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Vic Turner

"I am what I need to be."

0 · 657 views · located in The City

a character in “Cape and Cowl”, as played by legacy14

Description

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Name: Victor β€œVic” Turner

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Occupation:

Codename: Spite

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Height: 6’0”

Weight: 165 lbs

At a glance:
Tall and lean, Vic has a presence about him that almost begs people to start trouble. His sharp eyes rarely tend to soften, but analyze and take in everything around him while cutting through individuals like bullets through kittens. Add in his smug smile and nonchalant demeanor, it is a wonder more people aren't swinging for his face everywhere he goes. Despite these flaws, he is always well-groomed and dressed to match, rarely seen outside of a dark suit and brighter shirt and complimenting his attire with manners that soften the opinions armed to fire against him. Rarely seen without a light cigar and sunglasses and always wears a tie, no matter the occasion.



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Clad from neck to toes in dark garb consisting of a long coat over a fitted dark shirt and harness that holds a thick blade and a long length of wire. Black pants and boots cover his lower body while twin weapons sit holstered comfortably on each leg, one Ebony, one Ivory next to a few miscellaneous clips of ammunition and a few smoke bombs and flash bangs. Gloves cover his hands and his hair is discolored and matted together with what appears to be ash or charcoal as it silhouettes an ivory mask with a taunting smile and eyes that seem devoid of life and light alike.





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A denizen of the triple C's. Vic is typically Cool, Calm, and Collected and makes decisions and
analyzes his surroundings based on logic and what he knows rather than on feelings and impulse.

As two personas occupy Vic's body and mind, he tends to get irritated and annoyed much faster
when facing the conflicting moralities of what needs to be done and how to ethically carry it out.


Since the death of Harley and the aftermath of the merger, Vic's normally nonchalant and 'go with the flow' demeanor has been riddled with confusion, frustration, and various other metaphysical wrinkles. His mind has become clustered and he often wonders if the thoughts crossing through his mind are his own, or that of his late friend. Now he tends to be less cold toward others and has a sympathetic and somewhat empathetic nature towards those around him.

Behind the mask, however, Vic has adopted the persona of "Spite" in a way to keep himself from making the same mistakes his friend did. this can sometimes cause him to hesitate to consider his options, but overall has made him more ruthless and straightforward in completing his objectives. His mission comes first with his survival at a close second. While his heart is in the right, his head knows that some threats must be eliminated in any way possible for the greater good, no matter the sin to his morality.




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Abilities:
    Two Sets - The ability to change his face and features as well as major bodily landmarks into that of the former Harley Davis, his deceased friend and partner. This includes DNA as well as the physical changes seen.

    As with the benefit of carrying two faces with him, Vic has gained a boost to his already fit body. His reaction time, physical strength, speed have all increased quite a bit than that of someone else his size.

    Fighting Discipline: Systema


The Blessing:
Reactor core pulse wave grafted his friend's DNA and physical capabilities into his own DNA.


The Curse:
With the benefits to his physical abilities, his mind has taken the brunt of the downside. Along with the DNA that has been embedded into him, all of his friend's memories, emotions, and what generally made him 'tick' has also been imprinted in his own memories, forming another persona in his own mind. His feelings often get jumbled and his mind can become a well of chaos and mixed emotions based on his own views, and his friend's moral righteousness.





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Vic Turner and Harley Davis had been close friends since their early youth. Both from prestigious families, they were shoved together and told to get along. As different as fire and ice, they found common ground on neglecting what their families shoved at them and causing as much trouble as two young boys possibly could.

Through grade school and college after, Vic was the ice to Harley's fire, the logic to his headstrong emotion that got them both into more trouble than they could have ever imagined. They were both privileged and had more than any of them could ever want, yet Harley had a vision of helping people. Giving back to the world to make it a better place and the rest of the peace and happy-go-lucky nonsense. Dragging Vic through the mud with him, it was Vic who first suggested the idea of becoming a champion of justice as a joke to his friend. But the idea stuck. And Harley ran with it. It was his new vision. And with wealth came time and unlimited resources at their disposal. Harley and Vic both trained and spent their spare time scheming and throwing ideas back and forth. After a failed mugging that left a startled gang banger unarmed and running for the hills. Harley knew this could be real.

