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Marcus Brown

The Handprint Killer, currently on the run in Triumph City

0 · 294 views · located in Triumph City, USA

a character in “Into the Dark”, as played by BDMystic

Description

Name: Marcus Brown

Age: 31

Gender: Male

Occupation: Fugitive

Physical Description:
Image

Marcus seems to be a regular guy. He is about 5'11", with blue eyes and brown hair. He is in good shape, from years of working on the docks, and then having nothing to do but work out while in prison. He keeps his hair slightly shaggy, and there is usually a short beard adorning his face. Not one for flash, his usual outfit consists of simple cargo pants, a button-up shirt, and a brown leather jacket. He has two scars: one on his lower stomach, and one on his left shoulder, from where he was shot when he was arrested.

Personality: Marcus is a pretty quiet guy, preferring to stick to the background. Those who knew him before the murders would always say he was a good guy. He worked, donated to charity, had a busy social life, and had a pretty steady relationship. No one is quite sure what made Marcus snap, but the Triumph City PD believe it has something to do with his parents death when he was 13. Marcus himself isn't even sure why he kills. Whenever it happens, he believes his life goes out of focus, and when he comes too, there is usually a body. It had been happening for most of his adult life, but sporadically. Not until he went on his spree did it ever draw attention. While in prison, he came to accept the fact of what he was, making him that much more dangerous.

Bio: Marcus doesn't remember much of his childhood (although abuse was suspected), his first memory being the death of his parents. His father was an alcoholic, and his mother an addict. One night, a man broke into their house, dragged everyone to the living room, and shot his parents to death. The killer was believed to be his mother's dealer, tired of her not paying. After his parents death, he lived with an adoptive family until he was 18. His stepfather got him a job working at the docks. During these years, Marcus would occasionally experience his "fade-outs" and end up killing a homeless man, or some stranger in a dark alley. He was able to keep this side of himself hidden, pretending they were only dreams. The fade outs became more and more frequent until he finally snapped and went on his spree.

After spending two years in jail, he experienced another fade-out and killed two orderlies at the prison. It was then decided he would be moved to Maine State Prison, a supermax prison. While being transported to MSP, his transport bus hit another car and wrecked. Marcus managed to get off his shackles and escape into the night.



Marcus' weapon of coice is a knife, and there is no other he'd rather have then his very own. Used in several of his killings, Marcus has a close attachment to this blade. Although they looked thoroughly, the police couldn't find it at his place of residence, and it wasn't on his person at his arrest.

Image

Blade Length: 5 inches
Total Length: 10 1/4 inches
Action: Manual folder

So begins...

Marcus Brown's Story

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Marcus could feel the their eyes digging into his skin. The three officers sat towards the front of the bus, their eyes transfixed on the lone man sitting at the back. His hands and ankles were cuffed, and the leg shackles were chained to the bus floor. He could feel the cuffs digging into his wrists and ankles, just barely cutting off the blood flow to his extremities. A constant reminder of where he was heading. Not that Marcus cared. Trading one prison for another wasn't something that bothered Marcus. These shackles, on the other hand, bothered him very much.

The bus rumbled as it made it's way down the fog-laden streets of Triumph City. It was close to midnight, and the streets were empty. The fog was thick, limiting view to only ten or so feet. Parked cars, street lamps, and buildings emerged from the fog, like ships gliding along a silent ocean, before slipping into the darkness behind. The bus moved along the streets, an escort following a few blocks behind. The driver looked into the rear view mirror and swallowed hard. At the back of the bus sat one Marcus Brown, AKA the Handprint Killer. His head was bowed, his eyes closed. He was shackled and chained to the floor, but that didn't provide much comfort. The driver turned his eyes back to the road, only to see an old man walking across the road, a mere few feet in front of the bus. The driver slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel.

His eyes opened, and Marcus realized the floor was above him. His body ached and he his leg was slicked with blood. His blood, judging from the pain coming from his left thigh. He looked down towards his feet. There was a gash on his thigh, but it didn't seem to deep. More importantly, he realized that the chains of his leg cuffs were snapped, leaving just the two cuffs ratcheted to his ankles, independent of each other. He switched his view to the front of the bus. Two of the guards were also lying on the ceiling, obviously worse for wear. Marcus slid to his feet an stood up. He walked towards the two guards, his leg reminding him of it's wound with every step.

The two guards were dead, killed from the wreck. Working as fast as his cuffed hands would allow, Marcus searched the bodies. The guards weren't carrying guns, which turned out to be a smart move on their part. However, Marcus did find a set of keys. He quickly freed his wrists and his ankles and walked towards the front of the bus. He climbed out the shattered front windshield and into the freedom of the night. There was glass everywhere, as well as the bodies of the two other guards and a third man. Sirens were fast approaching, and Marcus was beginning to faintly see red and blue lights through the fog. There was an alley to his right, and Marcus decided that it was his ticket to freedom. He ran down the alley, away from the wreck and into the night.

