Post by Pariah on Mar 15, 2012 8:14:00 GMT -5
Name: Patrick Gideon III
Alias/Code Name: Pariah
Age: 29
Character Type: Human
Gender: Male
Alignment: Vigilante, Former Purifier
Height/Weight: 5ft 9, 150lbs
Appearance:
Personality: During missions, Pariah transforms into the perfect soldier; focused, outwardly cold, and calculating. Military disciplines allow him to suppress his demons to focus solely upon the task at hand. During down time however he becomes sullen, hypervigilant, tempermental and defensive when approached on a personal level, especially by women, out of both fear and guilt. His distaste for such a state drives him to keep busy, seeking out new targets.
Likes: Fishing, Reading, Sudoku, Physical Training, Equipment maintenance, Genuine displays of chivalry & bravery, Honor
Dislikes: Lies, Hypocrisy, Weakness, Music from Bryan Adams, Domestic Violence
Strengths: Brilliant strategist, Vigilant and driven in his crusade. Would literally walk through perdition's fire to reach his target.
Weaknesses: Despite his cold exterior, Pariah is not as mentally fit as he wants others to think. He suffers from acute, yet undiagnosed, PTSD (in connection to his 'burning'), and carries an unfathomable load of guilt and grief for what he's done and who he's hurt. One symbol of this is the golden bands he wears on a chain with his dog-tags. As such, he goes to great lengths to avoid getting 'too close' to women.
Despite his 'reawakening', he is still wary of mutants and other superhumans..
Powers/Weapons:
As a human being, Pariah possesses no super powers. However, as a former navy seal, he is a highly trained soldier, an expert in hand-to-hand combat, and proficient in the use of NATO & Warsaw Pact firearms & Explosives.
Pariah is fitted with ultralight high-impact body armor; this allows full protection from medium and light standard arms fire.
Raids upon multiple Purifier safe houses and weapons caches following his 'resignation' has bestowed upon him a fairly large arsenal of both standard and high-tech weapons. Normally he carries a bowie knife, a pair of .357 auto's, a retractable vibranium blade fitted in a gauntlet on his right arm, and a dual-setting beam rifle w/ grenade launcher attachment (exact origin unknown).
History:
Patrick Gideon was born to a Catholic middle-class family, he was star halfback in high school, he enlisted in the Navy shortly after graduation, where he served with distinction. Not only did he eventually earn himself a place in the Ranks of the Navy Seals, but also married his high school sweetheart. Things seem perfect for him. No one ever would have suspected such a clean-cut all-American could be guilty of desertion, murder, and terrorism.
His current rank in the Navy meant he had to be ready to deploy at a moment's notice... often for weeks, months at a time. This did not make things easy on his marriage... One of the last times he returned home, he decided to surprise his wife at work, only to find that her direct supervisor was a mutant. He'd never been bothered by this before... kind of like DADT, something he felt people should keep to themselves. Now that it was so close to home, he felt a little insecure about his wife working under the guy.
It also could have been how the guy looked like a hairy Fabio.
Gideon was returning home on leave, ready to board his bus when he was delayed by, of all people, a priest. The Priest delayed him; spewing anti-mutant rhetoric, telling him they are the devils children... specifically stealing wives into adultery... HIS wife. His persistence kept up until the bus had already started on its way. Demanding to know the Priests problem. What he received was a smile, a card, and the simple response of 'fulfilling gods will'.
He barely kept himself in check by using every ounce of discipline the service had drilled in him, opting to avoid possible jail time for assault and merely buy a ticket for the next bus. While the bus left only 45 minutes later... he was still a good 6 hours late getting home due to traffic. The bus he had been scheduled to take had been one of the victims of a massive pileup.
None of the passengers survived.
While he was exhausted from the commute, he was left unable to sleep since first catching sight of the burning wreckage on the freeway. Even to a man of faith like him, it seems preposterous. This had to be simple coincidence... some crazy street-preacher making him late for his ride. Yet, as he sat, staring down at the card, doubt continued eating at him. Could this be true? Was he just saved through divine intervention?
