@Everyone Look! It's the OC and a bit of the story we had to complete for Mar's superhero story! Except I never really finished the short story. Given time and motivation, I'd finish it. But I'm kinda writing the P.I fic at the moment. And I've decided to release that in several parts. Which will be difficult, because if I post something and then realise that I want to change the story a bit to make it more interesting, I won't be able to. Whelp. I'll probably change it anyway, and release a full version at the end XD
Here ya go:
Superhero Name: Jericho
Characteristics (While powers are activated, if they are):
Height- Stays the same.
Weight- Stays the same.
Eye Color- Flash neon green.
Hair- Stays the same.
Body Build- Stays the same.
Personality- Often gets a bit of a rush from using his power, and will appear crazy for a few seconds, and if he uses his power in quick succession, the crazy-eyed look will last for a bit longer :P
Costume: Modified from armour all over the world, and rightly so. When he left Task Force 1, he took the prototype armour with him. Most of it broke apart without the constant attention of techies to look after it, but he managed to scrounge materials to add onto the suit so that it became a lighter and more manageable version of its previous self.
The prototype armour consists of a one-piece torso unit that protects Jericho from small arms fire. On the back of the chest-piece are bright LED’s that shine green for the majority of the time. This can be seen as the suit’s “charged” state. Once using his power multiple times in a small amount of time, the suit will subsequently run out of charge and struggle to recharge over the next few minutes. As it recharges, the lights will be all switched off and slowly switch on from the bottom of the row of lights, moving upwards.
He would rather not change out of his armour, as he always is on edge.
The headpiece is consisted of a scavenged U.S army standard issue helmet, a pair of non-standard, special issue infrared/nightvision goggles and a dark-grey scarf…headwrap…thing
He does flip his goggles up for most of the time, and will pull his scarf down to reveal his entire face.
He would rather not change out of his armour, as he always is on edge. Instead, when in public, he wears a tacky trenchcoat over his suit, and pockets the goggles and headwrap.
Powers: When Jericho was forced out of Task Force 1 he took the prototype suit with him. Located on the back of the suit is a piece of tech nick named the jumper. It was thought-controlled after a chip had been installed in the subject’s skull.
With the suit, he can jump across short distances multiple times. Basically, he can teleport roughly ten metres (at most) at a time, and he can use this power in rapid succession.
Personality: He has grown up around military tactics his entire life and they greatly influence his personality around others. He is short and sharp and to the point, and always on edge. Legend has it that if he is absolutely sure he is alone and there are no cameras watching, he will grin as wide as he can and even give a small laugh to try and counter the grim expression he wears all day.
Weapons: Jericho has a pistol on his belt at all times and a short, wide blade strapped to his back. He is able to pick up a majority of weaponry, although his strong point is guns and not melee weapons.
Skills: Due to the rigorous training that had to be completed to get into TF1, Jericho can run fast and for long distances. He knows the fighting tactics of half the world’s special forces due to engagements with them. Before he left TF1, he was learning Russian, and has a competent understanding of it. He has never got the hang of helicopter flying, but can pilot a cargo plane off the ground if he has some help.
He is a good shot with his pistol but has never learnt the finer arts of fighting with a blade. He tends to hack and slash with his shortsword, instead.
Source Of Powers: As mentioned previously, his ability to ‘jump’ is all because of the power pack located on the back of his suit. ‘Can it be damaged?’ you ask. Well, yes. Jericho isn’t a scientist or engineer of any sorts, so he would not be able to repair any grievous damages. The pack is durable enough to take more than a few bullets, but if it’s shot repeatedly, it’ll stop working/blow up. Asking for another one from Task Force 1 wouldn’t quite work, with them being so incredibly hostile to him…
… I guess he could steal a new suit.
Weaknesses: Extremely claustrophobic. The original base for TF1 was underground, and Jericho hated the cramped quarters he owned. He longed for wide-open spaces and large warehouses.
He is trained very well in military tactics, and often won’t pause to consider collateral damage (the loss of civilian life) as long as the enemy is suffering because of his actions. This is more of a moral weakness, not a physical one.
Physically, though? Absolutely sucks at hand-to-hand combat. Is alright with his sword, but if it comes to a fist-fight, he’ll pull out his pistol, despite any rules that have been previously laid down.
Has a fear of needles and pills.
Enemies: When he was with Task Force 1, he and his company faced many forces from all over the world, and some still remember the combat suits, and will even shoot on sight.
The government group who was in charge of Task Force 1 are still after him and have chased him out of many safehouses in recent times. They will send similar killing machines like himself after Jericho to kill or capture.