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Marcus leaned against the brick wall, taking a moment to catch his breath. His leg burned, the cut was still trickling blood. The burning in his leg didn't compare to the way his lungs burned. He had no idea how long he had been running, but he had put the crash a long ways behind him. He took a few more deep breaths, then began to jog down the street, wanting to put just a mile or two more behind him.

After another half hour on the move, Marcus finally came to a halt and began to figure out where he was. He was still in the industrial district, about 12 blocks from the river. Luckily for him, the fog was thick and the streets empty, or the police might have already found him. He had seen a few squad cars out on the streets, using searchlights to try and spot him through the fog. He had managed to hide from them, but he knew he couldn't be lucky forever. He'd have to stack the odds in his favor. First things first, he had to get rid of the orange jumpsuit he was wearing.

After a bit of searching, he had found a small convenience store. The building was a small, mom and pop type shop, a place where the warehouse and dock workers could go and pick up a snack on break and beer on the way home. With any luck, they'd carry some clothing as well. Marcus walked up to a window, peering inside, trying to spot any cameras. There didn't appear to be any, and the store was closed up for the night. Marcus went around to the back of the store and located the delivery door. It was just a simple wooden door, with only a deadbolt on the inside. Luckily for Marcus, the door swung inward. He planted a kick to the door slightly above the handle, and was met with a satisfying crack. He kicked the door again, this time planting his foot in the square center of the door. The door flew open, leaving an small chunk of wood on the frame, held in place by the lone deadbolt. He allowed himself a quick grin of triumph and made his way into the store.

Marcus walked the few isles of the store, grabbing things he needed to patch up his leg. The store had a roll of gauze, and an ace bandage wrap. The store didn't have any rubbing alcohol or iodine, so he grabbed a small bottle of vodka from behind the counter and went into the store's small rest room. He stripped off his jumper and threw it into the trash. He wiped off the cut with a wet paper towel, and grabbed the bottle of vodka. He took a swig and then poured the rest of the bottle of liquor onto the wound. The vodka burned like hell and Marcus couldn't help but grimace a little. he wiped off his leg once more, then wrapped it in the gauze, and then the ace bandage over that. Once his patch job was done, he went back into the store.

The store didn't sell any clothes, but Marcus found some in a locker in the back room. There was a pair of jeans, a grey tee-shirt, a pair of work boots, and a tan canvas jacket. He quickly got dressed and went back into the main store. He quickly packed a small meal into a plastic sack and broke open the register. There was about $120 in assorted bills, which he promptly pocketed. Marcus grabbed two more bottles of booze, splashing them around the store. He grabbed a lighter from a shelf, lit it, and tossed it into an isle, which promptly caught fire. Satisfied with his handiwork, Marcus ran out the back of the store and into the thick fog that engulfed Triumph city once more.

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Marcus continued down the street, his destination in sight. An old warehouse, showing obvious signs of disrepair. It used to serve as a storage facility for a shipyard that was nearby, but now it stood empty. People in the city knew it well, however. It was the place that the Handprint killer made his final stand. He had killed three cops in the shootout, and Marcus had been shot and captured inside. The memory was still fresh for Marcus. The constant barrage of gunfire, tearing apart the brick walls of the building. The deafening roar of the gun as Marcus returned fire. The unbelievable pain as the bullets struck him. But there was something else that was there. Something that was still there.

It was as simple as removing a few old bricks from the wall, and Marcus found it. a large cigar box, taped at both ends. Marcus tore off the tape and set the box on a ledge. Opening it, he removed three items from inside. The first, his wallet. He rifled through the wallet, taking a quick inventory. There was a couple twenties, assorted business cards, his old debit card, and his driver's license (up for renewal this year). He slipped the wallet into his back pocket and picked up the next item. It was a keyring, containing keys to his (old) apartment, his car (impounded), and a key to a storage lockup on the east side of town. These too he pocketed and picked up the final item. It was a large pocket knife, with a black textured handle. He flicked it open, revealing the long and curved blade. Even after two years, the steel still gave off a slight sheen. He gave it a quick slash through the air, with the knife giving a satisfying swish as it cut through the air. Marcus closed the blade in an almost reverent way, depositing it into his coat pocket. With his belongings collected, Marcus left the warehouse far behind.

-~-

Marcus sat by the river, looking at Northside over the water, eating the food he took from the convenience store. The city looked very inviting, as if it was calling for him to come over. If he was going to be able to truly hide, he'd need to. Unfortunately, the bridges were closed and a few police boats were on the river. He'd have to come up with something clever if he planned on getting over into the main side of the city. Marcus finished up the meal and stood up. "What to do, what to do..." And with that, Marcus stuck his hands in his pockets and began to walk, thinking of ways to cross the river.

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((Double post))

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Marcus scrubbed his hand underneath the faucet, washing away the fresh blood that caked his palm.

Marcus had eventually found the spot in the river he had been looking for: a narrow section with a nice, wide sandbar in the middle. Crossing had been as easy as waiting for the patrol boat to pass, a quick swim, waiting for the boat to pass again while laying flat on the sand, and another quick swim and he was on the north side of the city. He had to avoid a patrol car that was cruising the coast, but the fog made that fairly easy. The fog was a great boon to Marcus, and it'd be a shame when it was gone.

