Author's
Note: the roles of Zack, Det. Sung, Sketchy, and Normal are currently being
re-cast. We are also looking for
original characters to be bad guys (Reds, government agents, etc.) Please visit
the RPG folder at www.delphi.com/darkangelfans/messages
for information, or contact me at jennem@bigfoot.com.
Character
note: Brinn: in this story Brinn has returned as a bad guy.
Character
note: Tread: Tread is an original character from the fan fiction The Pulse. His biography follows.
Name: Tread (2020)
Nationality: Irish/Italian-American
Age: 52, but looks late 20's early 30's because he sheds his skin.
Sex: Male
Hair: White, Dyes it Dark Brown. Sometimes shaves it off.
Eyes: Hazel
Skin Color: Caucasian with a barely noticeable green tint.
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 220lbs
History: Between
1954 and 1967 Operation Spoilsport had genetically altered over two million
human embryo's in an attempt to produce a genetically enhanced super soldier.
At this early stage everything was trial and error. The few embryos that did
survive the engineering process died soon after. There was a great deal luck
with a lot that was created Oct. 6th 1967. Out of those 200 test subjects, 3
were actually born.
Each of them had been enhanced with a large dose of snake DNA, as well as small
portions of wolf, and other species. Out of the three survivors, the first had
severe deformities and retardation. It was also cannibalistic and was
eventually destroyed after it escaped years later by Number 2. The third passed
for human, but had severe health issues and at age 5 destabilized and literally
fell apart on it's own.
Number 2 was the second of the surviving three. Minor deformations included
spinal ridges and plates that had to be surgically altered and a mutant
muscular system that was difficult to control but provided a strength ratio 6
times greater than a normal humans. Overall, Number 2 was a glowing success
genetically, one that could never be repeated. Stronger, Faster, and
unbelievable resilient. He was sent on to phase 2 of the program. Psychological
engineering.
Starting at the age
of 6 months, Number 2 was subjected to a series of psychological trauma events
designed to cause Multiple Personality Disorder(MPD) or Disassociative Identity
Disorder(DID).
The goal was to create one personality that would exist as normal, peaceful,
person with an activist streak that would cause him to come into conflict with
an Communist government in the event of the Communist take over of America.
This was considered the BIRTH persona, named Michael Joseph Nicholas.
The designed Alter,
the other personality would be a fearless super soldier capable of starting and
waging a war against the government of a Communist America when set off by the
attempt to kill the BIRTH personality. This Spoilsport persona was trained in a
myriad of martial arts forms, All NATO and WARSAW pact small arms, adaptive
military equipment motifs, in short… every manor of warfare from improvised
guerilla tactics to running a nuclear submarine. Further more, Spoilsport was
trained to kill without hesitation. At the age of 3 1/2 Spoilsport was already
being pitted against trained military personal with live ammunition.
At 13 Michael's
parents learned of this psychological abuse. They threatened to go public
unless Michael was allowed to leave the program. Since the termination of his
parents might damage Michael/Spoilsport, and the data on how his full
integration into society was deemed useful, Michael and his parents were
allowed to leave the program, but kept track of.
Michael's father
was Ex-NSA/CIA. In an effort to prepare his son for possible future problems he
might encounter due to his unique background, Michael's father began training
Michael as a soldier and teaching him all his NSA/CIA tricks. This information
being introduced to the Michael psyche caused a partial integration of the
personalities. Michael began to remember knowledge that only Spoilsport had
while not being aware of the Spoilsport Identity. This form of Co-Consciousness
served to defuse Spoilsport somewhat.
In 1989 after the
fall of the Berlin wall, and collapse of communism, Operation Spoilsport came
under strict review behind closed doors. In 1993 Operation Spoilsport was
reclassified from a national defense system to a national threat. An executive
order was given to reassign all essential personnel, and terminate all
nonessential personnel as well as the Spoilsport device it self. Terminations
included Michael's parents and were carried out days before Christmas that
year. Michael's mother was assassinated in front him while they were shopping
for gifts. The severe psychological trauma of watching his mother's head explode
in front of him caused Michael to trigger and become Spoilsport. The defusing
effect of his fathers training caused the personas to switch back and forth
wildly until finally breaking into a third HOST personality altogether having
all the knowledge of both personas, but no real memories of his own. Michael's
father was killed in front him 2 days later.
The new Michael
receded into a submerged alter that has never taken control again but
occasionally acts as the new HOST personalities conscience by giving him
memories of his better times. All the good and innocence in the original
Michael was isolated into this quite alter.