Motivation: Forced out of Task Force 1, Jericho had no-where to go and no-one to trust. He decided to try and settle down somewhere, but found that his combat skills could not be forgotten so easily. He kept being pulled back to fighting, most of it for the greater good. Most of it.
Principal/Goal: He never thought he had much purpose in life. He was born to fight, and it’s all he’s ever known.
Secret Identity/Alias/Normal name: ‘James Murdoch’ was written on his dogtags He still doesn’t know if this is his real name, but he chooses to go with it anyway.
Height- Average height.
Weight- He has a muscular build and an average weight. Not skinny, not overweight.
Eye Color- A dull green
Hair- Slowly regrowing from the buzzcut he received years ago.
Occupation: Currently does not have an occupation.
Home: He is a nomadic traveller.
Short action piece:
The nightmare was always the same. You’d think that as a highly skilled military fighter would no longer be scared of such things as nightmares. But I had always been afraid of this one.
I sat in my bare room with all of the furniture pushed to the sides to give me more space. The windows were all open and showed a breathtaking view of the mountainside, but my eyes were shut. I was relaxing. It was a comfort to know that the outside world was only a few metres away, and behind a pane of glass.
The room was, of coursre, not normal. The entire building had been purposely built to fit in with the slums all crammed together. Directly beneath the building was an incredible maze of passageways and training rooms. All designed for Task Force 1, the best Special Forces unit in the world.
We worked for the United States, but there had been too many paranoid teenagers who spent their entire lives looking for places like this, so the HQ had been set up in Rio. Not a bad place, I had to admit. I was allowed a lot more free time above ground, in this makeshift house they had created just for me.
There were several clicks all around me, synchronized. I realised what the noise was a second too late and sprung to my feet, moving to the nearest window. But the electronic shutters had already closed down on the windows, and I knew the door would be electronically locked.
“No, goddammit!” I yelled, knowing they were listening. I bashed my fist onto the shutters, hoping that this time they would break. They were made out of some alloy determined to keep me inside.
There was another click. It was the sound of a voice crackling through a speaker on my belt.
“We apologize, Mr Murdoch,” it said. Gas seeped into the room from unseen canisters. “It will only take a moment. Struggling will only make things worse.”
I could only hold my breath for so long. Then I had to choke on the first lungful of tainted air, and the next. Soon, light faded away into nothingness.
I awoke on a cold metallic table and jumped off it the moment I was conscious. At least, I tried to jump off it. The leather restraints wrapped around my arms and legs stopped me from moving anywhere.
I took in my surroundings. The bare cement walls greeted me with blueish-grey arms that came forward to embrace, but began to suffocate and choke me. I shook my head and wanted to badly rid myself of the claustrophobic attack. A smaller part of my mind told me that the room wasn’t even that small. The majority of my brain, however, screamed “We’re underground! This room is tiny! You’re going to die here!”
A figure appeared out of the gloom to my right. “Calm, Herr Murdoch. Open wide.”
I recognised the figure. It was the head scientist. I had mixed feelings about the German doctor. And the pills in his hand were enough to tip the balance.
“Get away!” I went to say. He cupped his hand around my mouth and the tiny capsules slipped through. I gagged and they somehow made their way down my throat even easier. Instantly, the walls started to push away and my fear subsided. The scientist looked me up and down, and nodded. “So, they work. You are not feeling claustrophobic now, yes?”
I frowned. “Yeah… did you make those, Doc?”
He shook his head. “Special order from zee US. Here, have the rest.”
The scientist unfastened the leather straps around my arms and legs, and allowed me to sit up. He passed me a bottle and I glanced at the fine print. There was a ‘Side effects’ part of the instructions, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I slipped the bottle into a pouch on my belt and zipped it up.
I started to remember what had happened before I woke up in the room. “Why’d you gas me, Doc?” I grumbled.
He sighed. “We are testing out a new tracking system. I know you would never agree to it, so we had to knock you out.”
“What? Why do I need to be tracked?”
“If you are captured-”
“Not gonna happen, ever.”
“-and your suit falls into the wrong hands, it may be replicated and used against Exodus. This is not an option. The tracker helps us if you get taken.”
I gave him a quizzical look. I had only heard of Exodus once before. Some said that it was the mysterious company in charge of Task Force 1. The doctor seemed to notice that I had recognized the word he used and quickly started to shuffle in the direction of the doorway, intent on not talking about it.
