Abilities: Empathy. While James can't tell what you're thinking, he has the innate ability to get a sort of picture of your mental landscape. He is able to sum a person up with a glance and he can sort of smell, taste, and see their emotions. It's a rather odd power, and not one that's in any way suited to fighting the aliens.
Star Rank: Not a single star, but he knows that he's not a spy.
Personality: I hope this section burns down during a flame war.
History: James was born to a really high class family. Just, classed out the protein chute kind of family. He had all of the things a kid could want, he had none of the supervision a kid could need, and he came out lopsided because of it. His parents never meant to have him, but being the big class media attracting people they were, they couldn't exactly just have an abortion and be done with it. So they had to have him raised, they didn't have to raise him (and no one was surprised that they didn't) but they had to have him raised. So James grew up in the normal way these kids do, and quickly turned to hedonism. He smoked his first joint when he was ten, and it all went downhill from there.
With his parent's money he realized that he could do anything. He wasn't constrained by the normal morals and financial trappings of normal people. He was a god amongst men, he was a god amongst gods! Then his powers kicked in. They kicked in hard too. They'd always been sitting in the back, letting him gauge people, letting him pick the fun ones and telling him whenever he'd gone too far. He'd never felt it like he did at that rave though. He took a tab of X and everything around him exploded. He could taste the sex and greed in the air, the scent of insincerity pervaded through his entire circle of friends and he did like every single character I've ever had and threw up. He basically hemorrhaged every single drug he'd ever taken in the last twenty four hours directly onto the psychedelic disco floor.
When the paramedics got to the club he was barely conscious, he was barely conscious the entire ride to the hospital and he could taste faint misery and unsatisfaction in life. He didn't tell his parents what had happened, he didn't tell anyone what had happened, he kept that information hidden so far in his mind that some days he could function completely normally without even tasting a hint of his maid's regret at not smothering him while he slept, the insufferable prick. Yet, eventually, he came to regard all of these things as human nature and he began to see some sort of pattern in the world. At the reverberation, the tastes of misery and the scents of envy. He embraced the sweet elixir and used it to get what he wanted. He satisfied himself until the rotting stench of hedonism rose from his bloated body and he felt good. No one ever found out about his power, and yet the letter came anyway and with it the sudden and brutal severing of any connection with his parents by his parents.
He realized that he had no choice, and that his comfortable life was about to begin crumbling around him (He now wonders if that's exactly how the Peace planned it to happen.) he took chance and went to school. He has regretted it ever since.
Indiscriminate drug use
Sticklers for rules
"Look. You're stupid and don't know how to have a good time, I get that, I pity you for it. Still, if you even fucking think about telling anyone about what I just did I'm going to make you eat your dog."
This Place Is a Prison - The Postal Service