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Dillon Maxey

A mutant from birth, it rapidly became apparent that he was never going to receive the same opportunities as those who classed themselves as normal. In time, he learned to make his own.

0 · 2,264 views · located in Canti's Diner

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by AugmentationAudit

Description

Image

Tending to appear in many forms depending on how he chooses to disguise himself, though, when he is going without costume, he tends to take on one of two distinct forms.

Image

More human, though still clearly mutant with very dark skin that gives way to an odd harlequin-pattern in red, the marks are located specifically around the eyes and are clearly visible on other parts of his body when he chooses to show them. His eyes are very dark, but his pupils show red in direct light; he wears contact lenses to facilitate this appearance and hides the real colour of his eyes.

Unnaturally slender and frail, he appears stretched and spidery in his less common appearance; he does not take on this look by choice, more by overextension, and although he often looks stronger and far more mutant in this form, and will certainly say that this is the case, it is in fact a sign of him weakening through overuse of his teleportation, rather than some interesting new form. It is simply damage to his body.

His skin becomes red when all of the diamonds join up, secondary diamonds opening like lesions around his eyes and spreading as the condition becomes more severe. His eyes appear to be very red, though this is more because of subconjunctival hemorrhaging than any intimidating power.

Image

Personality

Mischievous to a fault, he seems to almost completely lack empathy for those unlike himself. In the mutant world, he has shown himself to be naughty, though not actively malicious, though the same cannot be said for his activities around humans. Tired of being classed as different, substandard, he has no compassion for anybody that he classes as better off than he is: humans.
Possibly a kleptomaniac, though his desire to rampant theft could be a continuation of his want for balance between his own situation and the human condition; he classes them to be privileged over himself and seeks to even things up by stealing from them.
He is not chronically aggressive around humans, though those who are arrogant or scathing by nature should beware, as should those who choose to tell him what he can and cannot do, no matter the species. He is rarely hostile towards aggressors, but will torment them mercilessly; sometimes causing physical harm.
He is almost certainly a sociopath.

Profile of a sociopath: (edited from: http://www.mcafee.cc/Bin/sb.html)

  • Glibness and Superficial Charm: He never seems to stutter or be ill at ease, perfectly comfortable when it comes to communication. He does appear to be charming, though he tends to use his charm to get what he wants and feels like he deserves.
  • Manipulative and Conning: They never recognize the rights of others and see their self-serving behaviours as permissible. They appear to be charming, yet are covertly hostile and domineering, seeing their victim as merely an instrument to be used. They may dominate and humiliate their victims. -he likes to ‘convince’ people to do his bidding. He’s certainly not above blackmail if the mood suits him. He has some knowledge of the rights of others, but disregards it as irrelevant.
  • Grandiose Sense of Self: He certainly has a highly overinflated ego when he deems to show it, and classes himself as no less than the most important person in existence. His intelligence and skill knows no bounds, as far as he’s concerned.
  • Feels entitled to certain things as "their right." –he will take whatever he wants, and has no sense of guilt in doing so, as he believes he deserves to receive anything taken and holds anyone who refuses to give him what he knows should be his in contempt.
  • Pathological Lying : Has no problem lying coolly and easily and it is almost impossible for them to be truthful on a consistent basis. Can create, and get caught up in, a complex belief about their own powers and abilities. Extremely convincing and even able to pass lie detector tests.
  • Lack of Remorse, Shame or Guilt .
  • A deep seated rage, which is split off and repressed, is at their core. Does not see others around them as people, but only as targets and opportunities. Instead of friends, they have victims and accomplices who end up as victims. The end always justifies the means and they let nothing stand in their way.
  • Shallow Emotions: When they show what seems to be warmth, joy, love and compassion it is more feigned than experienced and serves an ulterior motive. Outraged by insignificant matters, yet remaining unmoved and cold by what would upset a normal person. Since they are not genuine, neither are their promises.
  • Incapacity for Love: In his case, the high-functioning nature of his condition allows him to feign love as he feigns the depth of his emotion.
  • Need for Stimulation : When left to his own devices and allowed to grow bored he tends to seek out new ways to entertain himself; usually at the cost of those around him.
  • Living on the edge. Verbal outbursts and physical punishments are normal. Promiscuity and gambling are common. –he doesn’t tend to gamble, but when pushed he has been known to be loud and physically aggressive. It takes some effort on the part of the antagoniser to get such a reaction.
  • Callousness/Lack of Empathy: Unable to empathize with the pain of their victims, having only contempt for others' feelings of distress and readily taking advantage of them.
  • Poor Behavioural Controls/Impulsive Nature: Rage and abuse, alternating with small expressions of love and approval produce an addictive cycle for abuser and abused, as well as creating hopelessness in the victim. Believe they are all-powerful, all-knowing, entitled to every wish, no sense of personal boundaries, and no concern for their impact on others.
  • Early Behaviour Problems/Juvenile Delinquency: Usually has a history of behavioural and academic difficulties, yet "gets by" by conning others. Problems in making and keeping friends; aberrant behaviours such as cruelty to people or animals, stealing, etc. –it is unclear if this is the case, as very little is honestly known about his younger life.
  • Irresponsibility/Unreliability: Not concerned about wrecking others' lives and dreams. Oblivious or indifferent to the devastation they cause. Does not accept blame themselves, but blames others, even for acts they obviously committed.
  • Promiscuous Sexual Behaviour/Infidelity: Promiscuity, child sexual abuse, rape and sexual acting out of all sorts. –he has yet to turn any of his attentions onto children, having little interest in them one way or the other at the present. He is, however, sexually promiscuous and doesn’t like to be told know. He has been known to believe that sex is his right if he wants it, regardless of his partner’s desires.
  • Lack of Realistic Life Plan/Parasitic Lifestyle: Tends to move around a lot or makes all encompassing promises for the future, poor work ethic but exploits others effectively.
  • Criminal or Entrepreneurial Versatility: Changes their image as needed to avoid prosecution. Changes life story readily. –his life story is rarely the same twice, and his image changes frequently, though he finds it hard to disguise his the fact that he is carrying the mutated X chromosome.

