Contra Fates: Art of Opposition

Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
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Art of Opposition - Character Archive:

Heroism:



Neutrality:


Villainy:


Coming Soon:


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What I Play:
Genres: Post-Apocalyptic, Dystopian Society, 1984, Dexter, Final Fantasy, Steampunk, Anime, and Futuristic. Exceptions are made.
Relationships: Yaoi [Male/Male] is preferred. I don't RP smut. I'm here for the plot, period.
Violence: Lots, it comes with the territory.
Where: Here, through PMs, or in IMs.
Description: And lots of it! I'm long-winded, and I prefer my partners to be!
The Mun: Kendra's the name, and I promise I'm friendly. =)

[Note To Mods: No need to approve this, it's just my collection of RP characters, hopefully my methods for displaying them aren't a problem.]
 
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Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Hero: Tokugawa Yukio

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The Basics:

Name:
Tokugawa Yukio
Age:
21
Height:
6'2"
Hair Color:
Gold
Eye Color:
Azure
Weapon:
Skilled in many.

Tokugawa Yukio is a lighthearted man, whose fatal flaw is narcissism; love for the man gazing back at him in the mirror. The heir to a royal family, he inherited all the riches, yet learned of nothing of real importance. Eccentric, bold, and with intelligence that hides behind his proud stride and confident stature...Yukio is not a likely adversary. But the attire he wears, consisting of a coat of pristine white, houses a wide array of weaponry. Money and resources can go a long way for those plagued by a boredom that only the wealthy experience. No toy was too much or too dull for him to handle. His deep pockets had created a master of arms, with skilled knowledge of swords, explosives, chemicals, firearms, knives, you name it, he'll use it. As he grew up in life, his servants, who serves as his only parental figures, tried to shape him into a kind, caring individual, but he was too blind to be what they wanted. He became the overly confident, conceited Royal that many knew him as. But, every pretty face hides a secret, and his secret is the most grave of all. Though his pockets run deep, that money happens to find its way into the pockets of those fighting in the Resistance. Because of his Royal status, Yukio cannot actively participate in the Rebel factions. Yet, through false names and anonymous bank accounts, he is able to wire money to the Resistance Groups brave enough to contact the entity known as 'White Wolf.'

Example Post:


Young Lord, won't you even consider listening to reason?” There was a kindly gentleman, back bent and eyes observing the young, golden-haired man with scrutiny.“Why should I? My pockets run deeper than the soil this home is built upon. Why not put it to better use?”The older man leaned back, his wrinkled face contorted with evident dismay. “You know the fate that befalls those that oppose---““Don't say it, Ansell. Why must you always worry about me? Why not put a little more faith in me, for once?” The headstrong noble paused for a moment, his warm gaze drifting off, before returning to the worried facade of his most loyal servant. “What is my name, Ansell?” The servant would blink repeatedly, slightly confused by the youth’s inquiry. “Tokugawa Yukio.”“That’s right, Ansell, my name is Yukio. And your name is Ansell.”“Where are you going with this, Young Lord?” “Yukio means ‘The One Favored By God,’ and your name means ‘God’s Protection.’ With you on my side, and with that man in the Heaven’s forcing my hand, directing my righteous action…what is there to fear?” Before Ansell could even respond to the youth’s statement, Yukio was already on his feet and heading, quickly, towards an exit. A real man wasn't ruled by fear, he was ruled by his convictions. And in Yukio’s mind, God was telling him that what he was doing was the right thing.

Against the wishes of his loyal servant and friend, Yukio would find himself, hours later, tracing the streets on the outskirts of town, the pristine white color of his coat making him stand out against his dark, dirty surroundings. He was practically asking to be bait for the more mischievous persons that lurked in the shadows. A cool shiver ran up his spine, as a hint of paranoia began to settle in. He glanced around him, and quickly turned, finding himself in an alley in back of some unused factory. A rich man striding along through these streets at night was a dead man walking.


“’Ey, look what we got ‘ere!” A sudden, raspy voice caught Yukio off guard, and he found himself frozen in place. Before Yukio knew what hit him, there were five men that had thrown themselves at him, hands grabbing, hitting, tearing. “Get off of me!” Yukio shouted, struggling against the muggers that held him down. He was about to grab for one of his weapons, when he felt cold steel pressed against his throat. Not good.“We know what some well-dressed prick like you is doin’ here! ‘Bet you went and ‘vaporized’ some poor sod, didn't ye’?!”Yukio’s eyes were struck wide at the man’s words. How dare they?! Quickly, Yukio’s hands were set in motion, one gripping the blade-wielding wrist, and another slipping into his coat to retrieved one of his most prized possessions, a sawed-off, white, double-barreled shotgun. He swung it in an upward motion, striking the chin of the big-mouthed man. He jumped forward to get away from the other attackers, only for one of them to sneak a boot before his own, and tripping him. Son of a… “Do you really think I'm an Agent!?” Yukio skittered across the ground, managing to finally rise up to his feet, shotgun aimed, and his other one also removed from the hiding place of his coat. He kept one gun trained on that mealy-mouthed man, while the other was pointed in the direction of his other attackers.

“My name is Tokugawa Yukio, the last of the Samurai royal bloodline. I am not, in any way, shape, or form, involved with the Government’s Agents.”
Yukio paused to glance down at his outfit…wrinkled, torn, and dirty. He grimaced. He so hated to have his appearance tarnished! “How dare you attack me like that! Get a move on, or I'll blow holes in you wide enough to stick my hands through!” The more verbal of the bunch didn't move a muscle, until Yukio took an angered step towards him, finger stroking the trigger of his gun. A flash of animosity in those azure eyes, and Yukio’s hand was forced…in a sideways motion which struck the barrel of his gun against the man’s face. The man doubled over, stunned, before finding the will in him to speak.“This crazy son of a bitch is gonna shoot us because we got his clothes all dirty. You're just like the rest of ‘em! I hope you rot in Hell, you greedy fuck!” Yukio was seething at this point, eyes alive with a silent rage. The offending goons finally turned tail and ran ahead, leaving the stained and unhappy noble to hang his head, returning his guns back to his coat. Softly, he spoke to himself, aloud.“…And these are the people I risk my life for.”

