly non-optimal, Masaaki knew, few years shy from adolescence, healthy wasn't properly portrayed between those secluded walls of the household. Still, he prevailed — barely. For, they'd all come to notice, there was an ultimate flaw: outspoken stubbornness. Values varied, personalities clashed. Such a disorderly issue; traditions, when met by unbidden defiance, scarcely yields nutritious debate. No, no. In lieu of compromise, Masaaki met his first gamble: to stay, to lay quiet. Or, otherwise, to face the unknown, lest his identity be forgotten to false pretenses of normalcy.
The latter brought fortune —, a life, albeit humble, of liberty. No imposed values, no wrathful words of disdain, no repulsion reflected upon a beloved's eye as expectations built on sole projections weren't met. By his lonesome self he's sufficient, a well-oiled machine arduously built for unconditional adversion. With mediocre jobs scattered throughout off-times —refuged under a friend's roof—, he pushes forth. He's got an eye for survival; a calculating brain restlessly pondering on his options: opportunities contrasting hurdles. Bet after bet, gamble after gamble. None less relevant, as there's considerable risk, when one's support at such tender age relies solely on limited assistence, to his every choice. He's a runaway, after all. But, let it be set in stone: a runaway with a voice.

Misfortune has an odd timing; never sits right, unpredictable. There's an eerie sensation whenever luck's balance tends to favor you, like karma is bound to claim for dues. And so it did, indeed. Record narrate, though with flawed loyalty, a familiar altercation —of which Masaaki thought himself freed from— manifesting itself as legal matters: a divorce, an accident, inheritance. Those warranting Masaaki's untimely return to a household he'd long ago deserted. With no expectations of reconciliation beyond agreeable relationships, the escapee found himself witnessing a particular scenery: his father, whose voice still resounds within his skill, in disarray, alone. "I have nothing," Was the first thing Masaaki's father shared, "A widow, penniless. After you? No son or daughter of mine sticks by." Ah, there it was — hatred. "And you — you. A runagate, coming to strip me of every dollar under my name, huh? How did you do it?"

But Masaaki knew: there's no science. "Got lucky." Reponded the son, unphased. Stoic. Or, rather, forgone. The answer he got was bitter, "Lucky, huh? You cheeky shit. Then, do your old man a favor, with that luck of yours." The man, with an unsteady stance — inebriated, he notes — . A card was passed, "For your father. All or nothing."

It was all. But that all, costed everything.

Irony always makes tragedy laughable. For, while fortunate on that single Black Jack match, it only cut Masaaki's life in half. It's an outrageous amount, what he earned: more than he's managed in one-sitting, however righteously under his father's name. Yet that didn't sour his last seconds of life. It's the manhandling, the roughness of hands, the endless interrogation to spare a — now — stranger's livelihood ("No, I'm not friends with him," "No, I didn't know he owed you," "No, I don't want to die — I didn't know. I just got lucky, please — ." ) It's brutal, and nowhere swift. A death he hadn't deserved: he'd gambled for the unknown, yet never knew, until late, that he cannot know what follows afterwards.

Twenty two years of life: seven of supposed liberty, however severed by binds he'd never known remained. There wasn't a gamble, now was there? Fate's a cruel thing, but, surely, unavoidable.

Combat Specialty: Long-range combat. View attachment 769353
Other: He's famously approachable; a person whose stance, when challenged by adversity, hardly staggers. Thus, quite often, he's a go-to person to chat, have a drink with, blow off steam through whatever method convenient. Though, he is partial for a good deal of cards, or harmless competition.
Theme Song:
"I Was A Tiger Once."

Looks all good to me.

 

[Sybil]

❝ Call Me Rustie. ❞

When shit goes sideways
Learn to run along walls.​

❝ who ❞

【full name】— Rustie Thermore

【Stage Name】— Angel's Paradox
【gender】— Female
【age at death】— 24
【sexuality】— "If you weren't a Doc I'd deck you."
【Rank】— Staff Seargent
【Job on Team】— Frontline

❝ background. ❞

Dirt. More. Dirt. Soil. Worms. Maggots. Mud?...it's dark...