Equipment

Genetically suited towards teleportation:
This can be triggered manually over a limited distance, and it is possible for him to teleport inside locked buildings if he has at least some idea of the layout inside. It is unclear if he can teleport inside a wall or partially through an object by mistake.
Percussive force to his person or penetrating injury has been known to automatically trigger a teleport, though he never escapes completely unharmed from subconscious space-jump. If he has time to consciously initiate the move it is near-impossible to harm him unless the exact nature of his weakness is discovered.
It is possible to stop him, even when teleporting to avoid detection/attack, but the method of doing so requires trial and error. He knows his own weaknesses, but does not divulge them.

History

Generally difficult to determine, as any facts given by Max himself should be discounted as partial or often total untruth.
He spent some time with therapists and mental health specialists, and draws on their explanations and techniques in his own endeavours from time to time.
He has watched a great deal of medically-based television, documentaries on psychology, etc.
He spends a great deal of time people-watching.
He studied psychology, though his grade and learning method are unknown.
Most of his pastimes and past occupations have been for the sake of furthering his skills in emulation of emotion and normal social behaviour. He prides himself in his ability to appear normal and has extensively studied human emotional and psychosocial dynamics to make himself believable.

So begins...

Dillon Maxey's Story

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"So old enough to join gangs, ride bikes and shoot the shit out of things, but not old enough to drink. Not that it would matter, because you have magical adjustable livers." Max snorted, and couldn't even bring himself to regret it; the vengeful stab of his hangover was more than worth it.

"Really, it must be such a challenge for you, Hope. I certainly don't envy you, because when your kid picks up the next bad habit... multiple homicide, maybe? -I can't really see you being able to put a stop to it. Not if you didn't manage to put the whole 'gang' slip up to rest when the kid was still small enough to sling over your shoulder."

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Dillon Maxey looked decidedly pained for a moment. "Gadget 'is' good people? Ugh, I think English Grammar just died..."

Max pulled a face, getting himself another drink before he turned to look at Hope again. "Oh, you're still here, shame." A grin and a wink was more than enough to show that he was teasing (this time at least). "But really, Hope my dear, you need to work on your comebacks. 'Better than you' is seven-year-old stuff, and the 'why am I even talking to you?' shtick? Not really wounding. Really, if you're going to insult me, at least try to come up with something hurtful."

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"It's not your first language?" Max's lips quirked up into a devious smile, teeth flashing for a moment, and although his attention remained fixed on Hope, his eyes flicked to the side just once when the door opened.

With more grace than he should have possessed after so many hours drinking, Max slipped out of his chair, one dark hand creeping into his pocket even as he wandered closer to Hope. As he reached her, he pulled a shining silver spoon from his pocket, placing it very deliberately into his mouth for a moment before extracting it to speak.

"I've got a secret to tell you," In a single, swift strike, Max slapped the spoon at Hope's forehead. "It's not my first language either."

Laughing, he danced back a few steps, spoon held aloft like a standard. "And my wife and children are exactly as they should be; at home, doing nothing more dangerous than crossing the street. I wonder what she'd be doing if you still had her..." Pinkish eyes flashed. "Maybe you can fill me in, yeah? Would she be happy? Safe?"

Was Max feeling vindictive? Maybe a little.

