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Ezekiel Walker

"Where there's smoke, there's fire."

0 · 101 views · located in Atlas City

a character in “Hadean”, originally authored by CrossKnight35, as played by RolePlayGateway



Theme 1 – Metal Gear Rising: Revengeance OST - Rules of Nature
Theme 2 – Breaking Benjamin - Blow me Away
Theme 3 – Sin Shake Sin - Can't Go to Hell

Full Name: None
Alias: Ezekiel “Zeke” Walker, Efreet, Pyromancer
Age: 32 years old
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Kurdish

Hair: Black

Eye color: Hazel

Body: Average muscular body, built for a balance of strength and endurance.

Height: 1.69 meters/ 5'7

Weight: 85 kg/ 187 lbs

Hometown: “Some shithole in Syria”

Affiliation(s): Maxwell Landon (employer)

Personality: Zeke’s blood burns as hot as his flames. Short-tempered and foul-mouthed, Zeke fights first and shoots questions second. He speaks in short, terse sentences. His prose is beige and direct, accompanied by a piercing, unblinking stare that challenges you even in silence. Despite what first impressions may imply, Zeke enjoys conversations, especially with those bold enough to hold their ground, even when he questions their beliefs. He has a distaste for weakness, of both body and mind, but especially the latter, believing that one should fight for their right to live in this world. On the other hand, Zeke despises unnecessary deaths, and goes out of his way to minimise collateral damage in his pursuits. Zeke's not all business, however. He has a soft spot for cats, having always wanted one ever since he came to America. Unfortunately, any notion of bringing one home would only lead to disaster, as he is allergic to them. He has settled on admiring from a distance, often leaving behind cat food to strays in Atlas city's alleys.

- Cats: seeing one in America was love at first sight.

- Fiction books

- Junk food

- Strong-willed people

- Guns: he’d use them if absolutely necessary, but generally prefers not to. His flames solve most problems anyway.

- Pretension

- Indecision

- Fanaticism

- Losing control of his powers

- Substance addiction

- Ghosts

- Telepaths

- Krav Maga: taught to him after attaining the "Efreet" codename.

- Savate: studied during his time at Atlas City.

- Marksmanship training

- Bomb arming and defusal

- Questionable driving skills

Costume Identities:


A fireproof and impact-resistant costume crafted for him by The Shape's associates, with a hooded gas mask outfitted with multiple vision modes to help him operate amidst his own fire and smoke.

- Combat knife

- Incendiary grenades (3 at a time)

- Flashbangs (3 at a time)

- AA12 automatic shotgun

- Cagiva Canyon 500 motorbike


The sand beneath his feet. The sun over his head. The roar of automatic fire, bellowing across the desert. Heat. Flame. Death. The super known as Efreet could not remember a life before his time as a child soldier, when he fought for causes he did not understand, for people he did not know. He survived a myriad battles, mostly by chance, even as others died around him. One day, when it seemed his luck had ran out, he emerged unscathed from a landmine... activating the powers hidden within him. That day, a once-nameless child soldier burnt brighter and hotter than the sun, scorching the battlegrounds in flames worthy of a demon.

Demon. That was what his superiors called him. With his newfound powers, he was granted the code name ‘Efreet’, after the fiends of Islamic mythology. For years, he served the cause, burning infidels to cinders and scattering their ashes to the winds. He did not question, or wonder, or protested. He was their living weapon. Until one faithful afternoon, when a group of Americans ambushed Efreet and his team. Tensions were high. Bodies fell around him. His superiors screamed in his ear. At that moment, something snapped. He turned his flames on both allies and enemies, incinerating the desert into fields of blood and glass. It was over as soon as it started, with a myriad dead on both sides. There was silence. Efreet stood alone. For the first time in years, he saw a chance for freedom and took it, impersonating one of the dead Americans to depart his war-torn country.

Several years passed, and Efreet - now Zeke - had found a new life in Atlas City. By night, he worked as a bouncer for the club Shapeless. By day, he donned the mantle of a supervillain-for-hire, his powers over fire and explosions equally capable of breaching the strongest locks and felling the mightiest foes. He found a new life in the west, but he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. Something beyond riches and survival...