Spoilsport lost all
the discipline of his military creation and was redefined as self destructive,
nightmarish killing monster that tortures the new HOST personality with visions
of the pain and suffering of his Spoilsport childhood. Spoilsport seizes
control in situation where the HOST is pushed to the limits of pain, endurance,
or blind hate.
The new HOST
personality remained for the most part unnamed, partly by choice, but also
because he was being hunted as a national security risk. Having no memories he
was forced to start from scratch in developing a personality. Falling on his
CIA/NSA knowledge handed down to him by his father, he began creating pseudo
identities. There were not alternate personalities, but fake ID's with credit
back grounds and made up histories. Never settling on a name of his own he
would simply switch from character to character depending on what state he is in,
and what mission objective he had.
The HOST, with
Spoilsport's constant prodding, decided that his new mission was to stop the
kind of unethical research that created him. He determined that his very
creation was un-American and decided that the America he was born to protect
and restore was gone. The best defense being a good offense, he began to hunt
down his creators and kill them, brutally, along with any one working with
them. While the psychological engineers were left to fend for them selves, the
geneticists were hidden and protected as much as the government could from
their killing machine run amok. Soon just knowing some one who worked on
Spoilsport was deemed a death sentence. As his slash and burn mission
progressed he branched out into higher-ups in government and even foreign
powers that were working on unethical genetics programs. Any super soldier
program, any program he felt was geared to making slaves of regular people, or
any violation against constitutional rights could make you fair game for
Spoilsport.
All the while the
HOST was either stealing or destroying any research on his existence. As facts
about the project became harder to find, and people began denying any
connection to it, or even it's existence, Spoilsport quickly became the
boogieman of the genetic engineering community, and bad word.
By 1998, the whole
program had become a whispered myth, and an urban legend with only a few people
being privy to the remaining facts on it. Spoilsport was no longer hunted, but
had become hunter.
At this point the
HOST began to cut back on his destructive quest, and concentrated on trying to
heal his own shattered mind. It was at this time he met two people who would
change his life for the better and the worse.
The first was an old friend from his childhood nicknamed Nub. Nub had been a
rough street youth until suffering a severe head injury. When he awoke he was a
different person. He and the HOST met again at a conference on MPD/DID and
became friends, again. The new Nub had none of the street smarts of his
childhood, but had become a wizard with computer and financial management.
Together they built the HOST's Fake Identities and credit ratings into a loose,
hard to track, multiple national corporate conglomerate. Every Identity became a
small business. Every business fed of every other. Construction companies,
computer sales, strip clubs. The two of them working in secret under assumed
names soon had corporate empire that was totally disconnected. HOST had a safe
haven in every state in the union, and a cash source he could tap.
The next person was a woman. Kristen Ray. While researching his next target,
disguised as a janitor, this crazy woman who was protesting the genetic
engineering of foods confronted HOST. When security came in to beat down and
remove them, HOST quit his cover job and helped he fight off the security
forces. The two became quick friends. She was as crazy and full of herself as
she could be, and she never held back at anything. Friendship became love and
the two of them took on the system as partners, friends, lovers, and in 1999,
after revealing all his secrets to her, man and wife. In 2000 she became
pregnant. Six months later, she died of complication caused by the mutant
unborn child who also died. At 32 he had a vasectomy to prevent this from ever
happening again.
After that there was nothing left but the work. He blamed himself and set out
kill everything that he thought was wrong in the world. There was no compassion
or humanity left in him. If he couldn't have a semi-normal life NO ONE COULD.
He began playing groups against each other, and charging for terminations. He
also began facing a new generation of genetically engineered and enhanced
humans as well as other things.
In 2009, he was
going about his regular business, ripping off a Domestic Terrorist Group called
Freedoms Reign of a nuke they planned to use on Chicago. It was after betraying
the group and stealing the nuke that he heard about the escape of 12 children
from a black-op project called Manticore. It struck a cord in him. They were
children like he was. Tortured. Enslaved. Forced to be something they never
wanted too. But what if they too like him? Monsters. Killers. Boogiemen in
little packages. They were thousands of miles away. Hiding and running. Even if
he wanted to, he could never find them all. But he could change the world… to
let them escape. He freed the remainder of Freedoms Reign and with them devised
and executed a plan that would detonate the nuke he stole in a low orbit over
America. With one swift blow he could give them the chance they needed to get
away… and break the electronic collars that were being used to enslave his
nation.
Although it almost
killed him, and resulted in plummeting America into the Dark Ages, the Pulse
was a triumph over the status quo. There was no one left to protect the
innocent, but there was no one left to protect the guilty either.