Vic had no choice but to go along, if only to keep his friend from getting killed, and laughed when he was challenged at producing only one outfit. After a brief explanation that someone had to run support, he reached for the second prize he had brought: two specially-crafted pistols that Vic had gone through the ropes to keep their origin and buyer a secret. Harley scoffed at the idea of using firearms, but Vic urged him to at least carry one, and Vic the other. And after a few small successes, the masked Vigilante was born with Harley behind the mask.

It should have been a night as any other, a routine patrol of the city to weed out any trouble they could solve and high tail it out before the cops showed up. Harley had found something and was following where it led, eventually ending up at the science and research center as an intrusion was in process. It wasn't soon after that Vic heard the shots over his headset and soon after, communications between the two became inconsistent and altogether stopped. Something was wrong. Vic grabbed his gun and followed after Harley to find him inside one of the reactor rooms, bleeding out from a gunshot wound. Beginning to apply emergency first aid, Vic failed to notice the experimental reactor core behind him as it began to fail. Standing Harley up to get him away, the core let out a loud screech before a flash of light was the last thing Vic saw before he awoke to police shaking him. Harley was nowhere to be seen, but the shadow of a man with outstretched arms directly behind where he was found painted a story he began to remember. Harley was gone, to save him. How Vic wasn't vaporized as well was beyond his comprehension.

Vic began having visions of Harley after the incident as he recovered. One's he couldn't have possibly remembered. From time to time he thought he saw Harley as he passed a reflection as he moved. It wasn't until he began moving about on a regular basis that he realized he wasn't hallucinating. It happened slowly at first, but more and more frequently as he concentrated. His face, his stature, his build....they could all change. And everytime, Harley was the man staring back at him in the mirror. And he was stronger, much more so than before. His speed and reactions had skyrocketed as well. But his head was muddled. Everything felt as natural as walking, but Harley was still there. Everywhere he looked, when he closed his eyes, even when he meditated inside his own mind. He'd look at himself, and it was Harley he saw staring back, and even speaking in his mind.

A mix of rage and disappointment filled him when he heard the case was closed in Harley's disappearance after only a few days. Of course Vic knew he was gone, but the incompetence of those surrounding him infuriated him. It was when he came across the men Harley had been chasing that Vic knew the vigilante they had created together was far from dead. He was just getting started. Harley was right, something needed to be done. Unfortunately, kittens and rainbows weren't going to help anybody. It was time the thugs, gangsters, and moral filth of the world had someone to fear.

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So begins...

Vic Turner's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Vic Turner Character Portrait: Leonard "Leo" Rache Character Portrait: Eva Leclair Character Portrait: V. Morris Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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It was a dawn like any other day as birds slowly began their songs greeting the new day. Cheerful cheeps and tweets like in fairy tales awakening the sleeping princess from her dreams with a choreographed musical number. Although, the current setting would have only been suitable for the darker fairy tales of old if one were to peer into the open window. It was like any other apartment, a bit dirty but it had a quant feel about it. Or at least, that was the atmosphere until the night before as fragments of the bedroom glass mirror gleamed sharply in the morning sun, perhaps there was an accident? One of the occupants of the bed let out a small yawn as she ran a hand through her frizzy bed-head and silently slipping from the sheets, narrowing missing the dangerous mess.


Steam rose from the bathroom as hot running water danced over the woman's nude body. With the heavy steam it was difficult to make out any defining features that was until the figure emerged, draping a towel about her person and ruffling her hair with another spare towel. Bright fuchsia eyes stared back in her reflection as the woman delicately applied make-up from her supplies arranged neatly on the counter with the final touch being the placement of boring green contacts to hide the bright coloring of her eyes. Ebony hair was strangled into a high ponytail as the woman did a final check of her appearance. Her cheeks seemed to be less hollowed and there was not a single trace of fatigue under her eyes thanks to the cosmetic products.

Lipstick-covered lips formed a small pout as she leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom "Are you going to just sleep the day away, sweetheart?". Her voice seemed unnaturally sweet as she gently teased the dozing man before slipping into a more professional choice of attire. Her black long sleeve clung delicately to her frame as it matched with the grey office skirt she had chosen. Her choice of shoes were a little less formal as her job could involve being on her feet all day, so a pair of flats would have to do. As the man in the bed did not stir an inch even after a hand delicately ran through his curly locks. The only item she needed now was a fragile leather-bound notebook which she gently placed in her purse before leaving the room with a blown kiss "Then again dead men do need their rest."

