Post by chaoscloud on Sept 28, 2006 23:02:00 GMT -8
Name: Marcus Von Graen
Nationality: Russian/German/Japanese/Egyptian
Age: 16
Weight: 178
Height: 6'0''
Build: Marcus has a build that is well compared to that of the legendary Bruce Lee. Both, although not viewed as overly buff or huge men, show quite the guns when not wearing clothes. He is well toned, but his muscles have not bulged out to that of a large American or Russian fighter.
Eye color: Ice Blue
Hair: White
Personality: Marcus is an abyss of darkness. Only one part of his personality shows and decency in him whatsoever. He is a machine, built by man, made for man's death. His soul is endless depression and hatred, making him avoid contact with anyone, and any contact made with him results in being insulted, ignored, and blatantly ordered around. His mind is always somewhere else, off into the distance, never quite where he is. His particularly strange disease helps distract him from things as well. The good quality, is that Marcus is not disgusting. He will not belch, fart, or do anything like that in public. This also goes to bursting out laughing at someone or screaming at them in the hallway, he doesn't let himself look like an idiot.
In battle, the Machine part of Marcus is shown. It is as if the emotion that was in him before leaves him. He gets a stone face, and lets his body do the talking. He works as hard as he can to destroy every last bit of his enemy. He doesn't believe in a tie. He only believes in winning, and losing. And if he loses he will come to fight again.
Appearance: Oddly enough, this character refused to dress Gothic. His look pertains to a dead style that is now only though of as regular. Sleeved shirts, and jeans. He really doesn't feel the need to decorate his look anymore then that. He doesn't need to start out with sick eyeliner and black trench coats. He thinks those people have nothing behind him, and are merely looking for attention.
History: This is a re-account of this boy's history, based on his memory.
Any eventful part of this, started on his seventh birthday. It was the perfect moment for Marcus. He had just got one of those small, motorized slow trucks that he immediately compared to an ATV and liked. He had gotten a new bike as well. Not to mention a beginners weight set that he asked for because he actually thought he had the patience to get buff. However, it was what was behind the scenes what was important. Where these gifts came from. They were made by money that Marcus's father had obtained through ratting out a certain crime syndicate he had been apart of. He thought all of them were in jail, unfortunately the leader was faked to be someone else, and they had a grudge against this generally nice man. Of course, the moment when all family came to his house would be a good time for a brutal hit.
The gang rushed in without warning, windows smashed in, doors came crashing down. And then, a barrage of gunfire. Bullets launching through every opening to the family room. Marcus had been int he washroom at the tip, and heard a bunch of bangs and screams. His immediate thought was fireworks, and flung open the door...
He watched, wide eyed, and crying as huge bullets came flying in, smashing through skulls, shattering bones, ripping apart every family member he had every come to love. Sending each to the ground in a screaming bloody heap. All his toys, new things were destroyed along with it. Marcus just stood in the hall, staring, staring. His were no longer watering, he simply absorbed the scene. Crimson streaks were in strange patters along the walls. Skulls ripped open, and brains tipped out of them. It was more gruesome then sad. Soon the men in black suits stepped back, as the leader walked in. Marcus knew he was the leader because he wore a different thing then the others, and they showed him respect. He kicked over a few corpses, and was glad to see half of Marcus's fathers face in tact, confirming his death. They began to walk out, when the leader stopped to see Marcus standing there in the hallway. He stopped in mid tracks, and just stared at the boy. For some reason, for some compassion, or inner evil, he left Marcus alive to suffer, not mentioning a thing to his members.
Once hearing of the incident Marcus's preferred teacher at the time took it in him to take Marcus in, away from any news reporters. His true need was an apprentice to his unique martial art style. It was strange, but for some reason Marcus knew the minute his first lesson started, that he would kill the leader of that gang.
Years of training, Marcus changed. Not only had strangely, all pigment was removed from his hair from the stress, turning it white, but now he could hear voices. They filled his head, tormenting him, egging him on to do things worse then the syndicate had done on that fateful day. With each lesson Marcus could hear more voices. He used it as motivation, as fuel to the endless flame. He used it to help his training, making every hit harder, every spar longer, and every pain he felt pointless to even pay attention to. Slowly his body and mind formed into soul and machine. He could feel himself getting better, even then his own master when it came to his martial art. He knew for some reason, what had to be done. This idea was given to him by the voices, and it was the first good one. He had a spar with his master, to the death. Marcus won.
Now he was fifteen, and no one even knew he existed. His teacher had officially kept his education up, which allowed him to silently enter the education system, however, one thing needed to be done. He infiltrated the gang base.