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Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Hero: Kaiser Fiore Weiss Heidanreich

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The Kaiser:

Name: Fiore Weiss Heidanreich
Age:
25
Height:
5'11"
Hair Color:
Colorless
Eye Color:
Azure

"Long Live The King!" It was the Kaiser's most adored and treasured phrase. Those who would utter those words were spared any sort of punishment. Perhaps they were the secret words of immunity. The Kaiser was a horribly ego-maniacal man, narcissistic in nature, and cruel to those who dare not cherish him rightfully. Centuries of an inbred bloodline had let to his ashen coloring, of the skin and hair, and to the illnesses that plagued him. It was due to these lifelong illnesses, that the other side of himself was given birth.
_______________________________

The Other Side:
Name:
Weiss Reinhart
Age:
19
Height:
5'11"
Hair Color:
Colorless
Eye Color:
Azure

Weiss was the other side of the King, and believed himself to be nineteen years of age. Why? Because the King had begun to suffer from a multiply personality disorder at the tender age of six. Weiss, is nothing like the King. He is kind-hearted and brave, yet had an insatiable lust for adventure. This brought him to befriend Tokugawa Yukio, the last of a Japanese royal family. Often, Yukio would take Weiss on one of his missions, be it sabotaging government supplies or participating riots, or even daring to take on those with rank and importance in the government's system. Imagine what would happen to it all if it was discovered that the accomplice to these treasonous crimes was Kaiser Heidanreich, hidden in commoner's clothing. That would be a dance with destruction.

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PROFILE UNDER CONSTRUCTION!
 

Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Hero: Charlotte

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Name: Charlotte
Age: 11
Race: Asian / Caucasian
Profession: Beggar
Virtue: Chastity

Appearance: Charlotte is about as sweet on the outside as they come for little girls. Her skin is soft, yet not too pale, looking as if it glowed with a warm healthiness only known to the young and energetic. Her eyes, large and oceanic in their hue and depth, were perhaps her most lethal of weapons. One stare at those big baby blues and you'd find your hand instantly on your wallet, doting upon the little girl in whatever manner was necessary. Her hair was just as appealing, for it fell about her childish visage in soft blonde lockes, bouncing and swaying as she walked. Her attire was perhaps a ploy in and of itself, fashioned from the most delicate lace and bows that hard-earned money could afford. Many would refer to it as 'lolita fashion,' but for her, she felt as if it made her look like a porcelain doll. Perhaps if she was the most perfect little China Doll in the world, then her father would finally come out of hiding, and become a part of her life once more, for the closest she ever was to him was when she was in her mother's womb.

Background: Charlotte is perhaps too young and too innocent to really know much of life, but she received quite the crash course in loss. Her mother had contracted leukemia shortly after Charlotte's birth, and struggled with it for nine grueling years. She had been on a waiting list for a bone marrow transplant and donor for most of that time. The day finally came when she could have the operation done, but by then her body had become too infected. The doctors refused to go through with the surgery, knowing that she would never make it through the operation. After the news had been told to her by a young doctor with auburn hair and haunting, yellow eyes, Charlotte's mother lost hope. The spark within her, the reason for her to continue fighting and enduring, had burned out. She was dead within weeks, due to her body becoming infected by a slew of viruses. Without healthy white blood cells to fight off the bacteria, Charlotte's mother was sure to perish. She died within the small comforts of her own home, refusing to spend her last moments within the uncomfortable white walls of the hospital that had condemned her to death in the first place. Charlotte was told very specific instructions from her mother's death bed: "You must not go to an orphanage, they'll only abuse and harm you. Take my purse, take all of my money, take all of my jewlery, use it to live and to find your father. He will take care of you, or I'll haunt him until the end of his days."

Charlotte listened to every word, and would remember it for the rest of her life. Taking all of the money and belongings, Charlotte set out into the world, alone, searching for her father. Most girls that age in that sort of predicament would have cried themselves into a street-laden grave, dying in an alley somewhere covered in dirt and soot. This little girl wasn't about to become some chimney sweeper and die from disease and dirty lungs. No, not Charlotte. Charlotte may have loved and missed her mother, but she was a daddy's girl through and through. This wasn't because Charlotte loved her father, but more so because she took after him. The unfortunate part of it was that her father was only an image on an old photograph, one she had found in her mother's purse. That was the only lead she had in finding him. He was a rather handsome man, possessing a mysterious and devious look about him that made Charlotte realize that she was perhaps more connected to her father than she realized.

For over a year, Charlotte had picked up quite a few 'tricks of the trade' while on her quest. Money only lasts so long, especially when it's used to purchase expensive dresses, to bribe kindly old women into buying her the occasional hotel room, for food, and for bus tickets and other forms of transportation. She learned that keeping her 'cute' appearance was practically vital to her survival. Whenever she was in a wealthy neighborhood, she would follow a seemingly well-to-do couple, and would sit on the ground in the way of their walking path, sobbing and rubbing at her eyes with her small, little hands. They'd approach her with concern, asking why she was crying and where her mother was. She would explain to them that her mother had died from cancer and left her alone in the world to find her father. She would continue to say how hungry and cold she was, but how she couldn't go back to the local orphanage because they had abused her. Most of it was truth, mixed with her mother's death-bed assumptions of a modern day foster home. The wealthy patrons almost always showered her with money, and often times would take her shopping in an expensive boutique, in order to get her a new and improved outfit. She was a growing girl, after all.

Charlotte was eleven years old, and she wasn't getting any closer to finding her father. Yet, she always pressed onward, guided by her mother's dying wish, and also by the 'signs' that her mother had offered her from up in heaven. Little Charlotte believed her mother's spirit was alive within blue butterflies, and whenever she saw one, she would follow it. The butterflies never led her in the wrong direction. She hoped that one day...they'd lead her to her father, wherever that heartless bastard was!


Personality: Charlotte is everything a loving mother and father could have dreamed for. She was adorable, sweet, never threw tantrums, and was strangely intelligent for a girl of her age. Watching your mother die without a father to lie to you and tell you that "Mommy is going on vacation, sweetie," well...it makes you grow up faster. Her voice was perhaps the most charming thing about her, for it was so saccharine and pure. You just couldn't say no to her, not to a sweet girl like her!

Weaponry: Her big blue eyes, her winning smile, her sweet voice, her golden hair, her absolutely heart-wrenching cry, and her boundless determination.