He'd finally arrived home... only to find some else’s car in the driveway. He quietly 'cased' his own home... not certain of what was going on. His blood ran cold as he saw the other piece of the preachers 'prophecy' come to light... as he cast sight of his wife and her coworker through the living room window. Sneaking through the garage, he went into a blind rage, grabbing and loading his shotgun... before entering his house, intent to throw that deviant out. She couldn't have known that he wasn't on the bus that was destroyed, and in her state of grief, she called upon the only friend available. She tried to reason with him... tried to convince him that this wasn't what he thought it was as she eased the barrel of the weapon towards the floor... but it was a futile effort. One word spoken out of turn, and in a blind rage, he turned the weapon towards the 'trespasser'... only to jerk his wife into the line of fire. With one violent flash... he tore his own life apart, followed shortly by a second... the first of many to come.
That preacher, the Reverend William Stryker, was waiting for him as he walked out onto his front porch, smoke still lofting from his weapons barrel. He was all too eager to assimilate his now fragile mind into the ranks of his personal holy army, the Purifiers. A violent, pro-human terrorist group who justify their fanatical hatred of mutants through gods word, as interpreted by their prophet.
Since his induction into their ranks, he's engaged in several 'clean up' operations... lynchings, assassinations, bombings... including an encounter with the X-men. Each operation left another pile of bodies, their blood paving his decent down the devils road.
After Stryker’s apparent death... conflict arose inside the ranks. Without their Prophet's charisma to keep individual egos in check, there grew a schism between Stryker's Lieutenant and the rank & file. This came to a head after the prototype organism 'Predator X' was slain in combat against Mercury and X-23. Despite it's creation being the prophet's dying wish, many already had reservations about using such an abomination, but the sheer embarrassment of it's failure (on national TV no less) nearly lead to an all-out civil war within the group. In a brief moment of clarity, members where allowed to split from the group into their own sect. While still part of the church, they operated autonomously from the main group. He was among them.
Rather than trying to re-build another pet... they opted to make another strike against the Xavier school. Unfortunately, the school and its staff had re-located to California after another group of enemies razed the institute. While they could easily fly from coast-to-coast... their current leader thought they could do 'greater service' if they went cross country. In their travels, they had already struck at targets in West Virginia, Illinois, and Nebraska, when they decided to target a halfway house for mutants in Colorado. They had succeeded in slaughtering 4 volunteers and 1 mutant, about to kill their 2nd, when their effort in genetic cleansing was interrupted.
Unfortunately for them... the innocent blood they spilled had gained them notice, as an unlikely guest deviated from his pursuit to intervene.
The Ghost Rider.
Ill-prepared for dealing with an ACTUAL demonic entity... the Purifiers stood little chance against the Spirit of Vengeance's mystical attacks. His brothers cut down left and right... he charged the demon, intent to impale him upon his blade... making the unfortunate mistake of locking eyes with the Rider's. He froze... his body seizing as the spirits hand wrapped around his neck and slammed him into the burned brick alley walls. He was unable to look away as the stare literally set his soul ablaze... force-feeding him all the pain and suffering he had inflicted upon the innocent... forced to feel the simultaneous feeling of heartbreak and buckshot... tear streams down his face as he screamed of bloody torment upon his tasting of hell... his remaining comrades escaped, leaving him in a catatonic state in the alleys filth alongside the bodies of his victims and defeated comrades.
The gunfire and screams quickly alerted the police.... where he and his surviving comrades where taken into custody. He was left in a comatic state for 3 days, kept under heavy guard in a prison infirmary... and even when he came out of it, he wasn't the same. Left only to stare at the infirmary ceiling while the hellish echoes rang through his mind... he had, for the first time in years, he began to question what he was doing... whether or not he was indeed doing the work of the lord... or had been deceived by a false prophet.