These were the first slightly panicked observations of the freshly animated Rustie, her body reacting to the utter lack of oxygen and her body began to struggle against the layers of soil over her. She was buried, buried and left to rot, but here she was and she knew one thing. It was either she goes up or dies down here. She had no time to think on the finer details, pushing and shoving without any progress. There was no way up, no room to move against the hundreds of pounds of earth above.
It was a nightmare, yet all the girl could mentally do was get angrier as the world seemed to tell her to stay down. With the last bit of her stale breath, she screamed in blind rage as she fought, and with that a burst of strength hit her as she suddenly made progress, digging up and disturbing the soil. In this rage, she dug up four feet through the gravel and soon rock... until bursting through a layer of concrete and pulling herself through. Once out she collapsed, eyes wide through the dirt and on her side vomiting up dirt and such she had taken in.

From there a report from the Deadmen S.W.A.T. Team can be referenced, which read of the first contact after a call to 911, and then the forces were dispatched. As per the paper written by a supervisor...

[We arrived on the scene at 1:34 PM. Subject, now known as Rustie, was cited as she came out of the office building once we approached. Rustie was covered in filth and fit the bill for a standard mindless Deadmen and thus the Deadmen unit opened fire. It was not until the second magazine before they drew blood as Rustie moved swiftly and seemingly withstood several shots before to the chest and head, prompting powers to be utilized. It is believed the use of powers caused Rustie to reconsider, and upon retreating back some it began to bring to question her mental state. From 1:37 to 1:45 we attempted to communicate, which the Deadmen in question did eventually respond with increasing vocabulary as Rustie calmed down. Officially now labeled as Clear Minded. Rustie's name came from a tattoo across her back. Rustie appears to have died from a gunshot to the head, seemingly executed, and buried during the office construction as to bury her under concrete as well.]

As of the past 10 years, she has worked hard to remain combat effective, finding seemingly a deep purpose in this new job she has adopted. Despite her strong-headed nature and setbacks she attained a rank of Staff Seargent and remains adamant on climbing as proof to herself that she lacks weakness.

Never again will she let herself be a victim, no matter what happened in her past which she cannot recall. There will be no more chances, and she decided to shoulder the world if she has to prove to her shockingly low self-esteem that she can be more than that buried girl she was. Not that she lets the low self-esteem show, as that would be weakness itself.

❝ weapons & abilities. ❞

Combat Specialty:
Close Quarters Combat

Main Weapon:
M249 light machine gun

Secondary Weapon:
Taurus Judge revolver with alterations accommodates 12 gauge shells by sacrificing the five-shot cylinder for a three-shot and upping the size of the whole gun.

Power/Ability:
The Iron Offensive- Due to her life spent in the contest with other's strength and her death made her feel weak, her ability enhances her strength, speed, and durability beyond most Deadmen's limit. The downside of this is her increased aggression and disregard of complex thinking, making it a bad decision in most tactical situations and thus is reserved. The strength can range from uprooting city lights all the way to breaking through concrete and tossing Humvees.

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— Prideful, Wrathful.

【virtues】— Loyal, Courageous.
【fatal flaw】— Desperation to prove herself.
【a secret】— Low-Self Esteem.
【overview】— The world revolves around strength in Rustie's mind, and the longer she has lived in undeath the more the mentality has been reinforced. In her mind, if someone lacks the strength to defend themselves, then they do not belong anywhere near the battlefield and instead should be sidelined. This leads to her habit of taking on things for others in the battlefield like a mission-critical objective, a way of testing herself in her own eyes to make sure she could still stand strong against anything.