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Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Villain: Seraphim

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The Basics:

Name:
Seraphim
Age:
22
Birthdate:
April 20th
Hair Color:
Black
Eye Color:
Crimson
Height:
6'1"
Blood Type:
O
Weapon:
A pair of Para-Ordnance P14.45s
Motto:
"I'll seem a Saint, when mostly I play the Devil."

Code Name: Seraphim is an agent of The Thought Police. A beautiful creature, housing a mind of insanity. Sadistic, calculated, and cruel...Seraphim becomes a traitor's worst nightmare once he has them in his playhouse of horrors: Room 101. With the ability to delve into one's thoughts, and create vivid and horrific hallucinations, guarantees that once in his 'care,' you're to never make it out the same way you entered--that is...
If you leave at all.

Bottom Line:
Don't Betray Your Government.


Example Post:

Where are your comrades?” “I love Big Brother...I love Big Brother...” The repetitive words fell from the lips of a tormented young woman, who simply went by the code name ‘Lady.’ She was a sexual deviant, a woman who had opened her heart and her legs to many men...and women. She was vile in every respect in the young Agent’s mind. A harlot with a sinful and unclean body, which was once voluptuous and healthy. But now? The skin was dry, tight, torn, and dirty. She had been put through the ringer, and as Seraphim examined her with those intensely scarlet eyes, he briefly wondered when she would finally give up her charade, and give in. He sat in a nearby chair, his elbow resting against a wobbly wooden table, with his cheek pressed to the palm of his gloved hand. He’d never touch such a filthy being with naked fingers, no, no. The look on his face was one of absolute boredom, the painful kind. The sort that fills you with such an unshakable emptiness. His other hand tapped against the table, fingertips moving in a wave-like motion as he let the sound of his taps filter into the room like the drip-drops of water torture.

“...I wish I could believe that, My Fair Lady.” It was a taunt, a ray of hope that he dangled atop her head. ‘My Fair Lady’ was a name that was fitting for a fairy tale, a child's lullaby about the beautiful Princess who lived in the high tower. She was bound to be rescued by her Knight in Shining Armor! But this high tower was no such place of dreams - it was a cold and unforgiving dungeon, which had welcomed this woman into it’s womb with open arms, and tossed her back out as an emaciated invalid. But Seraphim knew, he knew that her eyes told the truth, for there was fire that was still burning behind them! They weren’t embers of pure adoration for Big Brother, there was something more...feral to that gaze

“I love Big Brother, I love Big Brother...” “There is too much resistance in those eyes. I see no warmth, no purity. You’ve loved many anonymous men through your raunchier of nights, yet you can’t bring yourself to love the one and only person in this world who keeps you safe from harm? All he wants is your loyalty, your allegiance, your love! You gave it so freely before, why hold it back now? The woman’s head lolled to the side, a blackened finger dragging itself idly up and down her arm. The flesh, it used to be so smooth - now...now it was old, undesirable.

“...I love Big Brother...” “I wish you would really say that until you truly believed it, but you’re like a broken record player. ...Did we really break you, my dear?” He crept closer to the woman, disgracing her with his very presence. He, who was so filled with life, so vibrant, so strong, so confident! He was a vision of perfection, hovering over a cowering child, who was merely a vessel of the vixen she once was!

“...I love...Big Brother...” She whispered the words as if they were foreign to her - the slang of an alien tongue. Seraphim was finally upon her, looming like a giant tidal wave, displaying itself in all of its devastation. You could take in the sight with saucer-like eyes, your mouth agape, as all of your fear, all of your unspoken madness...came full circle. Perhaps only then, when you stand before annihilation, only then could you finally know what it must feel like to face the Devil.

Say it till you believe it. Say it till you can look up at his poster, hanging like a Guardian Angel in this room...and shed tears of love and joy for having known him.” “....” “Maybe a few more days of no food or water will get that record playing again. He paused for a moment, back turned as he waited for the inevitable. Whimpers. The sort of sounds you hear from someone who tried so desperately to hide it. She must have been so famished by now - her gut an inferno of acidic agony, which was perfect for providing him with all the leverage he needed for a confession. A flash sparked in his eyes, prompting him to retrieve an item that he had confiscated from her. It was an old, but still-functioning music box. Well, it was the functioning portion of it: a golden cylinder with pins striking the grooves of the center in order to play a tune. He rolled it several times, before placing it down in front of her. The tune that broke into the silence of the room was the song known as ‘Nocturne,’ a song composed by Chopin. Of course, no one of this day and age knew who Chopin was, or the title of that song. Many things, such as classical compositions were strictly forbidden. Tears streamed down Lady’s cheeks almost instantly, and she trembled, her hands hovering over the little instrument.

“Where are your friends, Lady?” With tears obscuring her vision, Lady was able to see clearer than she ever had. She snatched up the music box, just as it was about to finish playing the programmed movement.

“They’re all right here.”

She brought the box right against her chest, and smiled. The event that ensued was horrifying, even to the experienced Agent before her. The music box he had taken from her...was a bomb. It exploded, killing her instantly, and hurling bits of blood, skin, and tissue right at Seraphim. The power of the blast threw him against the wall, as those gory bits rained upon him. In the aftermath of it, he just blinked a few times, stunned and unable to properly process what had just happened. Despite this, the voices of the startled Guards rushing into the room rang clear enough. “A bomb?! She had a bomb?!”

“...I gave it to her.” He slowly sat up, attempting to wipe some of the blood off of his face, only to further smear it across his flesh. The Guards just stared at him with saucer-like eyes, stunned that the ‘Devil With Red Eyes’ could ever make such a grave mistake! “You know you’re going to have to repo-” “I know what I have to do, Comrade...! Have fun cleaning up this mess.” He shook his arms, causing drops of blood and bits of tissue to fall to the floor. Disgusting. He’d have to report to his superior, Agent O’Brien - one of the ‘originals’ as he was referred to. He was a man who was not altered by science, as Seraphim and the other Agents of his time were. Seraphim was not foolish enough to stand before his superior with his mistake still clinging to his person. An hour later and you could find the raven-haired Agent standing before O’Brien’s door, hesitance following his every movement until they felt as though they were being slowed down by hardening cement.

The door before him now looked just as foreboding now as it did then - a rigid reminder of his shortcomings. That incident with Lady had happened only a few months ago, and he got off with as little as a slap on the wrist. When he had awoken from that midshift nap today - his head still reeling from the memory of that taunting dream - there was an ominous knot in his middle. Don’t go. That was a bad omen, a preview of what was soon to come...! He should have listened.