Answers would soon come to him once he was fit enough for transport. Their terrorist activities fell under the jurisdiction of the Federal government... who took them into custody to move him to a more secure facility. Unfortunately, sympathizers within the prison alerted his sect to their departure, giving them ample time to set up an ambush. Dispatching federal agents, they quickly retrieved the group... but had no intention of taking him back.
Unable to comprehend what had happened during the encounter with the Ghost Rider, and taking into account reports from their prison moles, the Purifiers wondered whether or not the hell spawn had infected their brother. Unwilling to take chances... they drove him out into the rocky mountain wilderness under the pretense of taking him to a new safe house, and once they where clear of civilization, they shot him, and dumped him body like trash off the side of the road. Left to bleed out in a ditch, he was only able to stare up at the blurring stars... and prepare for death.
Salvation came from an unlikely source.
He nor his comrades could have known they weren’t as 'alone' as they thought. A survivalist named 'crow', a Cheyenne native, had been hunting nearby, when he was drawn by the sounds of shots. Investigating... he found the gravely injured man, and took him back to camp to tend to his wounds. He awoke over a week later... exhausted, scarred, but otherwise completely healed. When asked how this man could have tended to his wounds without medical equipment... he introduced him to his savior... Crow's daughter Faith, a physically deformed mutant with the ability to heal others.
He was left shattered... physically, mentally, and spiritually. He had destroyed the normal life he once had, trading it for a downward path... his hands willingly soiled in the blood of innocents in the name of a false prophet, with 3 slugs in his back and an open grave left for his only reward.
After his recovery he tried to return to civilized life, to live as normally as one could live off the grid. Yet he remained haunted, his sins burned into his mind, into his dreams. A man who was once trusted with million dollar equipment, who couldn't hold down scab work digging ditches. There seemed no real point in living anymore.
This changed in Denver... he'd been living on the streets for a month, scavenging to get by. A ray of light seemed to shine on his pathetic life when volunteers from an area soup kitchen came looking for the needy. He was hesitant at first... but was eventually won over with the offer of food that he didn't pick out of a dumpster. He was in line waiting for a bowl of soup, when a moment of eavesdropping caused his blood to run cold. "Stryker’s Chosen". He looked around, surveying the area, trying to verify his suspicions. To their eyes, he may look like just another faceless bum, but he could easily recognize at least 5 of his 'brothers' working in the center... talking with and distributing literature to the homeless.
This wasn't a soup kitchen... it was a recruitment center.
Immediately he found himself overcome, violently.... his mind seizing with the images... with the pain from those nights, his taste of both hell and hot lead. The bioscan having already cleared him upon entering, the workers immediately came to his aid... taking him back to the little 'infirmary' they had in back. Their fears of his having a stroke or heart attack sated... they left him when the spell passed, alone, with just a small television tuned into the public access channel, an evangelist sermon playing. He was confused, his mind shattered.... why... WHY did he come across them again? Suddenly, he was answered... as the portly preacher spoke the words of the lord, his path was made perfectly clear.
He knew what he must do.
He started in back, infiltrating the 'inner sanctum'... the true face of this tarnished house of god. Armed only with a pocketknife, he eliminated two of his former brothers in quick succession before moving upon the weapons locker. He wasted little time in gearing up... before he began his crusade. They didn't stand a chance... too busy trying to indoctrinate lost souls... too busy looking for an inhuman enemy that they didn't see... couldn't fathom an enemy from within. When he was done, 15 purifiers and their accomplices where left dead. The lost souls untouched as they fled the bloody re-christening. He was able to scavenge a lap top, several weapons, and a van... disappearing before the authorities arrived.
This was only the beginning.
Since then he has cut his way across this continent, seeking out his former brethren wherever they may be, and eliminating them through whatever means. From something as grand as the bombing of a safe house, to as simple and surgical as a snipers round. From a raw recruit to the seemingly untouchable politicians who secretly back them... None are safe from his crusade.
