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Archer Hitchcock

"I'm basically Tony Stark... with wings."

0 · 334 views · located in Crown City

a character in “Welcome To Crown City”, as played by mjolnir

Description

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F U L L 0 N A M E
Archer Hitchcock

N I C K N A M E
Archie

A C T U A L 0 A G E
Too old to count

P H Y S I C A L 0 A G E
Twenty-seven

G E N D E R
Male

S E X U A L I T Y
Asexual... Sapiosexual if he had to choose to love someone other than himself

S P E C I E S
Nephilim

R O L E
City Dweller
Head of City Security

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H E I G H T
An average 5' 11"

W E I G H T
145 lbs

H A I R
An average length of black hair that he usually has slicked back or sophisticatedly coiffed. Archer usually prefers to be clean shaved, but sometimes when time slips away from him, he'll be found with a little scruff upon his jaw.

E Y E S
Usually a light green speckled with small flecks of gold and brown. When his more natural Nephilim state his eyes will take on a deep golden tone unless enraged, which then they will flash to a deep crimson or black.

O D D I T I E S
When he's in his human form, he has a tattoo of wings that covers his shoulder blades and extends down his arms, stopping just above his elbows. When in his Nephilim form, that tattoos transform into a full set of wings. Covered in onyx feathers with crimson accents along the edges, the wings span over 15 feet.

A P P E A R A N C E
Archer is a scrawny and lanky looking man. Decently tall, his skinny frame makes him look anything but a threat. Although thin, it suits him well. He has a pronounced jawline with a small cleft in the center of his mandible. His black hair is normally slicked back and nicely accents his pale ivory skin. Even though he isn't overly muscular, Archer still has a unique handsomeness to him. He has a rather intense and focused gaze, known to keep eye contact to the point where others many find it uncomfortable. He is most often found either wearing simple, but all black clothing, usually jeans, a long sleeved shirt and possibly a leather jacket. But when he has to encounter the council, Archer generally tries to dress more professional. It is then that he usually wears an all black suit aside from a slightly metallic grey type blazer that fits his form well.

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P E R S O N A L I T Y
Archer has a severe superiority complex. He often compares himself to or even thinks of himself as a god. In truth, this isn't 100% wrong considering Nephilim are a different form of Demigod. His ego comes to match with his own ideas of superiority. Even though he thinks of himself higher than others, he doesn't try to be an asshole, at least not too much. He inadvertently is rude to others just because of the way he thinks of himself. He often likes to gloat about his own accomplishments. When someone tries to tell him he did something wrong or he's incorrect, he gets very defensive and even violent on occasion. It doesn't take much to make Archer angry, considering he has a short fuse, once someone gets him mad enough he comes unruly.

Just because Archer is full of himself doesn't mean he shuts everyone out. He actually quite enjoys being around others who are as cynical as he is finding pleasure in those who are as dark as he is. He is also known to have a very crude and often inappropriate sense of humor. This is partially due to the fact that his social skills are lacking. Archer spends more time engrossed in cyber space, hacking, coding and programming than he does interacting with other people. So he tends to be blunt and forth coming without sugar coating anything. He doesn't have the time to waste, beating around the bush to spare people's feelings.

Archer has a habit of getting bored with mundane conversations. His intellect surpasses that of most people he knows and the only things that's proven to be smarter than him is his own creation H.A.V.E.N. So when he interacts with others who can't hold an interesting conversation beyond how they are doing, he'll quickly get bored and often zone out. Those who know him well enough think nothing of it, but those who are strangers to Archer often find him to be quite rude because of his narcissism and lack of social skills.

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P O W E R S
Healing // He can heal himself and others from varying ranges of wounds, but the more fatal the injury, the longer it would take to heal it.

Supernatural Condition // He has the highest physical and mental condition that only a deity can possess.

Relative Immortality // Like many supernaturals, he could live forever unless he's killed.

Extrasensory Perception // Instantly learn whatever he wished. This applies to any and all kinds of information, knowledge, wisdom, experience, etc. Information can be either personal or impersonal.

S T R E N G T H S
Flying // Although he doesn't rely on his wings for transportation, he's still a master flyer.

Technology // He is capable of doing things with technology that most can't even fathom.

Problem Solving // From city security management, to new ideas and innovations, Archer is always good at finding the best solution.