“I’m not opening it for you.” The voice that snaked past the closed door would have startled him if it wasn’t laced with the venom that could only come from years of bitterness. Agent O’Brien regarded Seraphim with a lightly veiled loathing, for he was merely a manufactured operative - he did not earn his skills, he was handed them on a silver platter. Typically the boy did his job, and he did it well - for that, O’Brien had to tolerate him. Today just happened to be that fine day when the whole world seemed just a touch brighter, kinder. Big Brother was surely smiling upon him now, granting him his least favorite subordinate to freely mock and condemn.

With his lip pulled into a tightly thin, grim line, Seraphim would open the door and step further inside. Stopping before the man’s desk with a straight back and a stoic expression, he’d await the unkind words that were sure to follow. “We’ve been down this road before, haven’t we? Not all that long ago, as I recall.” A foggy gaze obscured behind thin-wired spectacles appeared so penetrating. The raven-haired youth was under intense scrutiny, a scientist through a microscope just hoping for that molecular formation to take place right before his eyes. That face didn’t crack, it didn’t shift - not even an uncomfortable quirk of a dark brow. “I know I’m expected to address you with more proper phrasing - but, you fucked up. There are rookies who wouldn’t have pulled the asinine stunt you just pulled.” The twitch of a brow - a reaction displayed. It was hard for O’Brien to keep a sneer from sweeping across his mug. “But, sir--” “You’re much more tolerable with your trap shut. You want to explain yourself? Explain what? That dozens of our comrades are now burnt to a cinder because you let your ego lead you astray?” Silence. He couldn’t mount much of a defense against that one. “You know what? Humor me.” Easing his elbows against the surface of the desk, his textured fingers would lace together with an expectant stare. Seraphim’s words would fall on deaf ears, as they should.

“...I was trying to disarm him.” O’Brien’s brows furrowed at that statement, eliciting a snort in the same instance. An irritating sound filled the room, given an oscillating image as his superior clapped his hands together in mock applause. “Well, congratulations, Agent Seraphim...! The burnt bodies of our fallen friends thank you for your successful venture!” Seraphim’s lower lip tightened as his body tensed, his pulse thudding in his ears as a painful reminder of just how pathetically human he was. Humans make mistakes - but he - he didn’t make mistakes! The bullet struck its target - knocking off that mask and briefly revealing that idolized man for his crimson eyes to see! Pale flesh, dark hair - a caucasian man, that was something, wasn’t it? Even the slightly trickle of blood upon the floor had to have provided them with DNA evidence with which to identify the man if they ever had him in their custody. O’Brien was quick to forget all that they had gained from his headstrong actions - just as Seraphim was quick to forget that he was responsible for the deaths of possibly a hundred people who were loyal to Big Brother.

Seraphim’s eyes betrayed that blank mask he was trying so hard to wear. Frustration, impatience, shame - it all danced along that inhuman sphere of ruby. Was his punishment just going to be hearing this old goat speak down to him like the small child he once was? He wasn’t a little boy anymore - not that green-eyed vision of innocence that O’Brien once knew him as. He was a grown man now - with a habit for childish antics, perhaps - but an adult all the same! The disciplinary actions to be taken against him were going to ring clear in a few seconds.

“You’re being reassigned.” Just listen to the misplaced pleasure surrounding those words! So he was to be reassigned, that wasn’t too harsh. “...And you’ll be given a partner.

Wait, what? That well-composed mask fell apart in an instant, replaced by an obvious confusion that gave his superior such joy! “Excuse me, sir - but did you say that I--” “--will have a partner? Yes. Some of the higher ups believe that given proper direction, you could be useful in our quest to track down the terrorist known as the ‘Sparrow King.‘ You’re the only one to have seen his face, after all...I suppose that may serve of some use down the road.” It must have pained him to say that. Fortunately for him, Seraphim was far too preoccupied with the term ‘partner’ to have paid those words any mind at all. ‘...A partner?! How dare they...!’ Never before had Seraphim ever felt so insulted in his life. He was severely offended by the notion that he was misguided, and needed someone to point him in the ‘right direction,’ to hold his hand like a fucking baby sitter!

“Is that going to be a problem for you, Agent Seraphim?” “No, sir.” Never had he lied before with such difficulty. “Good. Head for Director Denali’s office, then. Your partner will be waiting there for you.” “Yes, sir.” He’d bow his head, displaying the smallest bit of respect that he could muster, before promptly rotating on a heal and getting out of that uncomfortable office as quickly as he could.

A partner...! He still couldn’t believe it! The gall of them to suggest that he was losing his touch - that the ‘Devil with Red Eyes’ was sinking to the bottom so rapidly that they needed to strap another Agent to him like some fleshy flotation device. But in a world where a chemically-altered being can invade your mind if they had the opportunity and proximity to do so, he’d be wise to silence whatever ego-bruised monologues were running rampant in his mind. A more familiar tune needed to take its place - because nothing could have been more suspicious than the mantra that followed in his mind. ‘ I love Big Brother...I love Big Brother...’

From the time that he had exited that office to the time that he tapped his knuckles against the Director’s door, he underwent quite the transformation. The aura around him seemed oddly serene for someone who was five seconds shy of ripping out his superior’s intestines and wrapping his innards around his throat like a necktie. People had their faults and their weaknesses, yet none could be as frightful as vanity. Seraphim’s perceived image of himself was cracking in the faces of those around him - and desperately he clung to that dream of perfection. He was the first and he was the best - and like hell he’d ever give anyone another chance to think anything else!

Should the Director grant him entry, the seemingly youthful Agent would step into the room with confident strides. His attire was more than presentable, consisting of neatly pressed black slacks, polished obsidian shoes, a red button-down, a well-tailored black blazer, and a black tie to seal the image. Red and black, a somewhat humorous gesture toward the obvious of his personal tastes if one were to let their mind wander long enough. No matter what his fashion sense, his countenance was worth some remarking. His facial structure was a sensual mixture of soft and sharp features. The Agents of this day and age, for the most part, were able to hide amongst their peers with little to no difficulty - but Seraphim was not afforded such luxury. Dual orbs of vivid scarlet produced both a haunting and devious appearance - forcing him to stick out more than he ever should. Often times those eyes would be obscured behind dark shades, but within the Ministry, there was no need to hide them. If that sinful gaze wasn’t striking enough, than that mass of jet black hair should do the trick - for it seemed far too long to be appropriate given the setting.