He had known where it was, because his father used to always go there. It was one of the most popular, but feared casinos in town. The majority of disappearances happened leaving, coming too, or around that casino, yet the cops dared not take a step inside. Marcus himself had gone in, and it didn't take him long to see someone waring a familiar insignia. He followed him down hidden steps, and snapped his neck after he put in the code for a door. As every expected to see their fellow member walk in, they didn't. Instead, they saw a warrior. Long white haired beast, armed with both a sword, and two pistols. He whipped out his barrels, and began launching hunks of metal through each enemy. Reaction training had helped time his shots to take everyone out before they could even pull their gun up to aim. He filled the room with death and blood, and kept shooting until all there was, was clicks. He dropped his pistols, and pulled out his sword, he had gotten from the dojo-like room his teacher trained him in. He burst thought he main door, finding it easy to execute the gang members before he got shot more then three times. His bullet wounds hurt like fuck, but he didn't care. He had something to do before he allowed himself to die.
He rushed into the main room, two body guards, and the leader. The boy guards rushed into the hallway Marcus was in, around the corner, blindly running into a blade that went across both of their necks. They hit the ground choking. Marcus turned around the hallway, stepping into the one that faced the gang boss. He stood there, staring at the boss. It was then that the leader realized what happened. As he saw Marcus in the hallways now, bloodstained shirt, bullet wounds leaking crimson, he remembered before, killing everyone in his family. Marcus stood in a hallway exactly the same way, with the same expression on his face. It was then the leader knew he would die.
Marcus rushed in as the leader brought up a rather powerful pistol. The first shot flew through Marcus's left shoulder, tearing it apart. The second shot blew off a quarter of Marcus's shin bone, which forced him to launch himself into the air. His blade slid into the leaders chest. A Crimson spray sent strange blackened designs onto his pale face. His expression was still cold as he twisted the blade. The leader was wide eyed, making sick sounds as blackened red liquid leaked from between his closed lips. Marcus pulled the blade out, then forced it through the man's throat, letting it stay there. It was then he heard it, shouting. Apparently the cops, or swat, or some sort of organization had come down. As they turned to the room, they saw it. The death of someone they had been looking for for a long time. Marcus lowered his hand to the pistol that the man had before his death, and brought it to his own throat. It was this, or be captured. He had fulfilled everything he wanted in life, he had gotten revenge. He pulled the trigger.
*Click*
Nothing. He pulled again, and again. Nothing but clicks. The bastard only had two bullets in his gun. Marcus sighed in a feeling of disbelief as the people rushed in to apprehend him.
With surgery, and a year of counseling, Marcus was ordered to be released. His immediate decision was to go back into the school system. Not for himself, or any sort of selfish desire. He wanted to honor his teachers efforts to teach him and keep him up during training, and his aid in the revenge of his families death. Marcus had made this decision during the year, yet had a bad feeling he was going to regret it when he had to fly out of his hometown to go to the only school that would take him in.. Public High School #259.
Nationality: Russian/German/Japanese/Egyptian
Age: 16
Weight: 178
Height: 6'0''
Build: Marcus has a build that is well compared to that of the legendary Bruce Lee. Both, although not viewed as overly buff or huge men, show quite the guns when not wearing clothes. He is well toned, but his muscles have not bulged out to that of a large American or Russian fighter.
Eye color: Ice Blue
Hair: White
Personality: Marcus is an abyss of darkness. Only one part of his personality shows and decency in him whatsoever. He is a machine, built by man, made for man's death. His soul is endless depression and hatred, making him avoid contact with anyone, and any contact made with him results in being insulted, ignored, and blatantly ordered around. His mind is always somewhere else, off into the distance, never quite where he is. His particularly strange disease helps distract him from things as well. The good quality, is that Marcus is not disgusting. He will not belch, fart, or do anything like that in public. This also goes to bursting out laughing at someone or screaming at them in the hallway, he doesn't let himself look like an idiot.
In battle, the Machine part of Marcus is shown. It is as if the emotion that was in him before leaves him. He gets a stone face, and lets his body do the talking. He works as hard as he can to destroy every last bit of his enemy. He doesn't believe in a tie. He only believes in winning, and losing. And if he loses he will come to fight again.
Appearance: Oddly enough, this character refused to dress Gothic. His look pertains to a dead style that is now only though of as regular. Sleeved shirts, and jeans. He really doesn't feel the need to decorate his look anymore then that. He doesn't need to start out with sick eyeliner and black trench coats. He thinks those people have nothing behind him, and are merely looking for attention.
History: This is a re-account of this boy's history, based on his memory.
Any eventful part of this, started on his seventh birthday. It was the perfect moment for Marcus. He had just got one of those small, motorized slow trucks that he immediately compared to an ATV and liked. He had gotten a new bike as well. Not to mention a beginners weight set that he asked for because he actually thought he had the patience to get buff. However, it was what was behind the scenes what was important. Where these gifts came from. They were made by money that Marcus's father had obtained through ratting out a certain crime syndicate he had been apart of. He thought all of them were in jail, unfortunately the leader was faked to be someone else, and they had a grudge against this generally nice man. Of course, the moment when all family came to his house would be a good time for a brutal hit.
The gang rushed in without warning, windows smashed in, doors came crashing down. And then, a barrage of gunfire. Bullets launching through every opening to the family room. Marcus had been int he washroom at the tip, and heard a bunch of bangs and screams. His immediate thought was fireworks, and flung open the door...