Having advanced
knowledge of what was going to happen, He and Nub had diverted most of his
funds abroad, investing in foreign companies he knew would make a fortune in
America was chaos. He emerged from the chaos a secret billionaire. In the years
since the pulse he half heartedly searched for the lost 12, while using his
power, influence, and the occasional massacre to become a thorn in the side to
Manticore and an any one else who didn't do things the American way.
He killed his first
X-5 in Rome after the young man assassinated the newly ordained Pope.
He finally found
his first Lost Manticore when he approached Seattle's elite criminal element to
kill Eyes Only. He had targeted Logan Cale because of he was researching
Manticore and other black op genetic projects that had all seemed to have made
Seattle their base of operations in the last few years. When he realized Cale
was actually helping and protecting Theta 26. AKA Max. He switched side and
executed his employers. It was then he adopted the name Tread, after the old
revolutionary war motto and flag, Don't Tread On Me, who's symbol was a coiled
Rattle snake. He now makes Seattle his base of operations.
Logan and Max want
to save the world, the good part of it. Tread wants to destroy the world, the
bad part of it.
Is he a hero or
villain. Only history will decide.
Fighting Style:
While being a skilled martial artist, he still uses his genetically enhanced
muscle for most fights. He's also no stranger to fire arms and prides him self
on his one shot per kill ratio. An absolute master of modern guerilla warfare
he can put together weapons of death from event he most benign and commonly
available products. Not one to use stealth he prefers to eliminate all
witnesses.
Genetic
Flaws/Features:
Every year and a half or so, he goes into hibernation for anywhere from 1 to 6
months (dependant on health) and sheds his skin. During hibernation he can
regenerate limbs to an extant. Fingers and toes grow back no problem; a hand or
arm might take 4 to 5 years to be replaced. If he's in hibernation too long
though, he'll starve to death.
His body makes a form of HIV that only affects him as part of a built in
genetic self-destruct. Every 3 years must undergo a hypothermia treatment to
clear his blood of the virus. Hibernation makes the HIV worse because while as
his body heals, it produces more of the virus.
He has a mutant muscular system that is similar to a large snake like an
anaconda. This makes him stronger than just about anything out there, but he
can break his own bone if he isn't careful.
He can see in infrared. But his super eyesight is going, so it's blurry now.
He's nearsighted. Used to be able to see for miles, but old age is a terrible
thing.
He's Type II diabetic. Treats it with pills and diet.
He's dyslexic. Compensates by reading forward and backward, but don't ask him
Right from Left.
Weakness: If you do
manage to trap him, he'll become Spoilsport and kill everyone. Enemies,
friends, himself if that's what it take to win.
Greatest
Achievements: Freedom. The Pulse! Setting up a huge loosely connected
multinational multicorp to fund his war effort.
Favorite possessions:
A vintage 1997 Harley Davidson Fat Boy Motorcycle.
A key chain made from 14 (and rising) USED neural implants from South African
RED Disposables.
A Barcode tattoo from the X-5 that killed the Pope.
____________________________________________________________________
Point
of View: ZACK ************************************
As I was heading to Logan's I got to thinking how max was
gonna react.
What would I tell her? Its not like I didn't tell her to be mean it was for her
protection. I got to Logan's building I looked around and went to the ally. I
jumped from walk way to walk way till I got to his window. I sat for a minute
waiting for Logan to get home. Logan walked in with Tinga and Max so I decided
to slip through the window.
I approached Logan, Max, and Tinga, with a grin on Max's face I knew she wasn't
happy with me. I look at max and grin a bit.
"your
probably wondering why I haven't contacted you"
looking at max and waiting for her to say something I knew she must have been
upset.
Point
of View: TINGA ************************************
Zack's
here. And totally ignoring me. As usual. In favor of Max. I glance over at her,
red haze starting to fill my vision and murderous intentions toward Zack start
dancing in my head. As we make eye contact, suddenly the years start to fall
away and we're in that weird instant-communication lock.
An
evil grin starts to spread on my face. It's mirrored on my sister's. I know
what we're going to do. We're going to teach our brother a lesson. I quirk an
eyebrow at her, asking a question. She gives the vaguest of nods in answer.
In
unison, we turn to our brother the despot. Out of the corner of my eye, I see
Logan hastily backing away. He rolls into Bling, who is coming around the
corner. If anything my grin widens.
Zack
doesn't get it. He's standing there, staring at Max. Inwardly I shake my head.