❝ theme ❞

❝Credit ❞

Code by LEVIATHAN
Faceclaim- Art by Gogalking

-->

 

[EccentricFantasy]

❝ Call Me Rustie. ❞

When shit goes sideways
Learn to run along walls.​

❝ who ❞

【full name】— Rustie Thermore

【Stage Name】— Angel's Paradox
【gender】— Female
【age at death】— 24
【sexuality】— "If you weren't a Doc I'd deck you."
【Rank】— Staff Seargent
【Job on Team】— Frontline

❝ background. ❞

Dirt. More. Dirt. Soil. Worms. Maggots. Mud?...it's dark...

These were the first slightly panicked observations of the freshly animated Rustie, her body reacting to the utter lack of oxygen and her body began to struggle against the layers of soil over her. She was buried, buried and left to rot, but here she was and she knew one thing. It was either she goes up or dies down here. She had no time to think on the finer details, pushing and shoving without any progress. There was no way up, no room to move against the hundreds of pounds of earth above.
It was a nightmare, yet all the girl could mentally do was get angrier as the world seemed to tell her to stay down. With the last bit of her stale breath, she screamed in blind rage as she fought, and with that a burst of strength hit her as she suddenly made progress, digging up and disturbing the soil. In this rage, she dug up four feet through the gravel and soon rock... until bursting through a layer of concrete and pulling herself through. Once out she collapsed, eyes wide through the dirt and on her side vomiting up dirt and such she had taken in.

From there a report from the Deadmen S.W.A.T. Team can be referenced, which read of the first contact after a call to 911, and then the forces were dispatched. As per the paper written by a supervisor...

[We arrived on the scene at 1:34 PM. Subject, now known as Rustie, was cited as she came out of the office building once we approached. Rustie was covered in filth and fit the bill for a standard mindless Deadmen and thus the Deadmen unit opened fire. It was not until the second magazine before they drew blood as Rustie moved swiftly and seemingly withstood several shots before to the chest and head, prompting powers to be utilized. It is believed the use of powers caused Rustie to reconsider, and upon retreating back some it began to bring to question her mental state. From 1:37 to 1:45 we attempted to communicate, which the Deadmen in question did eventually respond with increasing vocabulary as Rustie calmed down. Officially now labeled as Clear Minded. Rustie's name came from a tattoo across her back. Rustie appears to have died from a gunshot to the head, seemingly executed, and buried during the office construction as to bury her under concrete as well.]

As of the past 10 years, she has worked hard to remain combat effective, finding seemingly a deep purpose in this new job she has adopted. Despite her strong-headed nature and setbacks she attained a rank of Staff Seargent and remains adamant on climbing as proof to herself that she lacks weakness.

Never again will she let herself be a victim, no matter what happened in her past which she cannot recall. There will be no more chances, and she decided to shoulder the world if she has to prove to her shockingly low self-esteem that she can be more than that buried girl she was. Not that she lets the low self-esteem show, as that would be weakness itself.

❝ weapons & abilities. ❞

Combat Specialty:
Close Quarters Combat

Main Weapon:
M249 light machine gun

Secondary Weapon:
Taurus Judge revolver with alterations accommodates 12 gauge shells by sacrificing the five-shot cylinder for a three-shot and upping the size of the whole gun.

Power/Ability:
The Iron Offensive- Due to her life spent in the contest with other's strength and her death made her feel weak, her ability enhances her strength, speed, and durability beyond most Deadmen's limit. The downside of this is her increased aggression and disregard of complex thinking, making it a bad decision in most tactical situations and thus is reserved. The strength can range from uprooting city lights all the way to breaking through concrete and tossing Humvees.

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— Prideful, Wrathful.

【virtues】— Loyal, Courageous.
【fatal flaw】— Desperation to prove herself.
【happiest memory】— info.
【a secret】— Low-Self Esteem.
【overview】— The world revolves around strength in Rustie's mind, and the longer she has lived in undeath the more the mentality has been reinforced. In her mind, if someone lacks the strength to defend themselves, then they do not belong anywhere near the battlefield and instead should be sidelined. This leads to her habit of taking on things for others in the battlefield like a mission-critical objective, a way of testing herself in her own eyes to make sure she could still stand strong against anything.