He watched, wide eyed, and crying as huge bullets came flying in, smashing through skulls, shattering bones, ripping apart every family member he had every come to love. Sending each to the ground in a screaming bloody heap. All his toys, new things were destroyed along with it. Marcus just stood in the hall, staring, staring. His were no longer watering, he simply absorbed the scene. Crimson streaks were in strange patters along the walls. Skulls ripped open, and brains tipped out of them. It was more gruesome then sad. Soon the men in black suits stepped back, as the leader walked in. Marcus knew he was the leader because he wore a different thing then the others, and they showed him respect. He kicked over a few corpses, and was glad to see half of Marcus's fathers face in tact, confirming his death. They began to walk out, when the leader stopped to see Marcus standing there in the hallway. He stopped in mid tracks, and just stared at the boy. For some reason, for some compassion, or inner evil, he left Marcus alive to suffer, not mentioning a thing to his members.
Once hearing of the incident Marcus's preferred teacher at the time took it in him to take Marcus in, away from any news reporters. His true need was an apprentice to his unique martial art style. It was strange, but for some reason Marcus knew the minute his first lesson started, that he would kill the leader of that gang.
Years of training, Marcus changed. Not only had strangely, all pigment was removed from his hair from the stress, turning it white, but now he could hear voices. They filled his head, tormenting him, egging him on to do things worse then the syndicate had done on that fateful day. With each lesson Marcus could hear more voices. He used it as motivation, as fuel to the endless flame. He used it to help his training, making every hit harder, every spar longer, and every pain he felt pointless to even pay attention to. Slowly his body and mind formed into soul and machine. He could feel himself getting better, even then his own master when it came to his martial art. He knew for some reason, what had to be done. This idea was given to him by the voices, and it was the first good one. He had a spar with his master, to the death. Marcus won.
Now he was fifteen, and no one even knew he existed. His teacher had officially kept his education up, which allowed him to silently enter the education system, however, one thing needed to be done. He infiltrated the gang base.
He had known where it was, because his father used to always go there. It was one of the most popular, but feared casinos in town. The majority of disappearances happened leaving, coming too, or around that casino, yet the cops dared not take a step inside. Marcus himself had gone in, and it didn't take him long to see someone waring a familiar insignia. He followed him down hidden steps, and snapped his neck after he put in the code for a door. As every expected to see their fellow member walk in, they didn't. Instead, they saw a warrior. Long white haired beast, armed with both a sword, and two pistols. He whipped out his barrels, and began launching hunks of metal through each enemy. Reaction training had helped time his shots to take everyone out before they could even pull their gun up to aim. He filled the room with death and blood, and kept shooting until all there was, was clicks. He dropped his pistols, and pulled out his sword, he had gotten from the dojo-like room his teacher trained him in. He burst thought he main door, finding it easy to execute the gang members before he got shot more then three times. His bullet wounds hurt like fuck, but he didn't care. He had something to do before he allowed himself to die.
He rushed into the main room, two body guards, and the leader. The boy guards rushed into the hallway Marcus was in, around the corner, blindly running into a blade that went across both of their necks. They hit the ground choking. Marcus turned around the hallway, stepping into the one that faced the gang boss. He stood there, staring at the boss. It was then that the leader realized what happened. As he saw Marcus in the hallways now, bloodstained shirt, bullet wounds leaking crimson, he remembered before, killing everyone in his family. Marcus stood in a hallway exactly the same way, with the same expression on his face. It was then the leader knew he would die.
Marcus rushed in as the leader brought up a rather powerful pistol. The first shot flew through Marcus's left shoulder, tearing it apart. The second shot blew off a quarter of Marcus's shin bone, which forced him to launch himself into the air. His blade slid into the leaders chest. A Crimson spray sent strange blackened designs onto his pale face. His expression was still cold as he twisted the blade. The leader was wide eyed, making sick sounds as blackened red liquid leaked from between his closed lips. Marcus pulled the blade out, then forced it through the man's throat, letting it stay there. It was then he heard it, shouting. Apparently the cops, or swat, or some sort of organization had come down. As they turned to the room, they saw it. The death of someone they had been looking for for a long time. Marcus lowered his hand to the pistol that the man had before his death, and brought it to his own throat. It was this, or be captured. He had fulfilled everything he wanted in life, he had gotten revenge. He pulled the trigger.
*Click*
Nothing. He pulled again, and again. Nothing but clicks. The bastard only had two bullets in his gun. Marcus sighed in a feeling of disbelief as the people rushed in to apprehend him.
With surgery, and a year of counseling, Marcus was ordered to be released. His immediate decision was to go back into the school system. Not for himself, or any sort of selfish desire. He wanted to honor his teachers efforts to teach him and keep him up during training, and his aid in the revenge of his families death. Marcus had made this decision during the year, yet had a bad feeling he was going to regret it when he had to fly out of his hometown to go to the only school that would take him in.. Public High School #259.