He's in severe need of an attitude adjustment, some serious reminders of the
sibling we are. I circle around behind him while Max pouts at him. "Oh,
Zackie," she cooed. "I don't think you get it yet." I grab his
arms in a sudden move. Zack tries to look at me, stunned. He turns back to Max
as she speaks. "Keep this up," she said, punctuating it with a punch
to the face, "//We// won't //care// to have contact with you." She
follows this up with a beaut of a cross to the solar plexus, putting her whole
body into it.
Zack's
breath huffs out of him in a rush. He starts really struggling now, trying all
the tricks. He manages to get me with a head butt. He always did have a hard
head. I released him in order to inspect the damage. 'My face is my fortune,'
as they say. He jabs out at Max, a good connection, and, while I'm still
stunned and anxiously fingering tender skin, he spins around, traveling forward
a bit, and kicks me in the back, sending me sprawling. I flip up as he knocks
Max down hard, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her head back.
"Is
this how they taught you? To attack your own?" he asks. She's struggling
to get up but he's managing to hold on to her. He shoves her across the room,
and she lands with a thud against the wall, stunned. I launch myself at him.
Big mistake. He catches me and checks me into the floor, placing a boot on my
neck. I can tell he's watching Max, but I know his next words are to me.
"And you. Every time you set up in a city, you do it so well I think that
//this// time, I won't have to sweat bullets wondering if you're going to get
killed. And then you get bored. And then you get sloppy. And then you come
running to me." I cringe, knowing it's true. I try to look at Max, who is
warily circling. We lock eyes again for a split second, and I nod briefly at
the message I see there.
Zack's
still talking. I think he's finally lost it. Or at least reached the end of his
patience. "You two have cost me more nights of worry, more individual attention
than the other nine combined. //YOU CAN'T DO THIS ANY MORE!// We have bigger
concerns--"
Jointly,
we attack. I shift subtly under Zack, making him focus on me, while my darling
sis slams him in the back. In the precise point, in fact, that I nailed him
earlier. He grunts in pain. I shift and break free, springing to my feet. Max
is already showering him with quick, hard blows. I follow with a few well
placed kicks. Zack is actually looking like this is penetrating his defenses
and maybe even causing some real pain.
Good.
We turn down the action a bit, glancing at each other. I see a wicked gleam in
my sister's eye, know exactly what she's thinking. My grin widens, and we move.
Point
of View: MAX ************************************
It's
time we taught Zack a lesson. We're not the others, we're not
barcodes, we're us. He still sees us as the little kids we were at Manticore.
We've grown up, but he hasn't.
Logan's
watching us in horror, as if we've turned feral. But he's also amused, seeing
Zack get what's coming to him.
I
catch Tinga's grin. We've given Zack a good beating, and received a good one in
return. But it's time for the final payback.
"Gee,
Zack, remind us again about how lucky we are to have you,"
I sneer sarcastically.
"Max,
Tinga, quit it!" He's getting pissed. No more snappy remarks.
"What,
no more Manticore wit?" I taunt.
"You
two are going to attract the attention of the security guards. Do you really
wanna do that?"
I
nod at Tinga. "Whaddya say we finish this?"
She
smiles. "Sure thing, sis."
Tinga
propels herself onto Zack's shoulder's, wrapping her legs around his neck,
covering his eyes. I lash out with my foot and kick him in the chest, causing
him to double over. Tinga uses the momentum to flip herself off of his shoulders,
and throwing him into the coffee table, smashing it. I'll look for a
replacement on the black market.
Zack
lays among the remains of the table, shocked. We smirk. "Here, bro, have a
gummie," I say, dumping most of the bag's contents on his face.
Point
of View: LOGAN ************************************
I
thought the fight between Tinga and Zack was something. Until I saw two
Manticores tag-teaming another.
Remind
me to never, ever, get Max mad at me.
She
dumps the gummies on Zack's face and instinctively, he swallows.
Instinct?
That's the last instinct a soldier should have. What did they do to him, when
he was back at Manticore? The way Tinga and Max reacted to him, that was no
sibling rivalry.
They
sensed an enemy.
And
as they watch, and wait, Zack lies on the ground with the gummies working into
his system. His eyes roll back, and shut, and his body goes slack.
Bling
runs forward to check his pulse, his breathing, and looks up at me.
"I
guess we've established the effect of Manticorny on a real Manticore," he
says.
I
wait. Max and Tinga are still poised, panting.
"Instant
coma."
Point
of View: BRINN ************************************
Those
little gummies were a genius idea. I can't believe that Zack actually swallowed
them. But then again he always did have a oral fixation.
I'm
watching everyone from above, looking down on them like the little bugs they
are. Max and Tinga think they've gotten rid of the enemy.
Let
them feel a false sense of security. They have no idea what's coming . . . .