May god show them mercy... for the pariah certainly will not.
Alias/Code Name: Pariah
Age: 29
Character Type: Human
Gender: Male
Alignment: Vigilante, Former Purifier
Height/Weight: 5ft 9, 150lbs
Appearance:
Personality: During missions, Pariah transforms into the perfect soldier; focused, outwardly cold, and calculating. Military disciplines allow him to suppress his demons to focus solely upon the task at hand. During down time however he becomes sullen, hypervigilant, tempermental and defensive when approached on a personal level, especially by women, out of both fear and guilt. His distaste for such a state drives him to keep busy, seeking out new targets.
Likes: Fishing, Reading, Sudoku, Physical Training, Equipment maintenance, Genuine displays of chivalry & bravery, Honor
Dislikes: Lies, Hypocrisy, Weakness, Music from Bryan Adams, Domestic Violence
Strengths: Brilliant strategist, Vigilant and driven in his crusade. Would literally walk through perdition's fire to reach his target.
Weaknesses: Despite his cold exterior, Pariah is not as mentally fit as he wants others to think. He suffers from acute, yet undiagnosed, PTSD (in connection to his 'burning'), and carries an unfathomable load of guilt and grief for what he's done and who he's hurt. One symbol of this is the golden bands he wears on a chain with his dog-tags. As such, he goes to great lengths to avoid getting 'too close' to women.
Despite his 'reawakening', he is still wary of mutants and other superhumans..
Powers/Weapons:
As a human being, Pariah possesses no super powers. However, as a former navy seal, he is a highly trained soldier, an expert in hand-to-hand combat, and proficient in the use of NATO & Warsaw Pact firearms & Explosives.
Pariah is fitted with ultralight high-impact body armor; this allows full protection from medium and light standard arms fire.
Raids upon multiple Purifier safe houses and weapons caches following his 'resignation' has bestowed upon him a fairly large arsenal of both standard and high-tech weapons. Normally he carries a bowie knife, a pair of .357 auto's, a retractable vibranium blade fitted in a gauntlet on his right arm, and a dual-setting beam rifle w/ grenade launcher attachment (exact origin unknown).
History:
Patrick Gideon was born to a Catholic middle-class family, he was star halfback in high school, he enlisted in the Navy shortly after graduation, where he served with distinction. Not only did he eventually earn himself a place in the Ranks of the Navy Seals, but also married his high school sweetheart. Things seem perfect for him. No one ever would have suspected such a clean-cut all-American could be guilty of desertion, murder, and terrorism.
His current rank in the Navy meant he had to be ready to deploy at a moment's notice... often for weeks, months at a time. This did not make things easy on his marriage... One of the last times he returned home, he decided to surprise his wife at work, only to find that her direct supervisor was a mutant. He'd never been bothered by this before... kind of like DADT, something he felt people should keep to themselves. Now that it was so close to home, he felt a little insecure about his wife working under the guy.
It also could have been how the guy looked like a hairy Fabio.
Gideon was returning home on leave, ready to board his bus when he was delayed by, of all people, a priest. The Priest delayed him; spewing anti-mutant rhetoric, telling him they are the devils children... specifically stealing wives into adultery... HIS wife. His persistence kept up until the bus had already started on its way. Demanding to know the Priests problem. What he received was a smile, a card, and the simple response of 'fulfilling gods will'.
He barely kept himself in check by using every ounce of discipline the service had drilled in him, opting to avoid possible jail time for assault and merely buy a ticket for the next bus. While the bus left only 45 minutes later... he was still a good 6 hours late getting home due to traffic. The bus he had been scheduled to take had been one of the victims of a massive pileup.
None of the passengers survived.
While he was exhausted from the commute, he was left unable to sleep since first catching sight of the burning wreckage on the freeway. Even to a man of faith like him, it seems preposterous. This had to be simple coincidence... some crazy street-preacher making him late for his ride. Yet, as he sat, staring down at the card, doubt continued eating at him. Could this be true? Was he just saved through divine intervention?