Pyrokinesis -
[Breaker - 2 / Blaster - 8 / Striker - 6 / Shaker - 4]
Zeke can control fire around him in a five metre radius. He can stoke, suppress, and direct them in varying speed and power. Zeke can also shroud his body in fire to keep melee opponents at bay.

Blast Embers -
[Brute - 5 / Shaker - 7 / Blaster - 4 ]
Zeke generates tiny, glowing embers from his body that he ignites with his pyrokinesis. These particles, which he called his 'Blast Embers’ are very versatile, capable of turning into short explosive bursts or raging fires. To survive his own explosions, Zeke’s body has adapted to be fireproof and twice as durable as an average human’s.

Power Origins:


Color Code:[color=]#cc501a[/color]

So begins...

Ezekiel Walker's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sheri Galloway Character Portrait: Akiko Bong Character Portrait: Henry Stewart Character Portrait: Yue Bayushi Character Portrait: Jericho Amile Character Portrait: Devon Metzger Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Alexander Dalton Character Portrait: Sasha Belov Character Portrait: Richard Mackenzie (The White Death) Character Portrait: Klaus Zeit Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Maxwell Landon (The Shape) Character Portrait: Ezekiel "Zeke" Walker Character Portrait: Liz Baker Character Portrait: Sairyn Pendrake Character Portrait: Kiran Kingsley Character Portrait: Silentium Character Portrait: Albrecht von Richthofen Character Portrait: Evangeline Richter Character Portrait: Hugo Hemrod Character Portrait: Joseph Wright Character Portrait: Gideon Gauss Character Portrait: Hudson Li Character Portrait: Amy Lin Character Portrait: Leah Lin Character Portrait: Ezekiel Walker
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March 12th, 2045, 9:40am: Atlas City, North Carolina, USA

Day 2

Albert's comms crackled to life as a reply came through. "HQ here Albert. Not certain on that ETA yet, government is supposed to be filling us in on that soon. Sounds like the weapon is some sort of canon, or artillery, not sure. They're going to level the residential area close to the beach, they want civvies moved to the West as much as possible to avoid any collateral."


As Vicki and Maeve arrived on scene to help defeat the Beast of Decay, close to a dozen of its offspring rushed up onto the beach, with 3 targeting Maeve, 2 targeting Vicki, and the remaining others charged towards where Yue, Jericho, and Alex were operating. The sand behind these creatures darkened, as patches of dark mold grew.


And explosion of noise erupted from the entrance of one of the roads leading to the beach, as several of the Beast's offspring were torn to shreds, some bursting into bits of flame. The massive .50 caliber machine gun Richard had was making quick work of the offspring, but this was little more than a temporary measure. The man in tweed too had fired off shots, taking out two more of the dark beasts before needing to reload.

Down another adjacent street, explosions could be heard as offspring got blasted into gory, misty messes. Richard and the man in tweed looked over to see Man-Hawk working to keep his own street cleared of monsters, and allowing more innocents to escape.


Three more offspring landed around Man-Hawk, heavy, wet breathing audible all around him as they all lashed out with their veins, and malformed, claw equipped arms. So far he was managing to dodge the attacks, but another distraction had cropped up, now bursting from... His coms? His phone?

The sound was blaring from phones, radios, TVs, and everything else across the city.


Across the city, supers and humans alike, both heroes, villains, and average folk, got the startling, hopeless tone of a National Emergency Alert coming through on whatever speakers were close by. Even the heroes on the beach, the NAHLA heroes, ACHI, and SINS were getting the same message.

"This message is being transmitted at the request of the United States Government. This is not a test. An existential threat against the United States of America has appeared on the coast of Atlas City, North Carolina. The United States Government has commenced preparations for a counter offensive against the threat. A forward assault base will be established in the residential area of Atlas City closest to beach front. All homes and buildings in this area will be demolished in 20 minutes to create space for this counter offensive. Please evacuate the area immediately and retreat to safe zones set up by emergency and government services, as well as hero organizations. Safe Zones will be located in the following locations."

