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Jack M. Hatchet

Give me life!

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a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Mr. Crow

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Under the guise of the old Master, Nealaphh leads these enterprising souls on the path to true power in the hopes of preventing the collapse the Multiverse...
"...You see. Years of strife and trying to understand this world left me with one logical realization. Numbers count." - A newly bred organization of villains bent on the suffering of Terra.

So begins...

Jack M. Hatchet's Story

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Jack M. Hatchet So, he'd know about the sending of recruiter too? Or is that completely up to me?

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Jack M. Hatchet lingered into the infamous Gambit's. His white hands swaying a bit lazily at his sides. He had recently heard about a group of hired guns referred to as 'the Invictus.' Hatchet was always in the loop. He heard word of recruitments taking place inside Gambits. He wondered who this organization would send. There were several syndicates in play, and of similar backgrounds. As he trotted through the room, maneuvering his way through the small bunches of individuals, he made his way to the bar. it so happened he sat next to a man in a pressed gray suit. "Bartender.. My drink."

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Jack M. Hatchet 's mesmorizing eyes, which seemed to look like big fruit loops, suddenly glazed over to the man sitting next to him. He peered at the man. He seemed to be somehat younger than Hatchet, but not by much. "I suppose I'm new. However, I wouldn't think anyone would come here much. At least... Not for the drinks. More than one is too dismal for my taste."

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Jack M. Hatchet disregarded the stranger's intitial staement, as he was more intrigued by the second. "Your company?" Could this man, perhaps be related to the very organization Hatchet heard about? This 'Invictus'? Hatchet turned his neck to gaze fully at the man. "Well... If you're going to get the point so qucikly, then I'll assume you might want me to join your 'company'." Hatchet smirked just a touch at his present interest. "I'll admit now, that I have been thinking to colloborate with a greater force."

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Jack M. Hatchet slid his hand away, and dropped it in his lap. "So, you are with the Invictus! I'm somewhat disappointed, but impressed at the same time." He scoffed half-heartedly. He set his elbow on the counter, and lifted his left hand up to his face as he perched his cheek ontop. "I would've liked to make the cut now. But... I have patience, since we all know... things don't always go according to plan." He grinned, and reached his right hand over to shake the stranger's hand. "My name is Jack M. Hatchet. I prefer to be called 'Hatchet.' You can find me here, in Gambit's every night around 9 o'clock. I don't give out my personal information after a first meeting. Then again, I expect the Invictus will like to know my background as well, when the time comes?"

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Hatchet's big colorful eyes followed the man as he exitted out the door-way. "I'm sure it will..." He whispered under his breath. He then turned his attention to the seemingly busy bartender across the counter. "Bartender... I never got that drink..." The tender didn't seem to pay any attention to Hatchet's words. Hatchet rose out of his chair, and dashed atop the counter; his foot stepping up onto the counter as if it was a stair, and his right arm stretched over and across the counter. And out of the blue, splattered red. A white 'bio-blade,' consisting of a smooth skin, had pierced through the unfortunate man's chest. A glowing smile was happily revealed by Hatchet. Splurges of blood spoutted everywhere; on the counter, into the mugs, and onto Hatchet's stark white complexion of a face. "Never ignore me." He hissed.

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Jack M. Hatchet trotted through the entrance of Gambit's in a lethargic manner; he spared a yawn as he shuffled through the small bunches of individuals. It was reaching mid-night. He wondered what pack of wolves, or goblins and ghouls may sprout from the very air he breathed in this place. Shady people, like himself, tend to come around at this time of night too. You never knew what to expect in Gambit's Bar. Cloak and dagger games of all kinds were played here. But, every so often... you would come across an almost normal human being. Hatchet spotted the subject of thought. A drabby looking young man, standing at the bar counter.

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Jack M. Hatchet tread over to the bar counter, and stood next to Ethan; he leaned over the counter, waving a pale hand at the tender. "Bring me a drink. Nothing too strong. I just want an entertaining taste on my tongue." Hatchet rasied a brow and glanced over at Ethan. A snooty man, such as Hatchet, had not a concern for Ethan's 'weazing.' It was simply annoying to watch someone chitter-chatter like that. Hatchet motioned his hand over the bar counter, once more to the tender. "Bring something strong for this young man here, as well." His thumb pointed directly at Ethan.

