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Sylus Harper

"Burn it down."

0 · 555 views · located in Wing City Business District

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

So begins...

Sylus Harper's Story

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An average young man of twenty-three years old shuffled along the cracked, and battered pavement of the slums; the area did not even retain a side-walk. Street lights flickered over-head, as the lonely silhouette treaded to an unknown resting place.

The young man shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. It was 12:07 in the morning, and Sylus had just eaten his second meal in the past twenty-four hours; a meal, which consisted of cheap ramen, and a ripe bananna. Now it was time to rest, even though his hunger pains still persisted; the Spring time breeze allowed him to refrain any thoughts of food.

His sneakers finally hit a soft patch of grass off to the side of the road. There was no one around, though he was ever so cautious to check for any prowlers. A filthy mattress laid only a fleeting distance from Sylus. He spotted a grey and white cat curled up atop of it. Suddenly, he dashed toward the mattress, and pounced on the mangy animal. The cat hissed, and clawed at it's attacker. A rude awakening, indeed. Sylus stood by the standard that other living things needed to know what was theirs, and what was his. He continued to crush the animal's neck, until it had finally died. His blistered hands slowly released the cat. Sylus snatched it up by the nape of it's neck, and turned to pitch it's body to the blackness of the dusk.

However small, and worthless it may have seemed, this small, make-shift camp, belonged to him. This was his territory.

But, on this morning, Sylus would come to face a faceless fact.

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Within that moment, a dull thump would be heard, as the cat's limp corpse hit the grassy ground. It was lights out for Sylus, too. He didn't even notice his attacker. Now, it seemed Sylus was the victim of a weary day.

Where would he end up? In his subconscious mind, his instincts produced a flicker of a thought. Would he rise, or would he fall?

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A blatant, solid stare was casted through the opening of the lead coffin. His eyes held a steady gleam. He was calm, for now. He gave the inside of the coffin two knocks, signifying he would comply to their efforts of testing; the silence of the room allowed the knocks to resonate with a dull sound. Ever since he was 'chosen', Sylus only spoke when spoken to. His days were exhausting on all levels, and having normal conversation was the least of his priorities.

First step of the day was always the easiest for Sylus. He squeezed both his hands through the opening of the coffin; this always left subtle red marks on his hands, as they were hardly small enough to fit in and out. This was protocol to make sure he wasn't harboring any make-shift weaponry, not that he would try anything of the sort. This place was only just better than living on the streets. At least, his meals were there when he needed them. It'd be a waste to have your experiment die of something so mundane as hunger.

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Sylus did as he was told. Some days were different, though. Some days were filled with traumatic breakdowns; however, that was near the early days of his imprisonment. The most amusing fact about those mental collapses? They were induced by extreme boredom, yet sometimes they were caused by basic stress.

He let the cool rubber gloved hands of the guards escort him by the elbows. Sylus, experiment number 45, calmly stepped out into the light of the room. he was clad in all white clothing: A simple white t-shirt, and white polyester slacks. He wore no shoes. A scruffy dark brown beard, and mustache contrasted his pale skin; his hair was also a scruffy dark brown. He kept his cuffed hands submissively in front, but still retained a strong gaze of his surroundings; the lights of the room, and halls seemed bright, as his restless eyes had been shaded in the darkness of the coffin.

Just another day at home.

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This was only one of the reasons his days were exhausting. He eyed the shower room with distaste. His glare would go unnoticed, however. The sanitation process was torture, but alas, it was just another part of his present living experience. Everytime, he felt like he had been severely sun-burned, or like an ecompassing rash developed on his body. The shaving was always the most excruiating procedure of sanitation, and it signified the coming of another, even more severe, advancement to his body.

He briefly stumbled out of the shower room, naked and completely bare. He felt the neutral eyes of his captors stare him down, but he disregarded them as a simple act of appreciation of the scientists' situation. It was their interest, their research, their job. He knew nothing of their existence outside of that fact.

He walked silently with the suited men. No casual dialgue was ever exchanged between them. The creators, and the created. He let his mind wander, as he was strapped into the brace. What would life be like from now on, he wondered. Of course, he had accepted this as his existence, but still considered the possibility of not being forever contained in this mysterious place.

It only took half a second for Sylus to snap back to reality, and realize the overwhelming jolt of sharp pain in his spinal cord. Perspiration lined his forehead within the same minute. He gritted his teeth, and locked his jaw. His face crinkled in obvious agony. He did not cry, nor complain. This was simply his physical reaction.

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So, after your next post.