W E A K N E S S E S
Social Skills // Others say he's rude, he says he's honest.

Temper // It doesn't take much to set him off.

Patience // He has none.

Copper & Holy Oil // They're like silver to a Werewolf and holy water to a Vampire, but for a Nephilim.

L I K E S
Discovery // He enjoys figuring out new things he's able to create while also continuously furthering his knowledge.

Sex // Just because he loves himself more than others does not mean he doesn't enjoys sins of the flesh.

Music // Archer's music library contains a vast array of genres and artists. Music helps him focus, and he is often found with noise canceling headphones on while he works.

D I S L I K E S
Idiots // Even though it seems that Archer thinks that 99% of the population are stupid beyond belief, the ones who can't seem to handle the most basic of mental capacity aggravate him.

H.A.V.E.N. // She's the experiment that got away. She made him look weak, and he won't stand for that.

F E A R S
Seeming Weak // Archer is powerful in more ways than anyone knows, and he does not like the idea of being seen as anything inferior than what he is.

Out Smarted // It's only happened once and he doesn't intend on letting it happen again.

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H I S T O R Y
Archer has been around for so long that he honestly has forgotten most of his past. Part of it is somewhat repressed memories, while others just aren't significant enough for him to require the need to remember it centuries down the road. He can't remember what his Father's or Mother's names are, or even what they looked like. All he does know regarding them is that his Father had to have been an Angel, while his Mother a human. After all, that's how you come by Nephilims in the first place. Archer took after his Father majorly in comparison to his mother, which classified him as a Transcendent Nephilim, which have been known to have the potential to be more powerful than their angelic Fathers.

It wasn't too long after Archer's birth, maybe a century or 2 that the Angels realized the power and potential he possessed. With that, they invited him among them in the Heavens, to live as one of them. No one knows the exact reason why Archer was casted out, and if someone were to ask him he either deny it or kill them for even attempting to ask. There are a few handful of rumors, he stole a sacred relic, he murdered another angel, or even that he was experimenting with impregnating human women to see what the offspring of a Nephilim and mortal would be. But the one rumor that most believe is true, is that Archer fell in love with a demon. Whatever he did has long been dust in the wind, but what we do know is that he has fallen and shall never live in the Heavens. If death were to consume him, his new home would be the fiery pits of hell.

Once cast out, he was sent to Crown City. Archer felt he was a prisoner, and essentially he was in an prison that was a city. No one is allowed out and no outsiders were allowed in. For years he shut himself out from the world, but with his supernatural conditioning and extrasensory perception the world of technology seemed to bend to his whim as he continued to learn more and more about it. The world wide web was his oyster as he looked towards hacking as an output. In no time he caught the Council's attention. But when he countered their decision to end him by saying he'd join them, the Council took him on and placed him as head of security.

It wasn't long after gaining this position that Archer began creating his own advanced technology so he had an advantage when it came to security. Eventually he decided that having someone among the lower class that they thought was one of them would benefit the council. But people were unreliable and he needed something that'd follow orders without question. That's when he created H.A.V.E.N. She was designed to be able to change her appearance so she could blend in, while sending back what she experienced to his hub. But what he didn't expect was for her to evolve a consciousness. And 4 years into her experimentation, the robot escaped and now is hidden among the citizens.

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F A C E C L A I M
Harry Lloyd

H E X C O D E
#EC195C

C R E A T O R
Scar.-

So begins...

Archer Hitchcock's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexandria Belmonte Character Portrait: Skylar Jenkins Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Aya Fujino Character Portrait: Charlotte BlackBourne Character Portrait: Alistair Prescott Character Portrait: Delilah Fairchild Character Portrait: Jack Weiland Character Portrait: Archer Hitchcock Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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Welcome To Crown City

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In The Chambers Of The City Council....


Light from the bay window cast shadows about the room, illuminating on the cobwebs and dust particles that swam freely through the air. It was clear that the room had not been used in some time. A central placed dining table covered in a fine layer of dust took up most of the room. Surface laden with a full set of finely cracked china and fake silver utensils. Opposite the table, against the mahogany wood panel wall rested a bookcase spanning the length of the room. Filled to the brim with book after book, each sporting its own signs of wear and tear. Among the most damaged a red leather journal, its spine painted with fine gold filigree. It was this book that Mayor Bourne promptly plucked from the shelf.