Point
of View: TREAD ************************************
I'm
coming…
The
wind rips over my peach fuzz hair. I love the cold biting at me as my 97 Harley
Davidson roars along the road outside Seattle. It's a refreshing change from
hell I've been through this month.
It
all started when I got word that one of my companies that manufactures a
chemical agent used in isolating genetic material got a large order. That's
what I own them for. The Government may do a lot of under the table stuff, but
they still buy from the parts they use from outside vendors. I followed that
shipment to Louisiana. I didn't kill anyone there.
Ever since that mix up with Logan and Max I've tried to cut down on the
homicide. I wonder if Logan has forgiven me for trying to kill him yet. Max
seemed to come around a little and I put a lot more hurt on her. But he was my
real target… well… I WAS going to kill them both. What a wake up call for me.
I've become so obsessed with hunting bad gene jockeys I almost killed two
people I think I like.
Oh
well, standard first impression for me... BAD. I'll grow on them.
From
Louisiana I followed the trail to a world of nothing in Oklahoma just outside a
place called Wheeless. I discovered that they were isolating recombinant DNA
that had been extracted from one of the Escaped Manticore kids. Theta-03,
Barcode 330417291599. Wish I knew what he called himself. By the time I tracked
them down and got there they had encoded the memory into a virus that they
hoped could survive being placed into food supplements.
You
would think after I Pulse their asses in 09' they would let up on trying to
enslave the world, BUT NO! They go right on trying. This is bad on 2 levels,
first they hurt one of the free Manticore kids to do this… Second, they're using
genetics to try and manipulate the people of MY COUNTRY. Naturally I show up
only after they ship the first truck load to the test city… Of course in the
Heart land war zone everything is like Mad Max… so some idiots hijacked the
shipment and evidently it ended up in Seattle.
Seattle
again! Why Seattle has become the Gene splicing capital of the U.S. is beyond
me. I really admire Max for standing her ground there. It's a too soon to tell
her that. Especially after trying to kill her and all, but 10 years ago when I
set off the Pulse I was worried I let a bunch of monsters loose onto the world.
Instead, I find her in the family business of stomping evil doers. She and
Logan are so… so much better people than I am. I just hope they don't connect
me to the Pulse before… I have a chance to explain… to show them… there was no
other way.
Ah
who am I kidding. 8 million people died from Pulse related complications.
Hitler only caused 11 million deaths over 6 years, and he had one of the best
Armies in History. I'm a f*cking monster just like I was built to be. I hope
those bast@rds who conjured me in the lab are in
hell right now wishing they wished more carefully.
I
slaughtered everyone in the OK research facility. Gene jockeys want to make
slaves… they answer to Spoilsport. I took what research I could gather and now…
Seattle here I come. I just hope I'm not to late.
I
slow down pull up to a Sector Police barricade. I hate cops. They're always so
crooked. They've always been crooked even pre-pulse. But now they're blatant
about it.
Well,
this is Max and Logan's town. I better play nice. I have no ID. But hopefully
cash will work.
"Howdy
officer!" Big Smile now… be pleasant! "How's your day going?"
"Like
crap… get off the bike and get your hands against the wall."
So
much for nice.
Point
of View: NORMAL ************************************
I
returned to Jam Pony to find the whole center in shambles. "Oh god!
what...what's going on?" I scream looking at packages piling up. I turn to
face the riders who have know stopped their horseplay.
"You! where is everyone? and why aren't you working?" I asked.
"Well...you...see..."
said a rider.
"Never mind I don't have time for this. All of you line up right now! I'll
give you your assignments!" I yelled at them as I walked around to the
back of the counter. "Here you take this to the New Asian art museum in
View Ridge. Don't just stand there looking at the package! Go! Go! Go!...you
next!.." I ordered the riders for the next fifteen minutes as I began to
sort all the incoming and out going packages.
"Where's Sketchy and Cindy? huh?" I asked with my face still glued to
the computer.
Point
of View: LOGAN ************************************
Bling
grabs Zack from the floor and moves him to a table. "We're either going to
have to get him to a hospital..."
Max
and Tinga protest. Loudly.
"Fine.
I'll see what kind of doctor I can track down, and some medical equipment.
We'll keep him in the penthouse until we figure out what effect this will have
on him, long term. But you know you're taking a chance."
"It's
a chance we'll have to take," Tinga says, fixing her hair. Max agrees,
although she looks less happy than Tinga about it.
Suddenly there's a lurch, everyone's thrown to the floor. It
feels like the entire world is shifting around us. An earthquake in Seattle? Or
something else?