Crossing the name 'Weston Ire' off the notebook's pristine white paper with a faint smile on her face as the receptionist known as V. Morris response politely to the morning greetings of her coworkers before settling down behind her own work station readying for another hectic day. One of the doctors commented on her good mood and inquired if her sleeping problems troubled her the night before. That same mysterious smile appeared as the young woman responded "It only took a few hours to get settled down..but I managed". Even in his drunken state Weston had put up a fight when caught off guard by his lovely bar date slammed his head into the large bedroom mirror. His date brushed it off cooly as an accident and had pressed her lips to the small trickle of blood coming from his head wound. The mood seemed to improve when his date inquired if he had any ties or something similar around...

Being gagged apparently wasn't on his priority list and neither was getting slapped multiple times in the face by his moody date. The surprised look on his face when V reached for a glass fragment and gashed it against his face would be one that would float about her daydreams for quite sometime. Her latest target had been a fighter until the very end as not many men can handle being gutted quite literally. Soft silk sheets became rougher as blood had the tendency to do that..yet the distraught woman could careless as she fell into the sheets, sleep embracing her at last. Her nightmares were silenced at least for now...the shrill ringing of her desk phone could bring them back if it tried hard enough. After finishing the call, a sigh escaped her lips as her night had not gone as planned she wasn't 'deep' enough to bring back any memories..this time around. Now to see how long it would take for the cops to find the body, that always an interesting bet.

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Dawn would crest over the horizon any moment, the grayish hue giving way to the vibrant colors of a new day. A new day with new possibilities. New horizons, but the same old scum.

"Last chance, I won't asking again..." Muffled by the mask, his voice was stern and unforgiving, but no doubt emphasized how tired he really was with the wild goose chases and late nights. And his arm was beginning to tire from the weight of the slightly larger man in his grasp.

Thirteen stories up, the breeze was refreshing, the view of the city amazing. Sunrise was always Vic's favorite time of the day, and he was all the more appreciative of it when he didn't have to see it and could sleep through the morning rays. But this particular morning was one of many late nights that had plagued him lately. Gangsters and gang-bangers seemed to be getting more and more tight-lipped of late. Or more and more stupid.

"I can't! He'll kill me!" The man's incessant whining was beginning to get on Vic's nerves more than the weight was tiring his arm. His legs kicked as another breeze stirred the crisp morning air around them and he began pleading again, thinking that something had changed between now and the five seconds since his last attempt. "I'll kill you smart guy. All I have to do is stop caring and let go..." To emphasize his point, he let his grip loosen on the man's stained shirt slightly before regripping and holding him steady. We can't drop him....it isn't right.... "Well?" He could see the realization finally dawning on the man's face and his resolve weakening. His lips parted, about to release the sweet information Vic had been waiting to hear---

The door to the rooftop opened as the morning shift security guard strolled out to catch a quick cigarette break, stopping in his tracks, lighter frozen and cigarette hanging from his mouth as he spotted the scene in front of him. Son of a bit- Vic hauled the man up and spun his body to propel the oaf into the guard before he could remove the taser from his holster. The two went down in a crumpled heap as they collided with the oaf dragging the old guard to his feet, knife at his neck. The ebony firearm was already loosed from its holster before the two hit the ground and now sat trained on the oaf as he tried to drag the guard with him, knife pressed to the skin. "Back off! I'll slit his throat!" Don't shoot. He could-

At the height over the city, the shot rang out for blocks as brain matter and blood erupted from the back of the man's skull, Vic's bullet finding its mark through the nasal cavity. His patience had all ran out and the game was over, regardless if the man wanted another chance to talk or not, the smoke from the ebony barrel drifting away in the morning breeze like the rest of Vic's cares for how the night had gone.

The guard hustled away from the corpse, faster than he had moved in years while grasping at his neck and checking the slight sliver of a red line where the blade had been. He was alive, but only by luck. No one could have predicted the man wouldn't cut his throat before the shot registered. Why in the world would anyone pull the trigger?

Nothing. The breeze died down, thirteen stories above the city as the sun's first rays illuminated the shadows that had gripped the city throughout the night, purging darkness from its deepest crevices. A new day had finally begun with new possibilities and another breath of air for the old guard. And the man in the mask was gone. A solitary shell casing sat atop the building's ledge, the only evidence he had ever been there.

Aside from the corpse....