It took Marcus only a half hour to reach a residential section of the city. It was mostly apartments, since it was situated so closely to the Market district, and catered mostly to a younger demographic. Marcus decided that he would have to gain access to an apartment and find a change of clothes, since his were soaked from the river. After a little internal debate, Marcus settled on an apartment building called Cottonwood Towers. The main door was unlocked and the security guard at the front desk was an elderly gentleman, quietly snoozing away. Marcus casually approached the desk, leaned over, and grabbed the directory. He flipped it open, paging through the lists of tenants.

Eventually he picked out Derek Ford, a 32 year old who lived with his girlfriend on the fourth floor. Marcus didn't know if the police had alerted the general public to his whereabouts, but he imagined that Derek wouldn't open the door to a stranger all the same. If he wanted into the apartment, he'd need a key of his own. The door to the main office was directly behind the front desk, so Marcus put the directory back in it's original spot and moved behind the counter. The door needed a key to open, but luckily, there was one dangling from the guard's belt. The old man's eyes snapped open when he felt someone tugging at his belt, but he didn't even have time to make a sound before the curved blade of Marcus's knife slid through his throat. Marcus grabbed the man by his shirt collar and pulled his lifeless body to the floor. Marcus took the key, unlocked the door, and dragged the body inside. Blood gushed from the man's neck, leaving a thick trail on the floor behind him.

After a quick search of the office, Marcus had found the lockbox with all of the keys. He slammed the corner of the box on the floor, and it promptly popped open. Marcus sifted through the keys until he found the one he wanted. It was a plain key with a small pendant hanging from it engraved Apt. 4C. Marcus made his way back to over to the body, and knelt beside it. The man's face was stuck in a silent scream, his last moments spent in pain and fear. Marcus gently grabbed the man's throat with his left hand, coating his palm in the still warm blood. Marcus then stood and left the office, making sure to leave a nice, neat handprint on the inside of the office door on his way out.

One short elevator ride later, and Marcus was standing in front of apartment 4C. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could, and let himself in. It was a nice little place, with light blue walls and cream-colored carpet. Marcus hated it. He slowly made his way through the apartment, the ugly carpet absorbing the sound of his footsteps. The main room was open, with the living room, dining room, and the kitchen all sharing one space. There was no one else in the room, but the t.v. was on and he could hear the sound of a shower behind the closed door to his right. Marcus walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge. After taking a moment to decide, he grabbed a beer and closed the door. Marcus turned around and spotted a block of knives resting on the counter. It was a very tasteful set of knives, with polished stainless steel handles and all held in an elegant maple wood block. Marcus took a moment, pulling out all of the knives and inspecting each one. He settled on a 7" chef knife, and carefully put the rest of the knives back into their rightful place. Feeling satisfied with his "shopping trip", Marcus went and sat down in an armchair that was facing the bedroom door. He used the knife and popped the cap off of the beer, and took a long, slow drink.

~-~

Derek finished drying off and moved into the bed room. He could hear someone rummaging around in the kitchen. Must be Ashley back from work. He spent a few minutes deciding what he was going to wear. He settled on a pair of jeans an a plain white shirt, and got dressed. After spending a minute or two checking himself out in the mirror, he went to the bedroom door and opened it. Derek stood in the door frame slack-jawed. There was somebody sitting in his chair, staring right at him. The strangers clothes were wet, and... Derek's eyes widened as he realized who it was. "Oh my G-" He was cut off by an empty beer bottle smashing into his face. He stumbled back and fell down, disoriented and bleeding form several cuts on his face. He rolled over and began to crawl further into his room, while also trying the shake off the foggy feeling in his head. He made it over to the bed when he felt several hot, sharp pains in his back. He saw a hand clutching a kitchen knife move towards his throat, and then he suddenly felt very cold. He could feel a warm liquid pouring down his neck and chest, and he lowered his head to the floor, suddenly exhausted. I'm going to close my eyes, and wake up. This has to be a dream, this has to be a...

~-~

Marcus scrubbed his hand underneath the faucet, washing away the fresh blood that caked his palm. When he deemed his hand clean again, he dried it off on a hand towel and left the bathroom. Derek's body lay at the foot of his bed in a large pool of blood, the Chef's knife dropped next to him. There was a bloody handprint on the wall near the bathroom door. Marcus went over to the closet and picked out a new outfit. He had made a good guess with Derek, they were both similar height and weight. A pair of dark brown cargo pants, a white tee-shirt with a black sweater pulled over it; with a pair of black tennis shoes, a black beanie, and a brown leather jacket to finish it off. Once again properly dressed, Marcus looked around the room one last time. He noticed that there was a fire escape outside of the bedroom window, and decided that would be better then going out the front door. He climbed out the window, making sure to close it behind himself, and set off down the stairs. He had made it a floor and a half when he heard the shriek of a terrified woman from the apartment he had just left. Marcus hurried down the last couple flights of stairs, and followed the ally onto the street. He began to walk north, determined to put as much distance between himself and Cottonwood Towers as he could.