The message continued by listing various locations across the city to be retreated to. 20 minutes. The city had 20 minutes to ensure all living civilians were out of the front line before the military did whatever it was they had planned.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sheri Galloway Character Portrait: Akiko Bong Character Portrait: Henry Stewart Character Portrait: Devon Metzger Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Alexander Dalton Character Portrait: Sasha Belov Character Portrait: Klaus Zeit Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Sairyn Pendrake Character Portrait: Ezekiel Walker
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Invoice him, huh. Sheri considered that for a moment as she skirted the edge of the roof to the pair of sniper rifles, giving the Colonel and his girl friend a generous berth. She peered over the ledge, taking in the sight of the super army fighting wave after wave of monsters pouring out from the beach. If she charged by the target… yeah, she could probably make back what she lost in the apartment.

She crouched down and loaded a cartridge into the rifle on the left, summoning a double to take up the one on the right. She adjusted the earmuffs as the materialized on her head, peering through the scope. A number of heroes still seemed to be on the sand; she'd focus on clearing the bogeys around them.

This was almost insultingly simple. The term "child's play" came to mind as Sheri gunned down monster after monster, with barely enough delay to chamber another round between shots. These things might have numbers, but their size, the way they moved in simple, direct lines - it was like being back at Vanguard in the early days of her training, picking off on-rails targets. The only degree of challenge they offered was the variety in body type, and even that wasn't enough to make a difference to her.

A few rounds curved past her line of sight as she kept up her assault. Tracking bullets? No, probably a super. They froze their targets in place with some form of cryogenic compound. She made a note to ask Sairyn about that before she left. The big dragon that had been chained down in the middle of the field finally broke free, firing a sustained beam of energy at the big monster before beginning to melt into some sort of ooze which liquefied the smaller monsters caught in it. It was certainly effective at clearing half the beach, but Sheri almost blanched when the splash of corrosive acid from the monsters' melted forms hit the boardwalk, the melted dragon residue from the wing above them barely held at bay by a turquoise barrier.

A small party of supers had begun marching toward the Beast, all manifesting fire powers; understandable, these things seemed to burn remarkably well. Sheri refocused her efforts on keeping the smaller spawn off of them. The air seemed to split itself apart as some purple giant hero fired a massive energy blast at the Beast of Decay, apparently trying to finish it off for good. Let it never be said Sheri couldn't do her part: the beast's eyes were wide open, two deep, abyssal voids sitting within its face. She wondered just how deep they went. She emptied three clips into them.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sheri Galloway Character Portrait: Akiko Bong Character Portrait: Henry Stewart Character Portrait: Yue Bayushi Character Portrait: Jericho Amile Character Portrait: Devon Metzger Character Portrait: Vicki Vortex Character Portrait: Cannonade Character Portrait: Alexander Dalton Character Portrait: Sasha Belov Character Portrait: Richard Mackenzie (The White Death) Character Portrait: Klaus Zeit Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Liz Baker Character Portrait: Albrecht von Richthofen Character Portrait: Joseph Wright Character Portrait: Amelia Brunel Character Portrait: Niall Khadkani Character Portrait: Ezekiel Walker
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#, as written by Nulix
In the overcast sky above the beast of decay there was a single opening from which the sun beyond shined through. One perfect gap in the sea of clouds.

And then: sonic boom. The clouds sucked together around a red object as it flew through the opening, rocketing toward the injured creature. Atop the roof of a ruined building Shroombala’s eyes widened beneath her toadstool cap. She knew that super. It was the same super who’d blown Boriban’s guts over the Troja Palace in ‘41. It was the same super who’d saved the passengers of SpiceJet 99 in ‘42. And it was the same super who had gotten drunk at Flambeau’s retirement party, seemingly lost all semblance of volume control, and declared that they were such hot shit they could steal Helga Hammer’s date if they’d so desired.