❝ theme ❞

❝Credit ❞

Code by LEVIATHAN
Faceclaim- Art by Gogalking

-->

She's cool. Approved

 

[Goonfire]

Name: Orson Dusk
Age at Death: 32
Rank on Team: Captain
Jobs on Team: Shield Specialist, Empty Hands Specialist
Appearance:

Main Weapons:

• MARS Armor ballistic shield w/ additional ceramic inserts
• Heckler & Koch Mark-23 pistol w/ Insight Technology LAM

Secondary Weapons:

• Benelli M4 Tactical shotgun w/ flashlight
• ASP 21-inch friction baton

Power/Ability:
Orson can draw in kinetic energy from being struck and then releases it when ready, either in an augmented strike or a short-range, 90-degree conical blast. It's a double-edged sword, as he absorbs only 25 percent if he's blocking with a ballistic shield or a baton, but asorbing 100 percent would require him to get hit or block using his arms and legs, which isn't advisable versus weapons. Still, it makes him a boon in hand-to-hand combat, as one hit after having blocked several punches can subdue a grown man quickly. This power may also cause property/structural damage, depending on where and how he uses it.

Personality:
Orson is a brave and adventurous soul, within reason. He establishes his own "common-sense" boundaries on what is and isn't realistically achievable, though his favorite line at this point might be "I can dream, can't I?" He likes to use his bountiful physical strength where and when he can, preferably for more helpful purposes, such as building and massage. The law enforcement scene comes easily to him; while he possesses no memory, he feels a sense of familiarity in performing such tasks. He is calm, fairly warm, and meticulous, a mix that makes for a vaguely fatherly figure. Some of that carries over to his combat style, as many of his shots and strikes are carefully lined up to subdue attackers with minimal brutality. He would rather incapacitate than kill, if both options are on the table.

As a captain, Orson is required to show a degree of leadership qualities. He takes a more hands-on approach to managing his subordinates, but isn't overbearing unless under serious pressure. He seldom pulls rank; the few times he did were to remedy extremely poor situations. He has been known to spend time one-on-one with teammates, establishing a mutual understanding with each one before coordinating the larger team effort and working on their chemistry. To paraphrase, he compares it to the way a watchmaker delicately tunes his fine machines. It's ill-advised to ask him about his leadership philosophies, as some poetic thought bleeds into such conversations; he can talk for hours on end, carefully dissecting and explaining his analogies with a 75-percent chance of putting people to sleep.

Background:
Orson awoke in the woods one fall afternoon. The only indication of what happened to him was the holes in his bloody police uniform shirt, likely from shotgun pellets. He had no identification, an empty holster, and a lot of dried blood on his back, as well as the pieces of a crushed radio beside him. While he wasn't entirely sure who or where he was, he managed to find his way back to civilization by dusk by following a remote country road. The sight of a man covered in blood alarmed townsfolk, so he was quickly approached and (in his opinion at that moment) accosted by EMT's. In his confused state, Orson resisted and had to be restrained by police officers. Two officers were sent reeling from a light discharge of his powers, a result of small amounts of kinetic energy built up during the struggle. Fortunately, no one was harmed.

This just wasn't his day; Orson rose again several hours later, not in a normal hospital, but in government custody. He was recruited for Deadman SWAT, which horrified him at first. However, this "John Doe" had nowhere to go, apparently didn't belong anywhere, and held no memory of his previous experiences and skills. For this and other reasons, the idea quickly grew on him, so he joined, received his current name, retrained, and worked his way up to the respectable rank of Captain over the years.

Combat Specialty: Close quarters, hand-to-hand
Other:

• He has notoriously poor luck when gambling. He won't bet money on anything 95 percent of the time.

Theme Song: TBD