He'd finally arrived home... only to find some else’s car in the driveway. He quietly 'cased' his own home... not certain of what was going on. His blood ran cold as he saw the other piece of the preachers 'prophecy' come to light... as he cast sight of his wife and her coworker through the living room window. Sneaking through the garage, he went into a blind rage, grabbing and loading his shotgun... before entering his house, intent to throw that deviant out. She couldn't have known that he wasn't on the bus that was destroyed, and in her state of grief, she called upon the only friend available. She tried to reason with him... tried to convince him that this wasn't what he thought it was as she eased the barrel of the weapon towards the floor... but it was a futile effort. One word spoken out of turn, and in a blind rage, he turned the weapon towards the 'trespasser'... only to jerk his wife into the line of fire. With one violent flash... he tore his own life apart, followed shortly by a second... the first of many to come.
That preacher, the Reverend William Stryker, was waiting for him as he walked out onto his front porch, smoke still lofting from his weapons barrel. He was all too eager to assimilate his now fragile mind into the ranks of his personal holy army, the Purifiers. A violent, pro-human terrorist group who justify their fanatical hatred of mutants through gods word, as interpreted by their prophet.
Since his induction into their ranks, he's engaged in several 'clean up' operations... lynchings, assassinations, bombings... including an encounter with the X-men. Each operation left another pile of bodies, their blood paving his decent down the devils road.
After Stryker’s apparent death... conflict arose inside the ranks. Without their Prophet's charisma to keep individual egos in check, there grew a schism between Stryker's Lieutenant and the rank & file. This came to a head after the prototype organism 'Predator X' was slain in combat against Mercury and X-23. Despite it's creation being the prophet's dying wish, many already had reservations about using such an abomination, but the sheer embarrassment of it's failure (on national TV no less) nearly lead to an all-out civil war within the group. In a brief moment of clarity, members where allowed to split from the group into their own sect. While still part of the church, they operated autonomously from the main group. He was among them.
Rather than trying to re-build another pet... they opted to make another strike against the Xavier school. Unfortunately, the school and its staff had re-located to California after another group of enemies razed the institute. While they could easily fly from coast-to-coast... their current leader thought they could do 'greater service' if they went cross country. In their travels, they had already struck at targets in West Virginia, Illinois, and Nebraska, when they decided to target a halfway house for mutants in Colorado. They had succeeded in slaughtering 4 volunteers and 1 mutant, about to kill their 2nd, when their effort in genetic cleansing was interrupted.
Unfortunately for them... the innocent blood they spilled had gained them notice, as an unlikely guest deviated from his pursuit to intervene.
The Ghost Rider.
Ill-prepared for dealing with an ACTUAL demonic entity... the Purifiers stood little chance against the Spirit of Vengeance's mystical attacks. His brothers cut down left and right... he charged the demon, intent to impale him upon his blade... making the unfortunate mistake of locking eyes with the Rider's. He froze... his body seizing as the spirits hand wrapped around his neck and slammed him into the burned brick alley walls. He was unable to look away as the stare literally set his soul ablaze... force-feeding him all the pain and suffering he had inflicted upon the innocent... forced to feel the simultaneous feeling of heartbreak and buckshot... tear streams down his face as he screamed of bloody torment upon his tasting of hell... his remaining comrades escaped, leaving him in a catatonic state in the alleys filth alongside the bodies of his victims and defeated comrades.
The gunfire and screams quickly alerted the police.... where he and his surviving comrades where taken into custody. He was left in a comatic state for 3 days, kept under heavy guard in a prison infirmary... and even when he came out of it, he wasn't the same. Left only to stare at the infirmary ceiling while the hellish echoes rang through his mind... he had, for the first time in years, he began to question what he was doing... whether or not he was indeed doing the work of the lord... or had been deceived by a false prophet.