The Tibetan turd’s mouth hung agape. “It’s-!“


Ten minutes earlier

Cannon placed a palm on the the woman’s shoulder and with one strong arm shoved her to ground. The lady landed rough on the asphalt. Straight brown hair falling out a bun, tanned white-skin, a flowing shirt and lululemon leggings. New balance adorned her miniscule feet. And on her face there was a look of fear, a fear so real. A fear Cannon was sure the woman had never before felt. They averted their eyes. "Car's full."

And then they climbed in, onto the black leather upholstery of the Yamaha. They pulled the door shut behind them. Above the enby’s head a soft light came on and from the surround speakers played a Latin swing beat backed by gentle strings. Les Baxter & his orchestra. Tropicando. Easy listening exotica.

Cannonade pulled their leather jacket off their arms and threw it onto the opposite seats. Out the jacket a box of catnip cigarettes and white lighter fell. Cannonade stopped and reached down. They picked a fag off the car floor, placed it in their mouth, and began furiously lighting.

Outside the tinted windows of Cannonade’s rental the woman had rose and began pounding, her fist colliding with the glass to no avail. Cannon could make out a muted fuck you through the window as she abandoned her assault and sprinted off, putting her new balance’s to work. Cannon held the cigarette between tight lips and inhaled before tugging their shirt up. Their torso was lean, a gentle happy trail gracing blackened bruised abs. Their breasts fell free: puny, pointed, and barbell pierced. They pulled the shirt over their head and the lit cigarette in their mouth. The fabric got caught on the sharp edges of their wide shoulders but with a little effort it yanked off and was thrown to the floor.

A long, uninterrupted honk shook the car. The screams were escalating, the sounds of panic now mixed with something new and, to Cannon's ears, monstrous. With their cigarette securely between a thumb and a pointer finger Cannon crawled forward to peer out the window. Down the street a trio of creatures stood – pulsating bodies of hardened clay lined with tree-root veins. They stood at different heights and each seemed to have an array of appendages: some mammalian, some insect-like, and some like tentacles from the sea. It was as if each had a random assortment of features grafted into their forms- just like the creature at the beach. One let out a horrible roar and smashed a parked car into the earth as if it was a piñata. Then, like thunder in the sky, the voice of Adolf Hitler came from the heavens. Cannonade looked up, out the window, wide eyed as the murderer’s impassioned speech echoed, and they sincerely asked themselves: was this hell?

With stallion speed two of the monstrosities passed the car’s windows, hunting for prey. The third, a grotesque creature of warts, had a man cornered across the street. On the car seat next to Cannon, left with a dangerous level of casualness, was one half of their pair of gravity guns. It was a meaty piece of machinery, with a rectangular barrel almost as thick as the rest of the weapon. Cannonade grabbed the pistol and took aim out the window with their left hand. Their right hand was extended, ready to control the projectiles when launched. With a sharp inhale they fired. Their windows were penetrated thrice. The bullets flew forward, their altitude dropping to pass beneath a running civilian’s legs, then rising up above the head of another, and then levelling evenly to penetrate the creature. They struck: two in it’s large, central sack and one in the limb it threatened to bring down upon the man it had cornered. With an explosion of slime the beast began to collapse in on itself.

The Latin swing continued as Cannon unzipped and kicked off their boots. They wore cat print socks beneath. The middle toe on their left foot had stung suspiciously like a fracture since the fight with Maeve. They stretched out across the duo of seats they occupied and did a rough pigeon pose. Their hands moved down their waist and unzipped the frayed jean skirt. The sounds of the outside world came through the window's bullet holes like smoke through a filter. The world was briefly deafened by another of the far off creature’s roars, but was then replaced by the winds and sounds of panic they’d grown familiar with.