The setting changes from The Abandoned Slums to Main Street

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A silhouette, of which was within a fleeting distance of the prancing woman, wandered down the Main Street of Wing City. The reclusive figure admired the sunshine, as the blinding rays were shaded by a subtle fog of misty vapor from the road. He shuffled on the side-walk. His hidden gaze did not find any worth in the surrrounding area; tall buildings here, convenient stores there. It was all the same, in his opinion.

He was clad in the average style of linen. From head to toe: A white t-shirt and black hoodie, over coated by a casual dinner jacket, vintage jeans, and a pair of well-versed 'Converse' sneakers. The one very distinguishing feature of this man was his white mask; however, the mask would be unrealized, as the hoodie was cuffed over his head. This factored him to appear all the more eerie.

The skid of his heels, would announce his solitary presence, as the man was only ten feet from the woman, now. That is, until he suddenly came to a halt, and spared a moment to observe the woman embracing another figure. The mask was too wary to reveal Sylus' withdrawn expression. He found this interaction interesting, as he had not viewed it in quite some time. There he stood, blatantly stariing at the two.

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A noticable perk of the hooded man's head resulted from the attention he gathered. In an even greater feat of awkwardness, and simply confound sarcasm, Sylus lifted his hand to eye-level; the flick of his finger would conclude him to be pretending to snap a picture.

He tilted his head at the two persons, silently waiting for them to entertain his focus. Though, he stepped closer, allowing for a closer examination. What would they do, next? He wondered.

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Grey eyes, undisclosed, sharpened upon Markuss' movement. He stepped back, and now appeared to be in a defensive, fighting stance. Sylus' head snapped over to the direction of the woman. He contemplated the status of the scenario; to risk danger, or to risk conflict. The two were one in the same, however he could stand conflict, becuase he was the danger. This fact was not completely recognized by Sylus.

He sucked in a douse of oxygen from the thick, misty air surrounding him, and expelled it in long sigh; a sigh, which would easily be heard by the two individuals. Letting his eyes flicker for a moment, before he relaxed, and returned to a normal posture. "I..." His voice was soft, but still retained a deep, masculine tone. "I am Sylus." He stated the name with hesitation, as he realized he had not repeated his own name, or made any introductions of himself for many months, now. Though, he noted he might still seem 'mysterious' to these two.

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Sylus peered down at Markuss' hand. He took a moment, before staring back up at the man and woman. Hss steps toward the two held vigilance, but upon taking Markuss' hand, his anxiety retracted. He glanced in-between the two. "So... are you two...?" His voice trailed off, though the question of their relationship was implied. "That's why I was observing you, before. I.. apologize for interrupting." He looked to the gypsy woman for further conveyence.

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The mask was unresponsive to the banter presented by Markuss and Deja. Sylus was slow to respond. Only when Markuss pat his arm, did he surmise a valid response. "I only enjoy the company of suitable women," His voice was muffled by the mask. "Such as yourself." He nodded toward Deja. There was no attempt at a sny remark, or sign of embarassment exhibitted by Sylus. He outstretched his hand toward Deja. "You are?"

The setting changes from Main Street to Sol Avenue

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A light, a bright light. Down an alley-way in Sol Avenue, a soothing bright light illuminated the small crevice of darkness, causing the shadow of a rat to dance across the wall. Suddenly, the light stopped. In the blackness of night, a strong hand snatched up the grimey creature, before it could escape an unlikely fate. The rodent squealed, and tried to bite out of its captor's clutches. The rat's body began to seer, and the squeals, growing all the more intense, echoed throughout the streets. Meep, meep, meeeep! No less than a second later... the bright light flashed, once more. The cries of the vermon ceased, and the light had continued its steady glow.

"One down, seven-billion more to go." A voice whispered.

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Grey eyes darted to stare at the figure clad in black. Silence was his answer. The glowing had stopped. It was originating from his hand; quite bright as for one to think it would be his whole body. The man was a ghost, as his mask had clarified.

"Your steps. They should stay there. This is my territory, now. You will die as that animal, if you do otherwise." He lifted his hand, and directed it at the man in black. His wrist appeared limp, and his movements lethargic.

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His aimed palm did not flit one inch out of place. "You wear a mask. A black mask. Why do you hide your face?" His head tilted. He did not find it awkward to inquire such a thing, even though he himself was sporting a mask. He was sitting down, and leaning against the wall. He managed to stand himself up in the moments the man might answer the question.

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"Idenity..." He repeated. "Something like that has no value to me." He spoke as if he wasn't wearing a mask, at all. He finally lowered his hand, deeming the man to be less trouble, than he originally thought. However, those grey eyes kept a fine trace on the man's feet. "Who are the ones you love? I can tell you, it doesn't matter. They will die, sooner or later."