“Have a seat, Agent Seraphim.” A sidelong glance was tossed to the young man who was already seated before that cherrywood desk - and admittedly, it lingered just a couple of seconds too long. Was he sizing up the other - or was he startled by his appearance? Seraphim was expecting a meathead whose head was directly connected to his shoulders by way of bulging muscles - yet this man was - well, pleasantly not that.There was an ambivalence to him - a meshing of darkness and light that weaved a tapestry of mystery. It was strange for Seraphim to be so immediately drawn to another, and in his ignorance he thought his interest was purely one motivated by a competitive nature. After all, Seraphim’s wings were being clipped - and from the moment he left this room, he would be chained to this other person. The idea of it was sickening, causing a fire to be lit in his belly. He was above this - all of this!

“Agent Seraphim, Agent Meredith...it has been decided that all parties involved would be benefited by a partnership between the two of you.” A brief twitch at the corner of Seraphim’s lips suggested that he disagreed with that statement. Director Denali continued, speaking a little faster than before, as though this entire conversation was beginning to disinterest him, and he was rushing to its exit. “The objective is simple: find and capture the Sparrow King. He’s a dangerous terrorist who needs to be stopped, at all costs.” Ever seen a statue’s face as it descends to a dangerous, crashing demise? That’s how Seraphim looked - so forced and so ready to break into pieces.

“Well, then...I’ll start tracking down the target, as he’s certainly not hiding in this room.” So quick to leave! Just as he rotated on a heel to face the door, he’d be interrupted by the Director, who suddenly seemed more interested in Seraphim’s flightiness. “Agent Seraphim - perhaps it’d be wise of you to accompany Agent Meredith to his office. He’s been working on the Sparrow King’s case for quite some time - whereas you had your first encounter with the case this evening.” Seraphim had to practically suck the air in through his teeth to keep from verbally assaulting the other - but the venom in his retort found flight, regardless.

“I shot him in the head and saw what’s under that mask - I’d consider that more than an ‘encounter,’ Director.” Those scarlet orbs did a marvelous job of punctuating his words with a demonic intensity - yet they did little to phase the man they were aimed at. “You’re quite right, and that’s the only reason why you’re standing before me now. I assure you, O’Brien had far less favorable suggestions.”

“I bet he did. ...I appreciate the opportunity then, Director Denali.” Quite the bold faced lie, but it was told well enough. With a brief bow of his head, Seraphim would make his quick exit out of the room. Denali was left with an amused curve across his mug, his eyes falling back to his paperwork as he spoke to Rowan without properly addressing him. “A few words of advice for you: keep a closed mind. He’s the invasive type.” While rather vague and cryptic in his choice of wording, the message should be obvious enough. All of the Agents of the Thought Police - or at least the new and improved Thought Police, possessed certain abilities that God, himself, did not grant them. Agent Seraphim’s abilities involved the mind - and his wherewithal to penetrate it. Maybe it was even a little generous of the Director to have given Rowan the warning that he had.

Should Rowan eventually make his way to his own office, he’d find it in quite a state of disarray. Seraphim was making it increasingly obvious just how ‘seriously’ he took this partnership. His feet were propped up on the man’s desk in display of flippant disrespect, followed by the scattered papers and folders atop the desk itself. In his hands was the folder containing the report involving the death of Agent Moriarty, and Carlsteadt’s capture - which seemed to be the one and only piece of text that held even the slightest flicker of interest for the blood-eyed Agent. While Seraphim seemed to have a natural knack for playing games, he was quite adept at cutting to the chase. The instant he sensed the other man’s presence, he’d regard him with a sharp stare and an equally sharp tongue.

“I don’t care to entertain any false notions of camaraderie with you. I’ll dance whatever jig they want me to, but I have no intentions of taking this partnership seriously.” A fiendish glow manifested in his crimson gaze, accompanied by a sneer. “Seeing as your last partner ended up dead, it doesn’t seem that you care much for the whole idea, either. To think that so much prestige surrounded such an immature and childish man. At least you couldn’t accuse him of being dishonest, or beating around the bush.

“You’ll stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of your way, and we’ll get on famously.

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Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Villain: Gunter

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Name:
Gunter
Age: 29
Race: Caucasian, German Nationality
Profession: Surgeon / Prostitute [Thought Police in 1984 Setting]
Sin: Gluttony

Appearance: Gunter has a rather striking appearance, despite the subtlety it possessed. His hair was styled rather modernly, with jagged edges and auburn wisps framing his pale face. His brows were dark yet thin, trying hard to betray his masculine personage with their feminine shape. But, it was those eyes, amber and piercing that spoke of his sinister ways. His lips were rather plush for a man's, but the mouth was just wide enough as to not look too out of place when set upon a male's face. His physique was tell-toned and muscular, but only in a maintained and natural sense. No foreign substances had aided in the development of that body, for now, at least. Over all, Gunter made quite the appealing package, on the outside, at least.

Background: Gunter, like many maniacal masterminds of this world, did not lead a life that was laced with strolls in the park and happy memories. His mother was once a sweet and lovely young woman, known for her beautiful long hair and her never-fading smile. But Gunter's conception robbed her of all of that - when she was brutally raped by a stranger. She later awoke in a hospital, months later. Once her senses were restored, she'd stare at her middle with a bewildered look in her eye. Her belly had swelled. ...But why? It suddenly dawned upon her that while she had left the conscious world a beaten woman, she had awoken as a pregnant one. At first she wanted to abort the child, pleading for the doctors to 'kill the little parasite!' Due to her delicate health, and because of how far she was into her pregnancy, there was no abortion to be had. She gave birth, and was insistent on giving her baby up for adoption - not even wanting to know what gender her child was. One of the orderlies had mistakenly exclaimed what a 'beautiful baby boy' she had. In tears, she asked to hold her child before he was taken away. The moment she looked into his big amber eyes, she was doomed. He looked so small, so frail, so helpless! He was a victim, just like she had been...and yet she saw nothing of his father in him. She decided to keep him, and raise him, with her husband's blessing. Her eldest son, well, that was a different story.