Down to a high-wasted black thong Cannonade knelt on the floor of their rental car and reached into a hefty leather tote bag that had been stored there. And in their grasp pulled out was the familiar red weave of their super suit. The material was thick but stretchy, lined with armour and technology. They dipped their socked feet into the legs of the bodysuit and pulled the leathery material up their bruised body as best they could. It slid on like a glove, only snagging on their prominent tush- but after a few tight pulls Cannon overcame. They reached for a button at the neck and with a tap the suit began to pressurize. The wrinkles in the material flattened and became skin tight to the shape of Cannonade’s body. After a moment of adjustment they slid a gloved hand down their stomach to the crotch and pulled to loosen the vacuum sealed fabric. They tightened the straps of the codpiece and other bits of armour that hung from the bodysuit and then pulled up the uniform’s combat boots. They gave them both a double knot.

Out the tote came the final piece of the outfit. The helmet. The flame on Cannon’s fag had reached the filter. After one last inhale they spit it out onto the floor of the car and flattened it beneath their boot. They ducked into the opening of the helm and on the glass before their eyes the ARUI came to life. Cannonade reached up to touch the ceiling of the vehicle. The metal sparked as the roof ripped off the vehicle and rose into the sky. Cannonade too rose beneath it, ascending out of the car and over the street. As they floated Cannonade grabbed hold and climbed atop the rising roof-plate. On their magic carpet of steel they floated higher and higher, away from the chaos on the street below, until they could see over the rooftops, to the beach on the horizon and the creature that terrorized it. Explosions and lights coloured the world around the creature. The military had come in and were readying artillery. Other supers too tried to save the city from the eldritch horror that had arisen at its coast. From the looks of things there was an assemblage of them, all putting up a good fight. But there was one flaw with their strategy, one key issue that would prevent them from achieving victory: they weren’t Cannonade.

The sphere of gravity surrounding Cannonade and the car roof they rode on dissipated, and the metal began to freefall. Cannonade carefully stood on the falling metal and leapt off at an angle, in the direction of the beach before rising into the clouds. Like a lost kite the roof plummeted toward the streets below.


It was a dark and stormy night. Really, it was. There was a tornado on the horizon and the rain smashed against the glass walls of the house like a hot tub jet on full blast. A bleached blonde Cannonade marched forward, sporting a much different outfit and with a motorcycle helmet beneath their arm.

Behind them another figure stood- undercut blue hair. Crossed arms littered with tattoos. A somber expression on a freckled, English face with blue eyes that could pierce your soul. “You don’t have to go,” they said at last.

Cannonade stopped and twisted their head to eye them. “Right now I’m the only one who can.”

Their scene-partner was wide-eyed. Desperate. “I’m asking you to stay.”

“You’re asking me to not be me,” Cannon replied. “I don’t have a choice- you know I don’t have a choice! I didn’t choose to be Cannonade.”

The blue-haired figure walked forward. Their bare-footed steps on the tile coincided with lighting strikes beyond. “Darling, you’re so much more than Cannonade. No matter what they see in the sky... I know what you are." A callous hand reached up to touch Cannonade’s cheek. Their finger traced a mark- long and jagged like a claw scratch beneath their eye, still red but healing. “...You’re flesh and you’re bone.”

“...You think you know what I am?” Cannon’s voice was cold and their accent came through clear as day. They recoiled from the touch and continued to march toward the glass, toward the tornado on the horizon. They grabbed hold of a handle and pulled the sliding door open. The wind hit them like a semi-truck. The rain felt like pebbles against their skin. And the thunder bellowed again as they stared down the apocalyptic scene. “You have no idea.”

And with that Cannonade ducked into their helmet. Ready to be the superman.


Cannonade rocketed down from the sky. They’d surrounded themselves in a bubble of bearable gravity within another bubble of gravity increased to deadly degrees. Fire consumed all as the earth pulled them down to it’s surface, like a mother pulling back a long lost son. Their bones stretched, their muscles were wrung. They could feel the pressure coming in. Inside the helmet their skull rocked from side to side violently. The world was a blur and tears streamed down their face. They weren’t religious but at times like this even Cannonade prayed, however silently. They released their fists, letting their hands fly free. And as blinding fires consumed their view they closed their eyes.