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Hatchet stayed hunched over the bar counter. He shook his head silently at Ethan's drunken blabbering. A delicate set of fingers curled around the dwarf little shot glass. "Hmph. Feelings. Each feeling has a story behind it. Each story is retained by emotions presented in that single moment. Whether it be sorrow..." Hatchet's eyes glanced over Ari, and then they dashed about to narrow in on Daylon. "...Or utterly inane irritation. Their relevance is only measured by how much impact they make." Hatchet's words hinged on a suave arrogance. He laid his gaze on Ethan; a smirk curling up his cheek. "Why would you be interested in these things? You're just a pitiful adolescent clawing to get away form something. You have your own problems."

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Hatchet turned and faced the metal clad woman. His distinctively mesmerizing, multi-colored eyes scrutinized every nick-knack dangling from her person. He didn't waste time in offering Ethan any source of assistance. Drunks usually did deal with their own problems; aside from having the intelligence to quit drinking. Hatchet couldn't hold his liquor, so it didn't pertain to him, anyway. Hatchet carried his shot over to the table, and plopped himself in a chair. He crossed his arms and legs, as to sit with a prominent stature; his black nailed finger tips graced just the rim of the shot glass.

Hatchet only acknowledged Ari when she contradicted his notion of feelings actually holding any meaning. "Feelings are what drive a mortal being to exceed the implausible. That's a bit dramatic, but that's what I've heard." Hatchet surveyed the oxymoron, which the woman produced when she offered her hand to the young man; he stared curiously at woman. He thought it was interesting; his past didn't necessarily dictate any appreciation for another being. "You show politeness to this disturbed young man, to make him feel appreciated do you not?" Hatchet smiled on the inside, as he tilted his head in question. "Why this very song produces that same feeling." Hatchet sneered at Ari. "My point being... Feelings are relevant, because they can be manipulated." A wry grin graced Hatchet's white lips.

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Jack chuckled. He chuckled to the extent, that anyone within a ten-foot radius would be able to hear him. He now felt in a pleasureable enough mood to introduce himself. He sat down his glass, subsequently straightening his tie, again out of mere paranoia that it might be crooked. "My name is Jack M. Hatchet. My acquaintances call me 'Hatchet.' I imagine it might have something to do with my abilities, but none-the-less..." He glanced back-in-forth between Ethan and Ari. "Care to inroduce yourselves?" The snobbish air still circulated his presence.

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Jack M. Hatchet trotted into the entrance of Gambit's. He had an extra pep to his step; even if that 'step' was into a nearly emtpy bar. He was feeling more invigorated than usual, more lustful for conflict. He thought he might even buy more than one beverage this visit. Never being one to "hold his liquor," that meant something. Hatchet lightly strode across the room to the bar counter. The only anxiety in his mind was the fact, that Gambit's may have another eliminated tender on their hands. A brief smirk measured it's way over his pale white lips, before patting his palm atop the bar counter. His mesmerizing, multi-colored eyeballs relected the image of a petite young female. "A drink, please."

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The bartender laid her elbows onto the counter, using her hands to support her chin. She gave the boy a smile, looking him over once, and very carefully. Well dressed, slim, even handsome. He might have been the shade of a vampire, but a glance told her that he was far from it. A tongue swiped her teeth.

"What kind of drink will it be?" said the elf, her white hair pinned into a high ponytail. Even so, the thick strands fell down to her lower back. "Something light? Fruity? That would suit you, considering your hair color." she teased, giving him a quick wink.

"Kidding aside, if you want me to whip up a surprise, I certainly can do so."

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"I don't particualry enjoy surprises. They're never apart of the plan..." Hatchet scoffed, but still held a respectfully decent grin in response to the woman's banter. "Something light and fruity would suit me for the better, actually. I', in the mood for a little entertainment, though. Care to show your stuff as a bartender? A juggle here, a soft pour there?" Hatchet smirked. No one was here, at the moment. But, Hatchet was here. Why not entertain a single customer?

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"Light and fruity. Got it." she said, already mixing something. Another lightweight. Funny. As she passed the boy a light Daiquiri, she played bashful. "Oh, aren't you outspoken? I can abide, but there is only one type of entertainment I'm really any good at." She raised a brow at the boy, sliding into her seat.

"Otherwise, all you can get out of me is a good conversation, and before we move anywhere for anything else, conversation is where we have to start. I hope you enjoy that drink."

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Hatchet revealed another smirk at the woman's words, and the beverage itself. His seemingly graceful fingers wrapped around the rim of the glass, as he brought it up to his lips for a sip. Hatchet tilted his head, and raised his brow with a surprised satifaction. He set the glass back down on the counter, and turned his head to fully gaze upon the pointy eared woman. "Perhaps this drink is good, because of your elven heritage to in-fact be good at all things." Hatchet's eyes narrowed in on the hamdsome woman, and he let out a slight chuckle. He was never tired of his own jokes. "And I'm sure, you are good at what you do." He didn't try to hide his scan of the woman's features. His view reaverted back to her face. "Conversation is good enough for me. Tell me, is it true what they say? Do tenders really know it all? I suppose your racial background would amplify that rumor, if it is true." He wondered how much this woman did know.