Gunter was a normal little boy, curious and talkative. His half-brother, Demitri, absolutely despised him, and he made sure that little Gunter knew it. On one particular day, Demitri was tormenting his brother with a rubber band gun, which earned him a fine scolding from their mother. Demitri was sent out of the apartment to do some shopping, as a means of punishment for his behavior. Unfortunately, that would be the last time he'd ever get to see his family as it once was. There came a loud knock on the door, and despite the mother's efforts, the man on the other side barged into the apartment. It was Gunter's father; his biological father. He was demanding to see his son - who had been clever enough to hide in one of the kitchen cabinets, behind a trash can where he couldn't be seen. What happened after his mother's refusal was what changed young Gunter's life for the worst.

His mother was dragged into the kitchen, and tied down to a chair. They waited, until that saintly husband of her's finally came home from work...only to be greeted by the feeling of a hot frying pan slammed against his head - so scalding hot that it instantly stuck to his flesh and burned it. The husband was killed, painfully, in front of Gunter and his mother - and all the while, the devil had a smile on his face. Gunter was his son, after all, and no one had the right to keep him from him! While all of this was going on, little Gunter was subjected to the ails of living in a working-poor family apartment. Rats. They were crawling on him now, frightening the poor boy even more than he already was! He couldn't make a sound - he couldn't be found! That crazy murderer would surely do the same to him, and he didn't want to end up like his 'father!' Because of his desperate desire to be silent - to not cry or whimper as the rats bit at his flesh - he was rendered mute. He had concentrated so hard on being quiet that he had lost the ability to speak at all!

To his ever lasting despair, his mother's life was ended in that same kitchen...and his biological father - the fiend that he was...was never brought to justice. Because of this traumatic event, the young boy was now parentless, and voiceless. He spent a good part of his life with an inability to speak. He was sent off to an orphanage after he was found in the streets, and that was where his life turned to a slightly more fortunate direction. The orphanage was in a hospital, yet the children were forced to stay on one level, almost like a prison of sorts. Looking back on it now, Gunter would have thought of it as a mental institution, where they were all held there against their will, and treated as inferior beings. But, this was where Gunter met his first love: excitement. Sneaking out of his room at night and into the hospital's reference library was a favorite past time for Gunter, and it would help him to understand just what it was he enjoyed in life: everything.

One day, when Gunter was in his later teenage years, he had been invited to watch a surgery, and he did so with the most obvious grin plastered across his face. The doctors had been so careful, so cautious, in removing the tumor from the patient's body, and running the blood transfusion in order to sustain their life. Gunter would later discover that one of the surgeons had made a grave mistake, and had used the wrong blood type for the transfusion. Despite the painstaking measures that the doctors had taken with the operation itself, the patient would begin to convulse, and ultimately died right there in front of Gunter. While the doctors began to panic and argue amongst themselves, Gunter was be shoved out of the room by an orderly. His arm would reach outward, toward the patient's lifeless body, and it was then that words would finally be elicited from his throat. "...More...More....I want more!" Gunter had seen his first run in with blood and death, in nearly a decade, and it intoxicated him.

The years after had been filled with nothing but research, reading every single medical book that was available to him, as well as excelling further in his 'home schooling' through the orphanage. As years went by, Gunter became a full-fledged doctor and top-rate surgeon, with very steady and accurate hands. But it was a lust for blood, for causing a person pain, agony, fear...that's what excited him! His quest for this new found sadistic pleasure brought him to the rather opposite side of the professional spectrum. On the nights when he was plagued by restlessness, Gunter served as a prostitute, easy 'prey' for any lecherous men or desperate women who were wowed by his eerie gaze and handsome looks.

Unfortunately for those one-night lovers of Gunter's; they never made it to see the next sunrise.


Personality: Gunter had spent a good portion of life as a mute, and due to this fact, he seemed as though he were trying to make up for lost conversations. He was always confident and sure of himself, which led him to being a rather talkative individual. Yet, his conversations were not pointless, nor were they assumed to be even-sided! During a lot of his surgeries, it was not uncommon for him to talk to himself, aloud, amused by nothing more than the sweet and velvety sound of his own voice. Silence bothered him, and if he wasn't talking, or someone else wasn't talking, he was sure that his mind was running rampant with vocal thoughts.

Weaponry: Gunter is a particularly resourceful man, and rarely ever uses the same weaponry. One night a pair of his precious 'Little Nina' 9mm pistols, and another night a pair of daggers. His unpredictability in weapon preference was a testament to his excitable personality.


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Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Villain: Khitri Vokt

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The Madwoman:

Name: Khitri Vokt
Age: 27
Birthdate: 08/07
Hair Color: Scarlet
Eye Color: Emerald
Height: 5'7"
Blood Type: AB

Professor Khitri is an obsessive woman, which comes as quite a surprise to her sultry voice and striking beauty. A child prodigy, she had fallen in love with science...to replace the affections that were never given to her by neither parent nor friend. Experimentation was her one true love, until He showed up. He was a man known only as Seraphim, deadly and beautiful, he commanded respect and attention, even fear, from all of those that had met him. But from Khitri? She felt nothing short of a passionate desire for him.

This obsession had eventually led to her greatest creations; Agent Six and Agent Seven. They were the first two successful clones that she had made in Agent Seraphim's image. They were her most prized possessions, and she loved them without fail. That was, until the government had taken them away from her and put them out in the field, ending the lives of those who committed treason.
It was because of this, that she would develop nihilistic views, and would take out any and all of her rage on those unfortunate enough to end up on...
Her Operating Table.


PROFILE UNDER CONSTRUCTION!
 

Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Neutral: Miss Taken

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Name: Myrna Taylor
Nickname: Miss Taken
Age:18
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Profession:Professional Attention Whore
Sexuality: Bisexual, of course!


Who is She?

Who am I? Who are you? I'm someone who is trying to go somewhere with my life, to make a mark, to be remembered by everyone and anyone I meet! I bet you're just one of those people who say: "Oh, my life is an open book!"Well, dearie, if your life is an open book, that's just your sorry little excuse for being a dull, boring person. Anyone worth knowing has secrets, stories too exciting for your layman ears to hear! If you don't have a skeleton or two hiding in your closet, then what good are you, anyway? Are you going to thrill me with your stories of puppy love, of how you got an 'A' on your final exam? Already my eyes are at half mast and you couldn't even manage a string of syllables with enough interest to keep me from suffering a sudden attack of narcolepsy!