“-Cannon!” Shroombala finished as the red cannonball made contact with the beast of decay. And, to great shock to the onlookers, it ripped through the creature like a bullet. It was almost too fast to tell what had happened, but something had happened. It was as if a pea-sized black hole had sliced through the core of a planet in the blink of an eye, and the planet had collapsed around it.

There was a line where the being of extreme gravity had passed through. The insides that once occupied the gargantuan creature were cleanly ripped out along the vertical path Cannonade had flown. The creature's compressed guts chased after Cannonade’s body like tracking missiles chasing a jet, straight down into the sea. With it’s centre gutted the remaining two sides of the beast of decay began to crumble. The colossal remnants of it’s carcass fell and collided with beach before toppling over into the waters. The veins that had attached through the earth of the metropolis ripped out, collapsing the buildings they had ensnared. A tsunami like wave rose from the impact with the water. The water swelled and grew, gathering high enough over the heroes to block out their sun. And it lingered, threatening to come down over Atlas City and wash what remained of it away.

Seconds after entering the sea Cannonade smashed into the bed of the bay- not that they felt it. They would have blacked out far before the seabed, most like upon impact with the water thirty feet above. Their body began to float, limp but stationary, with their helmet acting as an anchor and keeping them stuck to the sea floor. Above them sank the remnants of the beast of decay, consuming the water in blackness. But the mould never reached them. The dark instead seemed to swirl and move, like a school of fish- shattered but still living...


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Sheri Galloway Character Portrait: Akiko Bong Character Portrait: Yue Bayushi Character Portrait: Jericho Amile Character Portrait: Devon Metzger Character Portrait: Richard Mackenzie (The White Death) Character Portrait: Maeve Butler Character Portrait: Sairyn Pendrake Character Portrait: Scourge Character Portrait: Ezekiel Walker
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"This is a crime scene," Yue replied simply, turning towards the new arrivals. Truth be told, she'd had the chilling sensation that they were being watched long before Maeve approached them. The vents on her mask opened momentarily, producing a quiet, but pointed hiss as air was rapidly drawn in. A subtle flicker of crimson electricity crawled its way up her body as she accelerated her perception as a precaution.

Yue held out her hand, and her badge was holographically projected onto it. It wasn't strictly necessary in this circumstance given that she was in full NAHLA regalia, but it was an excuse to have Tracer turn towards Maeve and the others, capture the vehicle's plate number, and run facial recognition silently in one corner of her HUD.

"These recruits are shadowing me on my investigation," she explained.

Sairyn's phone rang, to which he gave a proper sigh before answering.

"Can't you follow simple directions?" He managed before he was assaulted by Richard's commands. He held the phone away from his ear, and rolled his eyes dramatically while Richard said some things... it was the polite thing to do. Apparently. "You've had drone support: I sent a Tracer ahead of you to the memorial. 'The fuck is a Galliant building?" he called to someone in the background.

"It's a big art-deco office tower over by where they're hosting the memorial, silly," Archer's voice answered, over the rough hiss of a cappuccino machine.

"Right. Anyway. Use the app I installed on your phone to direct the AI and stop using made-up words," he instructed, letting the phone float nearby as a new slate materialized to show Tracer's view of the memorial grounds and slowly floated into position next to the other three.

"I don't think y'all told them about the app, love," Archer chided, handing Sairyn a cup, which he accepted slowly.

"I installed an app on your phones so you can interface with the drones. Open it and let it run in the background, just be careful how you word your requests: one of the 'features' of the AI is that it tends to take the most literal translation," he said, sipping the dink noisily. He spit it out suddenly with a noise of disgust. "Are you trying to poison me?!"

"Doll, of course I am!" Archer giggled. "Ain't my fault your handwriting is trash." To which Sairyn answered with a long, awkward pause.

"Stick out your tongue. As far as it goes... Ugh. I forgot you could do that. I'm spoken for," he said, while Archer laughed in the background. "My attention is split three ways right now, you're gonna have to direct the drone yourself," he instructed, as he reached out and tapped one of the slates, slightly adjusting the image of a seemingly innocuous lamp post.