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Post: wRHG: Delta [explicit]
Forum: wRHG
Assigned Moderators: +Omega

Posted by: Chromium7
Original Content: [quote]RHG Name:
Delta (Δ)

Original Name:
Dante Rockwell

Age:
29

Appearance:
Naturally blonde hair kept long and dyed black, green eyes and pale skin. His face is identical to that of his late brother Daemon, though he does his best to hide it (hence the long black hair). The similarities end their however, starting with his physique. While his twin was shorter and more muscular, Dante is tall and lean, his right arm visibly stronger than his left in a similar fashion to a professional arm wrestler or Olympic fencer. However, those with a keen eye would notice the strength in his left wrist and the dexterity in his fingers hinting at his dual-wielding prowess.

Strengths:
Delta has three main weapons at his disposal. His main weapon is a modified MP5k submachine gun with an extendable scythe blade. (http://www.fileize.com/view/d4aa5e18-4ba/) The gun isn’t much bigger than a pistol, but it’s fully automatic and very deadly. His secondary weapon is his custom-made butterfly knife he wields in his left hand

Weaknesses:
Dante, while skilled with his weapons, is not much of a fist fighter. If you could manage to disarm him completely, a skilled fist fighter would be able to dispatch him relatively quickly. Watch out for the concussive augmentations on his palms though.

History:

(There’s a lot to cover here and I’ve re-written this enough times already, so don’t expect any commentary)

Dante was born with his twin brother in a divorced family. The twins rarely saw each other due to the split in the family, with each parent taking custody of one of the kids. Dante was sent to stick with his mother. Dante’s childhood was tough, being of illegitimate birth and stuck with his mother’s financial and social problems. Many of his quirky talents grew from her exasperated comments. (What does it matter if you’re a lefty or a righty, just use both…) He was quick to figure out that if he wanted something he had to get it himself, though as he grew older he started getting things in all the wrong ways. Theft was his best craft, hacking his second. Anything requiring wit and cunning was something he sought out, though it was the risk that kept it interesting.

It was during these few years his violent side first appeared. It started with him fending off the school bullies and helping out the other kids, and while he never loved the aftermath, he yearned for the excitement. He started seeking out the fights now, and he soon started carrying weapons; the first of which being a stolen butterfly knife. Flash forward a few years later and it had tasted its first blood, and Dante faced his first kill. The cops never found the body, but that was the last thing on his guilt-drenched mind. Perhaps foolishly, Dante spent the next few years trying to dilute that feeling with alcohol. He’d abandoned the knife, doing his best to put it all behind him and hide his scars. But life gave him no rest, taking his mother from him in a final crippling move. Dante had been home with her when her heart gave out, and that memory was yet another he swore he’d wash away. But the liquor wasn’t doing it for him anymore, what he wanted was one simple thing; retribution.

The following year Dante was sent to live with his father Crawford and twin brother Daemon. Due to his failing grades and the difference of pace in the other school system, Dante was allowed to restart high school as a freshman. Being twins, there was a great deal of confusion among the members of the school when a freshman showed up at the school looking identical to the star quarterback. Often he would get a friend of Daemon’s coming up to him, followed by a rude “Oh.” When they realized it was just him. Relatively isolated, Dante started to change his ways. He grew out his hair to cover his identical face and then dyed his hair when even that looked a similar color. Unfairly, he was led to believe that Daemon was the better twin, and the only way he could step out of his shadow was by making his own path. That said however, the two twins got together nicely. They had their differences, but they were accepting of each other and both incredibly bright. Some days he hated it, but it was hard to keep the two apart.

There were no real slums where Daemon lived. The rules were much tighter and the community much nicer, and for a while Dante’s bad habits were kept at bay. He wasn’t in the best shape, fair enough, but the second chance had been a necessary one. His grades rose to surprising heights, and it wasn’t long before he’d found an area that appealed to him; anatomy. Perhaps some of it was genuine interest, but it was fueled by an obsessive drive to rid the world of his mother’s killer; cardiac arrest.
Dante graduated three years after his brother, getting a full ride to a prestigious math and science university. He later moved out to pursue a life of designing and manufacturing artificial organs.

This later caught the attention of industry giant Nexcorp, who sought him out to build a new organ, one capable of delivering a serum to stop a heart attack as it happened. Dante’s design was simplistic but logical; feeding the serum into the adrenal gland; the organ that excretes adrenaline when in a life-threatening situation (such as a heart attack) and filtering the serum from the adrenaline and pumping it into the heart, stopping the heart attack.