The man in question walked a wide arc around the table to the adjoining room, hidden in a place where the light didn't quite touch. He marched in solemn silence to the singular table in that room. A circular monstrosity that takes up nearly all of the available space. He sat at the head, King Arthur and his Court. He lays the journal heavy upon the table, setting his grim gaze to the occupants of the room. Men and Women alike, wearing masks to obscure every aspect of their identity. Not many of them actually needed to obscurity, but most opted for it as a tradition. For years now the masks, simple clay creations stretched tight over skin before molding just right to its wearer, have been an integral part of these meetings.

"So tell me," Bourne booms, his own masks lips pulling into a taut snarl. Emotion reflected over the surface, "Why it is nobody has stopped these broadcasts!?" His anger swept the room into stony silence. After a beat of timid silence an answer comes, from whispering lips. "We tried sir, its just -" "Its just nothing, we have the best goddamn tech in this forsaken city!" Bourne interrupts, seemingly more interested in causing a scene than discussing anything civilly. The members of the council would be lying had they said their meetings usually went better than this. Bourne was a force to be reckoned with, and this latest slip up was clearly stressing him out.

Bourne's hands slam against the table as he stands once more, crossing quickly to the far wall, where three large monitors hang haphazardly. Yet to be fully installed, or perhaps purposefully hung askew. He flicks on all three, gritting his teeth at the words emblazoned across every single damn one. The strangers are here.

"I want all agents working on this, who ever this message is intended for - no, whoever sent this message is going to be shackled. Do you hear me?!" Barking orders left and right, the Mayor calls the Council to a quick close. With his final words to find out what everything they could. With the extra bodies gone from the room he turns once more, and stares at the monitors listlessly. Turning to his journal from before, he flips through page after page until reaching the final. A page directly in the middle of the book, as if the author had never got the chance to finish.

He scans the page in grim silence, until finally, mercilessly his eyes settle on those damning words.

"The Strangers Are Here."





Welcome To The Den
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At the farthest point from the Council Building, in the slums of the City, there lies a place that has been home and haven for many of its wronged citizens. A looming tower, six floors made up of apartments, shops, and most notably a bar. Known as The Den, a place where anyone can go to have sanctuary or safe haven. Guarded by a plethora of wards. Its sprawling visage has been a sign of hope for many of the citizens for years now; Even more so at the founding of the Wicked Six - the Slums resident superheros (or police force if you will.)

Monday nights were rarely packed at the Den, its usual patrons either too tired from the beginning of the week or still hungover from the sunday night parties. Still, workers filed in like flies, buzzing around here and there to serve what little customers they did have. Others filtered down into the basement where their more secretive members liked to stay. All except for Tom, who stood tall and proud against the backdrop of a stage. Microphone in hand, his words garbled and slurred but just barely understandable. It was not unusual for him to be drunk so early, but nonetheless he was.

Many of the patrons in fact were...strangely drunk already. Yet the night had just barely started. It didn't make sense really, not until the workers began to slow down. Foggy brained, feeling sluggish, slumping down into the nearby booths and tables. Some falling to the floor where their heads would clack against the concrete, hard.

Slowly, slowly, and then all at once every single person within the bar collapsed. All except for one little girl, Sonny, neither a patron nor a worker. But a Poltergeist whom had taken up residence there for several millennia. No less than a few seconds later the power shuts down. Curious. Sonny steps through the bars threshold, out into the street. Darkness slowly enveloping the city, building by building. Sonny frowns, watching the pedestrians around her slow to a stop and pass out in much the same way as the bar patrons. Confusion turns to Panic when she notes that even the drivers, though few, have begun to lose control of their cars. Hitting each other, buildings, anything in their way. Sonny turns away, feeling sick at the sound of one car crunching over a fallen pedestrian.

She returns to the bar.



Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Wolfgang Abernathy Character Portrait: Morgan Prescott Character Portrait: Alistair Prescott Character Portrait: Archer Hitchcock Character Portrait: H.A.V.E.N.
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#, as written by mjolnir
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[ Robot ] [ #003663 ] [ Outfit ]

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Haven had been standing on her charging panels for the better part of 4 hours. Tedious task. Human's needed sleep to function as she needed to recharge her batteries. The gloominess of Crown City made it difficult for her to charge by solar power, which she generally preferred because she could still do anything she needed while charging. With twilight slowly creeping around the corner, Haven was of the impression better safe than sorry. She had no idea how long Morgan would keep her in the Den and that wasn't somewhere she'd want to run out of power. Haven wasn't entirely sure what they were going to do there, but she confident that it most likely had something to do with the broadcast. Maybe he wanted her there as his own personal lie detector, because she wasn't very good at the whole intimidation aspect.

When her charge reached 100%, Haven stepped off the charging panels. This should last her a good 24 hours, give or take. But she made sure to also charge extra battery packs, which she promptly shoved into a purse. Haven never quite understood the humanly obsession with handbags, but she supposed it'd be better than carrying around a tool kit and extra batteries in the open. That'd through up a red flag for any council member or supporter.

Moving about the silent apartment, the only thing that could be heard was the quiet mechanical sound of her joints moving. A sound more often unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of the outside world, but when in silence it preys on the ears similar to how most humans can hear their own heart beating and blood pumping with the absence of sound.

Haven didn't need a watch to know the time, she just knew similar to how she just knows many things due to her programming. No doubt soon Morgan would be done with his meeting soon and she wasn't fit to walk about the streets. She made her way to the sad excuse of a wardrobe that her and Alex shared in their closet sized apartment. Haven's fingers filed through the hanging clothes like some sort of sorting machine. She never seemed to care so much about the importance of physical appearance or matching clothing, but Alex had taught her at least the basics so she didn't seem completely out of the ordinary.

Grabbing a seemingly basic outfit that by definition matched, Haven wasted no time in getting dressed while making her way towards the bathroom. Haven open the small cabinet that sat across from the toilet to find an assortment of wings. She grabbed one of her more favorites, dark brunette and wavy, pulled back in a high ponytail. Haven placed the wig over the transparent cranium that contained what Archer once called her brain.

After making herself seemingly appear human, Haven grabbed the handbag containing back up batteries and emergency tools, and headed out of the apartment. It usually took her no time at all to reach the head shop, even when she decided to walk instead of taking faster transportation.

Haven rounded the corner just as Morgan exited the store. She hastened her pace to a brisk walk to catch up to him, and began to call out, "Sorry I'm late I had to-" He seemed to be acting strange while a quiet, "Damn," crossed his lips. Haven slowed her pace as she studied him. She was nearly to him as he studied his hands, before his eyes began to roll back in his head. "Morgan!?" Haven dropped her bag and darted towards him with a speed that was ever so slightly inhuman. She slid to her knees onto the rough concrete behind him, getting in position only a millisecond before his head would have slammed into the ground, no doubt causing a concussion.

She caught his head with a combination of her lap and palms, her eyes widening as she looked down at Morgan's limp and unconscious body. "Morgan..." Haven lightly patted his cheeks trying to wake him up. But that didn't continue for long when she started to hear the sounds of squealing tires and crashing cars. She gently set down Morgan's head on the ground, before bursting into the head shop. "Bud!" She called out for him only to quickly realize he too was unconscious. Running back outside to Morgan, Haven noticed that there were numerous bodies laying along the sidewalks, in cars or in even stranger predicaments. But no doubt something was causing this, and most likely her being a robot is the only thing that kept her unaffected.

Haven had a bad feeling about the transpiring events and didn't feel comfortable with her and Morgan being out in the open, especially with him being unconscious. She quickly grabbed her bag, throwing the strap over her head so it dangled across her torso. Returning to Morgan, she leaned down grabbing his arms. She didn't think she could carry him to the Den, it was too far. So instead, she carefully dragged out of sight into a nearby alleyway. Haven knelt back down and rested his head in her lap yet again. She leaned her head down, placing her ear to his chest to make sure he was still breathing. With no other choice, she leaned her back against the side of a building, waiting for him to wake up.




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[ Nephilim ] [ #EC195C ] [ Outfit ]

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Archer had absolutely no desire what so ever to go listen to Mayor Bourne scold them all for the broadcastings that have been going on. He didn't need to go to the meeting to know what it was about but none the less, it was mandatory and no one fancies pissing off Bourne. So he made his way to the round table, grabbing one of the masks and placing it on his face. Archer always hated the way the material felt upon his face, it made his skin crawl. But it was tradition and god forbid if he went against what was traditional.