Let's just change the focus around a little, then. Do you want to know a secret of mine? I didn't always look this good. Shock, I know! You see, some people in this world don't just get spit out of their momma's womb lookin' like Adriana Lima...! Some of us actually have to get off of our fat asses and do some work! Having some knowledge of hormones and chemical effects on the body doesn't hurt, either. I bet that plastic ass and fake chest of yours is just swelling with pride now! I'm 100% real, baby, you can bitch about my blonde hair all you want, but this body is au naturel, it didn't come from my daddy's pocketbook after my incessant whining and pleading like you 'naturally curvy' girls had to do!

I'm too hot to handle, and you can take that anyway you want. I'm not going to hold back, I'm not going to comfort you, I'm not going to lie to you when you smell like you're wearing the finest fragrance of 'rape-me-now' perfume. I'm not desperate for anyone or anything, and you'll be really disappointed if you count on me for anything. I know everything there is to know about everything that matters, but if you're hanging off of a cliff and I might just break a few nails trying to pull you over? Well, you shouldn't have fallen off of the cliff in the first place now, should you?

Oh, but I'm not a total bitch, you see. I am very loyal to those I like, and if there's a verbal fight I can partake in for them, you can bet someone will go home crying! I might not save you from the cliff, but I wouldn't mind getting in a few very-sexy cat fights for you, ya'know...so long as there's some good looking boys in the audience! You'd be amazed what nail-hardening polish and a good pair of stilettos can accomplish. Don't even think about touching my face, but don't be surprised if I don't give you the same courtesy.

So that's me, Miss Taken. Untouchable by all. Whether you take it or leave it, you'll still remember me. I'm sure you'll even miss me.

What Are We Missing?

You think I've left something out? More than meets the eye? Sure, there may be some truth to that. I lied before - about not being desperate for anything. I'm desperate for attention. I crave it, I need it! I don't have fairy tale parents, I didn't grow up as the popular girl. 'Miss Uckly' was my name back then. Kids can be so nice. 'Ugly Duckling' was too sweet of a name for me, they needed a nickname that was revolting.

I didn't have very many friends back then, you know...on account of being chubby. "Oh, but she has such a good personality!" Right, because it's really my good personality and not my fat ass that you're paying attention to! Don't you worry, though...I shed the weight and shoplifted from all of the nearby Outlet Stores for the most fashionable clothes and make up. You didn't think my parents, a part of the new 'working poor,' would be able to afford it all, did you? So maybe I'm a thief, at least I'm doing it myself and not relying on others to get me what I want!

There are more secrets, there are more lies. But where is the fun if I tell you it all now? You'll just have to find out the rest for yourself now, won't you?
 

Contra Fates

Jill of All Trades
Veteran
Joined
Dec 21, 2007
Messages
712
Age
32
Location
Florida
Gil
0
Neutral: Agent Gabriel Crawford

gabrielcrawford.png

0101001101110100011011110111001001111001 / / Tell Me A Story \ \

Click-clack. Click-click-clack-clack. Keyboards have a particular sound to them - each one playing their own notes like an instrument. This particular code slinger known only as ‘Phate’ liked the loudest ones he could find. The heroes and villains of this day and age use firearms; but he preferred a newer sort of weapon - one which was born from the information age. The World Wide Web. People didn’t know the possibilities that the internet had. You could achieve almost anything you wanted with a stable internet connection and plenty of free time. For this bright-eyed fellow, it was his lonely upbringing that afforded him the luxury of solitude. The Personal Computers of the 80’s were his first toys - hell, even his first friends! He would spend many nights staring wide-eyed at the flickering black and green monitor of those first machines - running their antiquated DOS operating systems. The computer became his obsession as time went on, for it provided for him a safe haven. When his father was too drunk to remember he had responsibilities as a parent and a husband, the young boy would keep himself sane while he drowned out the sounds of his sobbing mother with the clickity-clack of his beloved keyboard.

Fast forward two decades and you’ll look around to see that a lot has changed. There are computers now that are so light that you can balance them on a few fingers; hard drives so large that you could store every photograph you’ve ever taken in your life on it and still have plenty of room to add in several thousand songs. Let’s not forget that computers can even play music now - or hell, even display full-motion videos! The computers of today are leaps and bounds ahead of their ancestors. A lot has changed for ‘Phate,’ as well. He is now a handsomely wealthy detective working for the FBI, Cyber Crimes Unit. His obsession growing up had given him the tools he needed to secure a great career, as well as a few perks on the side. He was also no longer alone. His parents had brought a little girl into this world, over a decade after he was born. Little Lydia, his precious little sister. He loved her the moment he saw her big aqua eyes. She was the light in his horrid little family, and he became her protector from the very beginning. For the Agent named Gabriel Crawford, playing the role of the Knight in Shining Armor for his sister...turned him into the worst serial killer of the information age.

010010110110100101101100011011000110010101110010 / / A Killer, Really? \ \

Behind those sparkling topaz eyes was a plethora of secrets. Agent Crawford worked for the CCU, this much was true. But was he their resident coding wizard? No. He was the well-mannered guy who was just tech-savvy enough to do the job, but he was no code-slinger like the rest of them. Of course, that was just a farce. The Agent’s hacking prowess would have amazed every single badly dressed computer nerd at his work. Remember, his keyboard was his weapon of choice - at first, at least.

But why did he kill to begin with? He was Little Lydia’s divine protector, and when she contracted an extremely rare form of porphyria, he came to her rescue...with surprisingly little hesitance when it came to doing what needed to be done. His lovely little sister was practically turned into a modern-day vampire - for she was allergic to the sun, and without the intake of blood and tissue, her body would consume itself, painfully. With his father’s disappearance in his teenage years, and his mother following not too far behind - all Lydia and Gabriel had were each other. For years Lydia was able to survive off of donated blood packets from nearing hospitals, but she soon developed another blood disorder, which demanded an even rarer type of blood and tissue compositions. Running out of time and options, Gabriel would take it upon himself to play not only the role of the hero - but also the vigilante. He’d hack into hospital computer databases, and with his access of police records...he would cross reference the records until he found criminals who had the type of blood and tissue that his sister needed.