I got to my feet and looked up at the roof. Curiously, I wondered how many tonnes of earth were directly above me. Whatever had been in those pills was doing its job, and fantastically at that. The walls stayed in their respectful position and my chest didn’t get any tell-tale restrictive feelings. I walked through the doorway, nodding to the other occupants of the underground base. Most of them were either scientists or engineers, but occasionally I would spot another member of Task Force 1. I knew their names instantly, even though most of their faces were covered up. You fought with these men. Bled with them. They were more than your brothers in arms. They were your arms, your head. They were extensions of yourself.
Wraith. Carter. Dominic. Prophet. I turned a corner and there they were, talking. I took my place next to Dominic and listened in.
Wraith was speaking. His mouth moved under the crimson coloured material that wrapped around his scarred head. He opted for a golden visor instead of the infrared and nightvision goggles that I had chosen. I couldn’t remember a time when I had seen his face.
“No,” he simply said to the others. “You’ve been doing it wrong. You turn it counter-clockwise. Idiots.”
Dominic sighed, running his hands through his uncovered hair. “Dumbass. Clockwise is faster, more efficient.”
“But there’s a much quieter sound when you twist it counter-clockwise. Take it from a professional. I’m right.”
He nodded at me. “What do you think, James?”
I pulled down my headwrap and pushed my goggles off of my head. “You guys are still talking about the breaking necks thing?”
“Yeah, Wraith won’t let up on it.”
“Just lob a grenade one way to distract the group and shoot who-ever strays behind.”
“Nooo,” was the unanimous reply. I didn’t respond to their reasons against my suggestion. I felt like getting above ground again.
I found my way to an elevator that lead to ground level. The elevator opened up inside the makeshift building from before. The shutters were still closed, but slid open when I approached.
There was nothing interesting going on outside. Two locals played basketball using a rusted piece of metal as a hoop. A couple of colourful birds swooped overhead, their vibrant wings illuminated in the sun’s rays.
I backed away from the window and went into the single bedroom. I lay on the bed, surrounded by bare floorboards and dust, and slept.
A gunshot shattered through the dream I had been having, and I sat bolt upright in bed. It wasn’t just one gunshot; there were several volleys from all around the house, shooting in different directions.
I pulled my sidearm and trained it on the door. There was gunfire from the other side of it, shooting at something in the distance. That something returned fire, and the door burst inwards, letting in a dead local with an assault rifle slung across his chest.
The gunfire continued, but I never lowered my pistol from being trained on the doorway. Outside, I could see the afternoon sun bearing down on the slums. A figure stepped through the doorway, picked up the AK-47 at his feet and lobbed it towards me. It clattered across the ground and I scooped it up, pulling back the firing mechanism.
“On your feet,” the figure said. I recognised him straight away. “There’s hell outside, so we are leaving!”
I got up and followed Wraith outside the house. It was a different man from the one who had conversed casually earlier. He raised his rifle- a fully modified M16- and opened fire in short bursts at a target in the distance. The target returned fire and I slid into cover behind a burnt out husk of a car.
“I don’t understand,” I shouted at him above the gunfire. “What the hell’s happening?”
Wraith ejected the clip in his rifle and searched for another one in the pouches strapped around his waist. “There’s been a mass killing in the town square. Unarmed civilians.”
“Who did it?”
“What?” There was a shout to our left and soldiers came jogging from a side alley. They wore the distinct navy blue combat armour of Task Force 2 and 3. They worked with us sometimes, although no-one wanted to. But they were still on our side.
“Backup’s here,” I told Wraith, and raised my hand, starting to wave the other Task Forces over.
“Get down,” Wraith growled at me, pulling my arm back. He dragged me to another side of the car. “Everyone thinks you’ve gone AWOL. There were witnesses at the killings, and they say it was a member of Task Force 1. You were the only one above ground.”
Task Forces 2 and 3 spread out in a ten metre radius, covering as much area as possible. They scanned everything, their gun barrels waving. Two came near us, but walked right past the car, their peripherals cut off by their headgear.
“What the hell?” I whispered angrily to him. “I just closed my eyes for a moment, and this happens?”
“It’s been hours since I talked to you last,” Wraith told me. He started to twist a silencer onto his weapon, and pointed up at two of the members of Task Force 2. They were the ones who had passed by the car and not seen us before, but now were ending their sweep of the area and about to swing around again. He finished screwing the silencer onto his gun and raised it.
“I couldn’t have been asleep that long,” I said, slumping my shoulders. “I’ve trained myself to wake up at fifteen minute intervals. We all did.”
He took the shots, and both of the soldiers crumpled silently. The other soldiers were scanning their designated spots, and no-one noticed the two that were now dead.