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"We know a lot, but who we tell it to depends. Why are you asking?" she said, leaning forward, as if the conversation was a bit secret. Not in Gambit's, though. Nothing was secret there. It was just a matter of who cared.

"If it's a bounty, there's papers stacked up on the wall of people who got someone pissed off at 'em. If it's anything else, well, I know a fair amount of things that happen in Wing City. Being a bartender, you catch up on a lot of talk. You meet a lot of people. You see things. Especially in Gambit's."

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Hatchet took another sip of his drink, before answering. "In order for you to understand what I'm about to ask, I'll have to confide a little about myself." He held a sudden sadistic tone of speech now. His past provided him with an innate aggression, whenver he thought about it. He leaned in just a few inches, as well. "I was... Or rather, I am an experiment. The ones who made me what I am didn't consider how successful I was. My succession was so..." Hatchet lifted a fist to the woman's eye level, subsequently "exploding" his fingers in a gratuitous fashion, before letting his hand down again. "...excessive. I was their surprise." Hatchet leaned back and began to relax. He took a larger gulp of his drink, wiping is lips with a light touch of his fingers, after the fact. "I want to continue surprising these types of people." Hatchet revealed a devious grin to the bartender. "I would like you to provide me with details on 'things' like me, or individuals who make things like me. Either would be helpful."

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Fedelia narrowed her eyes, smirking to the man as she listened. Another experiment, hmm? Wing City housed hundreds and hundreds of those. There were some in the factions, she knew, and in the Arena business, along with a few gangs in town. There were more rogues than anything, however.

"I see," she said, looking at the man in a slightly new light, "Well...I suppose I can handle passing on a bit of information, now that I know where to channel my attention. I see experiments come in nearly every day. I can be a dear and help you out, I can, but..." Her eyes flickered upward to his own, a hand coming out to grab his tie and let it curl about her fingers.

"...what do I get for it?"

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Hatchet leered at the woman; he was filled with amusement. She was too easy. He would snatch her by the wrist, and yank her hand away; her arm would be yanked and stretched upward. He would subsequently lift his right hand up to the drooping strands of her silver hair, and caress the loose layers. "Shouldn't we introduce ourselves first?" he said with a slight sneer.

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It was a surprise to Fedelia, her wrist being caught, the way he curled his lip at her, and his fingers touching her hair. She gasped lightly, eyes widening as she scanned him again, however, the shocked expression on her face eventually melted into a cheeky grin.

"You aren't very subtle in your actions, though I can't say the same for your speech." she told him, allowing his grip to keep her. She gave a sarcastic sigh. "Well! If you must know, my name is Fedelia. And your own?"

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Hatchet chuckled at the present scenario. "It's just like you elves to be so submissive. Jack M. Hatchet... Just call me 'Hatchet', for short." He finally released her wrist. His eyes narrowed, once more; he was wondering if he really would have to make this payment. "How can I be assured that you're being honest with me, Fedelia? Trust is vital under these circumstances... It could mean your life." His other hand, simply held her hair now. His thumb smoothed over the strands so gently.

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The elf wanted to comment about being submissive, of all things. She was extremely loose for an elf, though if it came to anything else, she could be sensible enough to draw away. Possibly like right now. "Trust me? Who's the experiment here, claiming to be powerful? I don't doubt an inch of it, but I like to think myself sensible. I don't get into things just so I can back out. I take it as far as I can. Especially if my life is in danger." The elf had to let out a small laugh.

"Not that I don't find the risk thrilling. In many ways."

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He gazed down at his hand, as it held the elf's hair. Suddenly, he flipped Fedelia's hair away over her shoulder. He redirected his view, and gazed into her eyes. "Then before, we continue... Provide me with some information now. Anything. I'll also give you fair instruction that I'll be coming to you regularly. That is, if you'll agree to this partnership."

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The woman's expression was flat. Information, information...

"Is there anyone specific you have in mind?" she asked, her fingers drumming on the counter. "Or generally anyone? I saw several people with enhancements come in yesterday. Some of them cyborgs, some of them different. I can't always spot them immediately, but if I get into a conversation, people will usually tell you their life's history. I know of the Arena Corps. They make fabricated humans as their job. Make them to fight. I think that the Aschen might have a few. Same goes for the Belkans. I'll have to do research. Good enough?"