Answers would soon come to him once he was fit enough for transport. Their terrorist activities fell under the jurisdiction of the Federal government... who took them into custody to move him to a more secure facility. Unfortunately, sympathizers within the prison alerted his sect to their departure, giving them ample time to set up an ambush. Dispatching federal agents, they quickly retrieved the group... but had no intention of taking him back.
Unable to comprehend what had happened during the encounter with the Ghost Rider, and taking into account reports from their prison moles, the Purifiers wondered whether or not the hell spawn had infected their brother. Unwilling to take chances... they drove him out into the rocky mountain wilderness under the pretense of taking him to a new safe house, and once they where clear of civilization, they shot him, and dumped him body like trash off the side of the road. Left to bleed out in a ditch, he was only able to stare up at the blurring stars... and prepare for death.
Salvation came from an unlikely source.
He nor his comrades could have known they weren’t as 'alone' as they thought. A survivalist named 'crow', a Cheyenne native, had been hunting nearby, when he was drawn by the sounds of shots. Investigating... he found the gravely injured man, and took him back to camp to tend to his wounds. He awoke over a week later... exhausted, scarred, but otherwise completely healed. When asked how this man could have tended to his wounds without medical equipment... he introduced him to his savior... Crow's daughter Faith, a physically deformed mutant with the ability to heal others.
He was left shattered... physically, mentally, and spiritually. He had destroyed the normal life he once had, trading it for a downward path... his hands willingly soiled in the blood of innocents in the name of a false prophet, with 3 slugs in his back and an open grave left for his only reward.
After his recovery he tried to return to civilized life, to live as normally as one could live off the grid. Yet he remained haunted, his sins burned into his mind, into his dreams. A man who was once trusted with million dollar equipment, who couldn't hold down scab work digging ditches. There seemed no real point in living anymore.
This changed in Denver... he'd been living on the streets for a month, scavenging to get by. A ray of light seemed to shine on his pathetic life when volunteers from an area soup kitchen came looking for the needy. He was hesitant at first... but was eventually won over with the offer of food that he didn't pick out of a dumpster. He was in line waiting for a bowl of soup, when a moment of eavesdropping caused his blood to run cold. "Stryker’s Chosen". He looked around, surveying the area, trying to verify his suspicions. To their eyes, he may look like just another faceless bum, but he could easily recognize at least 5 of his 'brothers' working in the center... talking with and distributing literature to the homeless.
This wasn't a soup kitchen... it was a recruitment center.
Immediately he found himself overcome, violently.... his mind seizing with the images... with the pain from those nights, his taste of both hell and hot lead. The bioscan having already cleared him upon entering, the workers immediately came to his aid... taking him back to the little 'infirmary' they had in back. Their fears of his having a stroke or heart attack sated... they left him when the spell passed, alone, with just a small television tuned into the public access channel, an evangelist sermon playing. He was confused, his mind shattered.... why... WHY did he come across them again? Suddenly, he was answered... as the portly preacher spoke the words of the lord, his path was made perfectly clear.
He knew what he must do.
He started in back, infiltrating the 'inner sanctum'... the true face of this tarnished house of god. Armed only with a pocketknife, he eliminated two of his former brothers in quick succession before moving upon the weapons locker. He wasted little time in gearing up... before he began his crusade. They didn't stand a chance... too busy trying to indoctrinate lost souls... too busy looking for an inhuman enemy that they didn't see... couldn't fathom an enemy from within. When he was done, 15 purifiers and their accomplices where left dead. The lost souls untouched as they fled the bloody re-christening. He was able to scavenge a lap top, several weapons, and a van... disappearing before the authorities arrived.
This was only the beginning.
Since then he has cut his way across this continent, seeking out his former brethren wherever they may be, and eliminating them through whatever means. From something as grand as the bombing of a safe house, to as simple and surgical as a snipers round. From a raw recruit to the seemingly untouchable politicians who secretly back them... None are safe from his crusade.
May god show them mercy... for the pariah certainly will not.