But there was a disturbing problem; the serum didn’t exist. However, the company signed the deal and his salary took off like a rocket. Nexcorp wasn’t done with him yet.
Several more patents were signed, having less and less to do with preventing heart attacks. But Dante felt he’d made his contribution to society, felt he’d done what his mother would’ve wanted, and he was okay with doing more irrelevant work for more money. He still had all the greed of the thief he once was, and Nexcorp was appealing to that to win his favor. It was working.

It took a while before the company’s intentions were revealed. Nexcorp was an unofficial sponsor of RHG, and they revealed to him that he had been helping them build a new organ known as the psionic heart. The patents were technically signed; it was made up of previous inventions both from him and a few others associated with the company, and therefore intellectual property of the business. The idea already existed; to extract DNA from captured RHGs and implant them into everyday humans, giving them superpowers. The problem was that the body metabolized the chromosomes over time, meaning the powers were only temporary. They needed a way to make the body produce these chromosomes on its own then deliver them into the bloodstream when given external stimuli (in this case an adrenaline rush).
One of the other scientists, a friend of Dante’s named Caine, decided to speak up. It was probably more personal for him, being the one who designed the chromosome filter that made it all possible, but for the rest of his life he would only be remembered by one name; Beta.

Caine became the second successful prototype, and it was clear that anyone who opposed would be next. What they didn’t count on was Dante using up his saved money to escape the following day.
The first thing Dante did upon leaving Nexcorp was to collect a few weapons. His purchases were pretty standard; a pistol and an uzi, though one thing stuck out; a custom-made butterfly knife. The model was much sturdier than the trashed one he’d left on the streets of his old home, and engraved with a symbol; the Greek letter Delta. The symbol was significant because of the way Nexcorp was choosing operation candidates; they started with Alpha and went down to Omega. Being the fourth on the list, Dante would be assigned the symbol “Δ”.

Dante spent the next few years tracking down some of the patients, drinking heavily throughout. He managed to locate five of them to lead against Nexcorp. Only Dante and two others made it out alive. It was then revealed that Daemon, Dante’s brother, had already been implanted and sent into service while his father was hanged. Dante could scarcely control his rage, even going so far as to enlist in RHG himself. (See demo) He vowed to find his brother; the last link to his dying family.
And this is where the story picks up. And thank god, I think my fingers are numb.

Demo:

Tryouts.
Yeah, they’re a pain in the ass. Be it beat-ins or formal discussions, both of which I’ve had my fair share of, it’s always a pain to get put in a ring with everybody’s eyes on you. Between you and me, I loathe the spotlight, but that’s balanced by my desire respect. You heard me, not love, not favor, respect.

So I’ll be straight up and give you the setting. It’s a dark night, new moon, trying to come up with details without naming movie titles.

But the point is I snuck out; from none other than my beloved patients Alice and Caine. Yes, “patients” is a harsh word, though I've always been hesitant of using the word ‘friends’. Long story short, I made something. Something big, and the assholes who helped me build it stole it and stuck my little contraption smack dab into their chests. Painful for the girl I imagine, though my old lab buddy seems to have no problems showing off his scars in the arena.

And that’s the thing. Maybe I’m a little jealous, maybe I’m a little bloodthirsty or perhaps… what’s the word… guilty?

But a shot of Jack was keeping that last one down for now. Back to the thesis; the tryout. Picture it… I’m standing at one of the local RHG arenas. I brought a few weapons I’m fairly sure certain should hold together for this little skirmish along with a new hoodie I’d picked up at one of the nearby stores. Wounds I can hide, but blaming the blood in the wash on the resident female isn’t going to do me any favors.
So here I was, knife in one hand, the other hand sealing a deal. Oh get your mind out of the gutter you poor thing. This isn’t a knifeplay, it’s a RHG tryout. Had to pay off that asshat to get to the fight chamber.

Speaking of, my opponent; fairly tall old chap, looked pretty pissed at something, probably me. If he had any powers, they were nothing blatantly obvious, though it was clear a katana was strung across his back. Being the nonchalant drunk, I stopped for a moment for a mock bow. Stay classy.