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Dillon Maxey only grinned more widely at the look on Hope's face; it was just too funny when they did that. "Kendra? No, I keep her in a cage on the roof and forbid her to touch anything that even remotely looks like a pencil. If she wants to draw she's got to do it in blood. And I could tell you that I'm here because I'm an alcoholic, or because I'm more than happy to leave her home with the brats while I go out and enjoy myself..."

Max snorted and shook his head, and when he spoke his voice was soft and teasing. "But that would be a lie, and given that today's all about honesty... Yes, Hope; she still draws, on every surface, almost every wall; it's her job and her living and she loves it, but you know what? She loves being a mother more. And right now she's having a disgusting mothers' morning with her snakey friend."

Pinkish eyes rolled. "I'll tell you something else as well: she would never be happy like that with you, because your life is poison." He leaned in to tap her face with a condescending hand. "It has to be, if someone like me could make her happier than you."

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Max, having come to the conclusion that he had managed to empty the room through sheer force of his personality (despite having been quite definitely elsewhere for the last several hours), picked a table for himself upon entering the room and sat down. Appreciative of the silence, but bordering on displeased by the lack of company, he reclined, kicked his boots up onto the table, and extracted a packet of cigarettes from his pocket.

Oh well; if the room was empty, there was nobody to tell him off for smoking.

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Dillon Maxey took a long, idle drag from his recently-lit cigarette, and contemplated the ceiling, which was made only marginally more interesting by the addition of silvery-blue smoke rings. For all the skill they required to create, a careless huff was more than enough to destroy them- he smirked; the same could be said of his smoke rings.

'Gambit's Bar; the ultimate den of disrepute, and I've managed to empty it simply by stepping through the door.' His inner voice was somewhat wry, the musings tapering off into hazy silence as the arrival of the hoard proved him wrong. Oh, but stupid people were glorious.

"Dying? No, I can't say that I'm particularly enamoured with that particular mortal failing. Maybe tomorrow."

Only once he had spoken did he turn, lurid pink eyes narrowed against a long, smoky exhale. Oh, so maybe not stupid 'people'; what on earth was the world coming to if stupidity could be manufactured as well as spawned...

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Dillon Maxey remained reclined and quite obviously relaxed, despite his companion's less than friendly conversation. It was partially a product of the other, non-tobacco related products he had been smoking, partially his rather medicated mood, but Max couldn't bring himself to be offended. Rather, he smiled; it had been ever such a long time since he'd been adequately entertained.

"A false scholar?" He huffed out a breath of laughter before replacing it with a smoke-hot drag. "Pseudo-Scholar. Not-quite-darkness." The humour was private, but that was the way he liked it. "I'll have you know that I am both educated and inclined to study. I'd be insulted, but it's really too much effort."

Lazily, Max uncoiled himself, stretching in a double-jointed arch before turning his attention onto his robotic companion once again. "Over 100,000 people were estimated to have died through smoking related disease in the United Kingdom 2009; you can read that on the internet. It does not, however, make you intelligent. Only able to read."

As he spoke, Max reached over to stub his cigarette out on the table, before putting his hands to a far better use in unclasping his belt buckle. "And I know size is relative, but still-"

That said, Max winked and dropped his trousers.

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Max allowed the robot to record as it liked, standing still and observing his manhood being observed. He couldn't actually say that he'd never been in a similar situation, but it was certainly novel, even if it wasn't the first time cameras had been involved in this close proximity to his crotch.

"Well, leanings towards 4-Chan tend to indicate a lack of intelligence in most, but there are always exceptions to the- Excuse me, I was talking." Max turned to face Iso, who had decided to butt into his conversation. "And clearly, you have never had one used on you. Can't say I'm surprised, really. I'd offer to help you with that (a great personal sacrifice, even if I do say so myself), but unfortunately for your reputation, I'm married."

Making quite sure that she'd had ample opportunity to take a look (he doubted she'd get another chance with that attitude), he resettled his attention on Reaver. "Actually, if you want to see my definition of a lack of intelligence..." Carefully, Max gestured around the room, making sure to point out the woman playing the flute, Tyana and Iso in his sweep. "There you have it."

Only then did Max replace and refasten his trousers.

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"As I said- never had one used on her. I've always found that so-called 'gay' women label themselves that way because they are either, A) very ugly or, B) highly unwilling to be touched. I think we know what category our little friend here falls into."

Max smirked, folding his hands under his chin and resting his elbows on the table. "As much as she 'loves the female body', I bet I could make her squeal."

He took the time to leer at Tyana for a moment, which was probably the most action she'd had all week, before losing interest and reaching for his cigarette packet again. "Society," he said in response to Reaver's earlier statement, "Is a curious construct. Repression, counter-repression, the many hypocritical demands of the weak. It's pitiful, really. I don't whine for so-called equality, because people aren't equal. It's far simpler to juts take what I want."