01001110011001010111100001110100 / / What Happens Now? \ \

Gabriel had a new addiction, and this time it wasn’t just sitting in front of a glowing computer screen. He was obsessed with staking out his next victims, and plotting new and inventive ways of killing them - almost like a macabre art form. Unfortunately, good ol’ Uncle Sam only pays so much, and Gabriel’s new habit was an expensive one. Because of this, Gabriel had to find a second job, and it was a surprisingly quick fix. Not only was Gabriel a coding wizard, but he was also a talented computer engineer, and he built state of the art super computers and servers, and sold them all over the world. Oh my, how the money just rolled in after that point! He kept his day job at the CCU to be able to stay on top of things, and to keep track of his crimes. What better way to stay in the clear than to be a part of the team that was seeking him out? He’d lead them on a never-ending goose chase, and all they’d be chasing was his alter-ego, his internet persona; Phate.

01000101011110000110000101101101011100000110110001100101 / / Example Post. \ \

Guilt, it was strong and it was palpable, a powerful feeling that he could almost taste. The second time was much easier than the first, but for someone who considered himself to be a 'moral citizen,' it was regrettable nonetheless. Brief flashes of hollow, saucer-like eyes would bare down upon him, piercing into his thoughts as he washed his hands and pulled the wig and false mustache off of his upper lip. A disguise. He wouldn't have it any other way. It must have been a bit of a surprise to see the shy and sweet 'husband' of your cousin's come up and kill you. Of course, that was just putting it briefly, it was a much more involved process than that. That was something for a later discovery. He would undress himself after the blood was wiped from his fingers. He had worn gloves the entire time, but this one was a bit messier than the first, plus he had made that mistake when it came to tying her up correctly. He'd have to work on that for the future. At least she was quiet, though. Then again, so was he. There was no dignified and justice-filled speech as he severed those tendons and slashed into her arteries, watching the thin rivers of blood flow down her body and into the awaiting tub below her. It was too messy to skin a person with all of that blood still there.

Shaking his head, he'd toss his clothes onto a nearing plastic sheet, bundling it all up before he'd change into his extra attire. Glancing at his wristwatch, he'd make note of the time. Good, he wasn't too late this time. He had to be in early tomorrow for his newest work assignment, and he wasn't about to show up on his first day with bags under his eyes. He was much more professional than that, despite his division. Code-slingers weren't exactly the most respected guys in law enforcement, but with this day and age of technology, he was necessary. He had been careless with the first kill, and left traces of his backdoor hacking program on the victim's computer, something that the cops had picked up on, hence calling in for his assistance on the case.

Leaving the building, first thing was first. He tossed the bundle of his costume and the bloodied gloves into a metal trash can, before dousing it with lighter fluid and dropping a match into it. He was very careful when it came to his disguises, as well as the areas where he carried out his 'justified slayings.' The death of one vile human to save a life worth keeping. If he didn't take their lives, than his younger sister would be forced to give up her own, shriveling up like some wilting flower. She deserved more than that, and he made sure to give it to her. After all, she was all he had left in way of family. His scumbag of a father was killed, and his mother followed suit not long after. Fortunately for his sister, though, he had taken plenty of precautions to insure her privacy, and his.

They no longer had any family ties to his mother and father, with a faked obituary and death certificates, he and his sister had died from CO2 poisoning. It was a clean and easy enough death to put through the system. Now they were outfitted with new names, carefully crafted social security numbers and work histories, education, etcetera. Being a hacker had its perks, but even Gabriel could make mistakes when under pressure. Leaving that backdoor program behind was one of them.

The next day finally came around, and Gabriel was already up before any rays of light had time to spear through his window's shades. An early morning run, a visit to the gym, a shower, and a balanced breakfast were on this morning's agenda. In fact, it was always like that, every day. His sister had enough 'medicine' to keep her going for a while, so he wouldn't have to worry about visiting her for at least another week. Running that towel over his damp hair, he'd finish getting dressed in his work uniform. A navy blue blazer, matching slacks, polished black shoes, and a navy tie would work to complete that outfit. Later on he'd probably lose the tie, but he had appear the budding professional for at least the first week or two!

Be shy, smile a lot, fake some confidence, at least for the beginning. Once he got more comfortable with them, than he could reveal more of his true self. At least the self that didn't kill. He never wanted them to find out about that side. Checking his cell, he was given a message about the location he was supposed to show up at. He didn't even have to read the address. Driving over to the scene of the crime, Gabriel would briefly check his reflection in the rear view mirror. He flicked a few bothersome strands out of his piercing blue eyes, but once they fell back in place, he'd give up on that venture. It wasn't long before he arrived at the scene, and he'd exit his vehicle, walking over to the yellow caution tape. One of the cops gave him a look, and before he could speak, Gabriel flashed his badge. FBI, Cyber Crime Division. It wasn't as glamorous as it looked, trust me. Ducking under the tape after the cop gave an affirmative nod, Gabriel would walk over to the body, glancing at the surrounding people. Such an awkward way to introduce yourself, hovering over a corpse of your own design. Shrugging it off, he'd speak up, before he attracted any odd stares. "Sorry to interrupt. My name is Gabriel Crawford, and I've been assigned to work on this case with the Miami Crime Lab. Don't mind me." He flashed a few of his pearly whites at the nearing crew, before he knelt down and got into position to do some work.

What exactly did the scene look like? The body was something...rather unique. There was no stab wounds, no bludgeoned face, no messy blood. Nothing. The body was surprisingly clean and aesthetic in a way. Instead of flesh, there was only bone, and lots of them. Somehow, the body before them was reduced to nothing more than a bleached white skeleton. All of the skin, all the muscle, all the blood, all the flesh...gone. The only identifier there was the head of the victim, in strangely good condition, just sitting at it’s rightful place above the vertebrae bones. It was impressive, and was now the second body that was found like this. Would the secret killer that also observed this body...would he feel a slight twinge of admiration for the artist who sculpted such a beautiful crime scene? The skeleton was even posed, with the arms outward, the legs out as well, in a sexually suggestive manner.

Risk. Risk. Risk. The little voice in the back of his head was telling him to risk it, to give them some clue, to get himself noticed right away with some important observation. He bit his lip as he looked over the body. No, not so soon. He'd prove his worth over time, not within the first five minutes of knowing these people. He'd take some brief glances at them in the meantime. An Asian man with a plastic smile, a rather handsome youth with golden hair and deep blue eyes, and a female cop, looking a bit too delicate and glorious to be in this type of field. These people were far better looking than the overweight tubs of lard that he worked with at the Cyber Crime Division. Fighting back his growing smile, he'd just remain silent until prompted by another. He would like this job...so much.

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