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The man lifted his hand again, this time laying it on the brick-wall of the alleyway. "I'll show you why." A fierce white light would encompass the whole of the entire alleyway, and would blind the man in black. Only a minute would pass, and the apartment building next to the two men would suddenly explode. It would cause any body near it to traject back, being blown away by the force of the blast. Just as lightning sounds thunder, the sound of the explosion would surely wake the neighbors just as well.

The light would disappear, only to leave a gaping hole in the side of the alleyway, and mild to large flames scattered amidst the destruction. Bricks crumbled, as the whole aera had just been prey to a compiled, radioactive abruption. The man with the white mask was gone. Out of sight, and slipping away, as the ghost he was.

The setting changes from Sol Avenue to Northern Main Street

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Character Portrait: Whisper (Jacquelyn Rose) Character Portrait: Oliver Frye Character Portrait: Sylus Harper
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Meanwhile, Jaimie pardoned himself a glance to an elderly man selling flowers up the street, as he seemed slightly busy entertaining customers. He nodded toward the two misfits to further direct them after the girl. They complied, shaking their heads at eachother.

"Lil' traveler," The clown tried to catch her steps, by skidding in front of her path. He laid a solid hand on her shoulder, though his voice was warm with regard of her uneasiness. So it would seem, at least. He ducked to peer underneath her hood, as he was at least a foot taller. "Things are a bit choppy these days, n'we just want to make sure yer'not somethin' a lil'too special. Er, the wrong kind'o special." He smiled somberly at the woman, as his brows raised.

Oli cuffed his jaw in thought, as he began sniffing the air. "Hm. Well, it's a gal, alright. Not many gals are too special. If'yer the right kind'o special lil'girl, then we may introduce you to a free cab ride out of 'ere. Hm? How's that bit sound?"

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Character Portrait: Whisper (Jacquelyn Rose) Character Portrait: Oliver Frye Character Portrait: Sylus Harper
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"Well," The clown's eyes lit up at the glimmering sight hidden underneath the dim hood. "Frye," He mused. He made it a point to regard the troll by his last name. He slipped to the side of the girl, and produced a discreet second to nod toward Jaimie for a vague sense of confirmation. The clown checked the road for cars, before scrambling across toward the flower shop.

The troll, clasped his hands, and pursed his lips silently at the girl. "Ye'know, ye'seem a'lil... different." His beady eyes loomed, as they squinted down at her. "Don't know, really." He poked a finger to the tips of his elongated ears and prodded his large bulbus nose. "Just have things for these... eh, things." He chuckled, looking on at the woman.

He managed a long stride to step a fleeting distance behind her. His focus shot back at the clown. The pale man merely exchanged glances, instead of credits, with the flower man, before jogging back across the road to present them to the woman.

He panted furiously. Oli laid pitiful eyes on the man, of whom did not manage even the shortest bit of distance between the points. "Really, mate? Across the street n'back, 'nyer already huffing like bloody cock sucker?"

The clown clasped his chest, as he followed after the girl to insist on her reception of the flowers. "It's a gift, from a friend, if yer'the special one we been peelin' eyes out for."

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Character Portrait: Whisper (Jacquelyn Rose) Character Portrait: Oliver Frye Character Portrait: Sylus Harper
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"Jus' take the damn roses, or gods be my witnesses I'll throw'em at'ye." The clown sputtered. The troll's frame trembled, as he cuhckled at his companion's difficulty.

"Looksy 'ere, lil'bird," Oli raised his brows, and provided an endearing smile to the woman; though, he had forgotten himself, since she was blind to his expression. He crossed his large log-like arms, and nodded toward the bouqet of roses. "If'ye receive these gifts'o dear.. ehm, friendship," He used the word loosely. "...then you also admit a 'lil some'ting. You like to know what it is, hm?" He peered down at the woman.

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Character Portrait: Whisper (Jacquelyn Rose) Character Portrait: Drake Stern Character Portrait: Oliver Frye Character Portrait: Sylus Harper
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"Well well well, what do we have here?"

Moving through the murky orange glow cast by a street light, a figure sauntered into view. Tall and lithe, dressed in a thigh-length burgundy coat, over a vest of soft-shell ballistic armour. A pair of brass-chased sword hilts protruded from the cover of the coat, balanced by a chrome-finished revolver on his opposite hip. One gloved hand rested on the grip of the pistol, pushing back the fabric of the coat, framing the holster against the burgundy fabric.

"I never thought I'd see the day." The figure continued as he approached the unfortunate trio. As he approached, his facial features were thrown into focus, a sharp nose and chin covered in dark stubble, a short crop of black hair covering his scalp. His mouth was wide and expressive, currently holding a smile which contrasted heavily with his gaunt features.

He stood beside the girl, affecting a dramatic stance with his hand still on his pistol. "Gambit's finally fire you, Whisper dear?"