Sighing, he flicked a finger in Iso's direction, having caught her comments despite having given the appearance of being focussed elsewhere. "I think we've righteously angered the little women."

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Dillon Maxey extracted another cigarette from the packet, but chose to toy with it rather than reaching for his lighter. He wasn't really in the mood to smoke tobacco, and he couldn't really be bothered to waste good weed on stupid people. He'd far rather kill them with second hand smoke, but long practice had proven that to be an exercises in futility.

"Oh, she must be one of those 'better than you foolish humans, with your foolish human flaws' sorts. How dull." Max rolled the cigarette between his fingers, pulling on it gently. "She doesn't bleed, and I'll bet my left leg that they have a nice, clean, painless way of giving birth too. Tch, some people."

A long stretch had Max flopped backwards in his chair again, his head bent so far backwards that he could view Iso without turning his body to face her. "I bet you don't get drunk, either."

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"Then you're not a species. Species, by definition, need to be able to breed in some way or another." Max, disinclined to sit on his own now that the room was closer to full, relocated to Iso and Reaver's table with an idle smile, still flicking the un-lit cigarette between his hands.

"I know it's a niggle, but please, do get these things right. Collective. Collective works."

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Dillon Maxey shrugged a shoulder. "I don't think the definition was created with robots in mind, but I don't think that actually classes as breeding. More- mitosis. Asexual reproduction, possibly. You would be something, but you wouldn't be a species. A linage, maybe? A collective also works."

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Dillon Maxey was feeling a little bit left out of the conversation, which was rapidly turning into a group occurrence, much to his eternal aggravation. However, some things were just too precious to resist, and Iso's little theories were more than enough to keep him engaged for the moment.

"Most mammals do. It's only humanity that has petty little regulations to affix taboo to their true natures." He shrugged a shoulder. "Also, I think we should shorten that to 'Rag'. It seems fitting. Hello, Rag, I'm Max. Nice of you to butt in."

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Dillon Maxey gave up on his fiddling (it was doing nothing to ease his cravings), and set the much-abused cigarette down on the table. He wasn't interested in that any more. Instead, he fished out his special little tin, complete with a long-ago stolen zippo.

"My name is Max," He pursed his lips and pried the lid off of the tin, revealing three pre-rolled joints, a selection of small baggies, and what appeared to be a packaged hypodermic syringe.

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Dillon Maxey made an irritated noise, whipping his tin off of the table before the contents could be scattered. He didn't wait around to see where the table landed, given that the figurative bulls-eye was far too close to his person for comfort, choosing instead to vanish in a gout of dark smoke.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to Canti's Diner

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"Isn't there always trouble in this city?" a voice from the back of the room mused, the tone masculine and sardonically amused. "I've been wandering these parts for years, and all I've ever heard of is trouble. And murder."

The room had been empty before, but now a man with impossibly dark skin, a wide, white-toothed grin and a baseball cap strolled out from where he hadn't been moments previously. "I normally frequent the Other bar, of course, so imagine my surprise to find it closed. Because of murder of all things.

"Will the wonders never cease..."

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#, as written by Gasmask
"Murder's inconsistent, fren. Keep that in mind when another body drops." The doctor leaned forward and looked at the stranger who had suddenly appeared, that was slightly disconcerting. "The other bar? You mean da gambat's bar, yas?" Silas added, leaning back in his seat and begun to tap his fingers on the table as he waited for his snack.

"Da wonders will cease when all of Hell freezes ovar."

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Max offered his companions a slightly dry laugh before reaching a hand back towards the shadows and the man lurking therein. What could be seen of Max's hand was minimal given his long sleeves, but there was the suggestion of a pattern of red diamonds on dark flesh. "If you're going to smoke, at least be decent and share. The wife took all of mine."

He spared a sharp grin to the man with the strange accent who had mentioned Gambit's and murder. "Inconsistent, you say? Care to expand on that?"

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Dillon Maxey chuckled softly as he accepted the cigarette. Removing a battered little tin from his pocket, Max placed the match inside and extracted a lighter, flicking the flame to the cigarette trapped between his lips. He smiled as the tip flared to life.

"Thanks. And there's no hunting going on here, nothing so interesting." Taking a seat from one of the tables, he settled himself in a position where he could see both men. "But you're right when you say that the owner of that bar is a stupid man. Close the bar to catch a killer? There's less than no logic in that."

In reference to the non-smoking mindset of the doctor, Max huffed a lungful at him. "You're more likely to catch a killer by keeping the place open; so many of them go there, after all."

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"There's no sense in it, but when has there ever been sense in this city? The whole place works on a backwards sense of logic, and has no real law save for the vigilante kind." Max shrugged a shoulder, taking a long draw from his cigarette. "And as far as I know, it was the owner's wife. Not that the owner ever set foot in the bar before this shit came down, so closing it makes no sense."