But the man’s expression remained serious; fair enough. I matched his stern expression but loosened up my body in preparation.
“So you’re new.” I stated bluntly, flipping open the knife.
As expected, the lips didn’t answer; the eyes did.
I forced a smile. It was my first RHG as well. But the kid looked as if he couldn’t will himself to hurt a fly; poor child.

I flipped the knife in a mesmerizing fashion, contemplating my next move. I’d never get in close enough for a stab with that sword of his, and throwing the knife would be unwise and far too risky. There was one solution; I needed another weapon.

I could tell my opponent was scanning me. Judging by where his eyes were, I guessed he had formal martial arts training, watching my body movements and avoiding the hypnosis of the twirling knife. A wise strategy in any other situation, but there’s a pattern to the butterfly knife. You have to get it just the right way to open it and close it. So when I flipped my wrist and yanked the knife back up my pocket, he had little time to react to my next move; whipping out my auto pistol.

Though I wasn’t devoid of mistakes either; I was drunk. While I managed to whip the gun out before he could react, it took me half the clip to get my aim where it needed to be.
And in that time the fresh meat whipped out what appeared to be a collapsible shield while fumbling for his shield. In his surprise I was able to empty the clip and load another, waiting for him to make the next move. He reacted by flipping his sword into a position where he could just barely aim a stab while keeping the shield facing me. But for now neither of us attacked, the opposing force simply making a slow advance.
But for now my advantage was range, and bitch I need that shit.

And so I slammed my foot into his shield before backing up and firing a few rounds. Some of them glazed his side, giving me the time to flip open the miniature scythe on my gun, ejecting the rest of the magazine. I then gripped the edge of the shield between the curve of the blade and my left hand, tossing the shield aside.
He was now left only with his sword. Being the weapons geek I am, I took a moment to contemplate it. It was a hand-and-a-half; a sword with a short enough blade to be used with one hand, but a long enough handle to allow for two-handed as well. In short, this meant he was perfectly capable of whooping my ass with or without a shield... lovely.

And all I had out was my gunblade. With the blade out I was unable to fire, and for now only I could use the blade to block his downward strike.
I did my best to deflect his next attack, but at the cost of losing my weapon as well. Empty-handed, I prepared for the next onslaught.

As he heaved the sword over his shoulder his next strike was easy to predict; another downward strike. Understandable; it was the most powerful move to go for with gravity on your side, perfect for what the crowd wanted to see; an execution.
So I decided I’d play along… to an extent. I put my hands in the air as if in surrender. As expected, he completely ignored the faux pas, and I charged up the augmentations on my palms. The blade slammed down against a concussive force that knocked me to the floor and the blade into pieces.

What was left was a terrified kid, a fragment of the blade the size of a machete and… oh yeah, a broken butt. Thanks for asking, guys.
Again, this still isn’t a knifeplay. Shut up and give me some empathy on the butt pains.
Butt pains and all, I managed to get to my feet and go on the offensive. Thankfully, he was still in shock, and I managed to knick him with a fencing-style lunge; touché.
And of course the only way he reacted was to swipe at me blindly like he still thought he was holding a sword. I easily side-stepped and moved in for a dead-on backhand stab with the dagger.

The knife tore straight through his jawbone, bones cracking and flesh ripping. As he screamed I gave a grim smile; the more he cried out, the deeper the knife dug in.
I twisted the knife and his head with it. The blood flowed down his throat and he began to retch; a terrified choking sound. Feeling merciful, I eased him to the floor rather than making him drown in his own bile. Said bile rolled out of his mouth and I withdrew the knife in disgust. He tried to scream, but unfortunately he was too busy puking his guts up. Sight and stench of blood and vomit were in surplus, and I took a moment to collect myself. Sadly, I’d seen worse.

The crippled victim was sobbing now. The poor thing… did he want me to stop?
I turned over the knife as a pang of guilt stung from deep within. Which, to translate, equated to me losing my liquor. I took a last glance at the pool of vomit. And then there were two.

I shrugged it off and my thumb rose with the corner of my lips; for the crowd. The child continued to sob and the spectators to cheer. But where was my money?

The pain was coming on quickly now. I was cursing myself for even coming this far by my own will. How long could I keep this up, I wondered. How long could I keep pretending I didn’t care, joking about movies as my knife hovered over his chest?
But as the knife entered his chest, I realized I already knew. And so I uttered seven short words, more to myself than to him, the last seven