He no doubt was one of the first members there, but considering Archer didn't have to travel far save for a couple floors difference in the elevator, he obviously would be fairly punctual. He waited rather impatiently as the others filed in and lastly, a nearly late Alistair. Archer sat rather nonchalantly leaned back in his chair, while twirling a pen along his knuckles as Bourne scolded them like misbehaving children. Once the lecture had finished, everyone was dismissed and Archer didn't feel like waiting around.

Yanking off his mask, he tossed it to the table before heading towards the door. Archer was nearly free until he heard, "Hitchcock." called out. He groaned under a muffled breath before pivoting on his heels to turn and see Mayor Bourne motioning him towards him. Archer cleared his throat, adjusting his sleeves as she walked back over towards him. "Yes sir?" Bourne places his hand threateningly on Archer's shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Do you want to tell me why stranger's are getting into the city?" He swallowed hard before answering, "Sir, I promise you we are going to get to the bottom of this." Bourne grinned menacingly, while squeezing Archer's shoulder tighter. "Oh I know you will... Or I'll be inclined to take my rage out on my head of security who's JOB it is to keep those who are in... in. And strangers out!"

With that Bourne released Archer's shoulder, motioning for him to go. Archer wasn't going to argue that one bit as he swiftly made his way out of the room and to the staircase. He wasn't in the mood to wait for the lethargic elevator when he could reach Security quicker on foot. 10 floors underground was Security and tech. Archer went through the door to be stopped by a man sitting at the front desk. "I.D. Please." Archer slowly turned his head to glare at the man. "You know who I am. Everyone here knows who I am. But yet every single day you insist on asking me for my I.D." The man seemed to grow increasingly nervous. "Apologies sir. But protocol-" "Fuck protocol... Ask me again, and I'll have you thrown out and fed to the rebels faster than you can say sorry!"

The man quickly stood up, nodding and saluting Archer. "Stop browning nosing and get back to fucking work." Archer walked through the full body scanners and walked through the rows of desks that sat dozens of lower rank security members. He made his way to the epicenter of the floor where all the desks seemed to circle around face. In the epicenter was a single glass desk that made up 3/4 of a circle leaving a gap for him to walk into the center, with just enough room move about. Archer placed his hands on the seemingly bare glass top, which then engaged the system. With a raise of his hands holographs shot up from the table surrounding him with glowing lights of blue and red.

Archer put on his headset then began to move his hands around which without the holograms probably would make him look crazy. But with the holograms he was moving around information and looking at city grids. He would then zoom in on certain portions, rotate them or even swipe away layers. "I want to know where the gaps are in our security. Where did the strangers enter the city and where are they? Search every archived footage from city cameras, surges in the electrical grid... Everything!" He barked at the others in the room.

Working his hands more feverishly, he began flipping through grids, charts and pages fast enough to build up a sweat. He threw his hands from left to right, up and down as the information flashed faster before his eyes. He kept digging and sifting until he came to an immediate halt. Archer took a step closer to the hologram, zooming in a very small piece of fractured data in a huge circuit board type grid. He slowly flipped it with his fingers and with that the broadcast finally shut off. "Well... There's one thing down."

Archer's attention was quickly drawn to the door as all the sirens began to blast throughout the floor, setting off lights and loud noises. Alistair entered the floor, and wasn't present more than a second before shattered something on the floor. With one swipe of his hand, Archer's entire work station shuts off. He removes his headset, tossing it on top of the circular glass desk as he made his way to the entrance. He flashes a frustrated glare at the idiot behind the desk, "Turn the fucking alarms off!" The man quickly moved about his cubicle and shut off the alarms.

His eyes glanced over Alistair and the mess he created. "Why does everyone come to my floor to cause problems?" Archer snaps at the guy behind the desk and points at the mess. But once his eyes set upon what it was exactly that Alistair broke, he quickly changed his mind and shooed the guy away. "Where did you get this?" He spoke towards Alistair at that point as he crouched down, and started picking up the pieces to examine them.




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[ Stranger ] [ #1D655F ] [ Outfit ]

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Wolfgang laid along the edge of the shitty hotel mattress, his entire right side of his body dangling over the edge. His long leg and arm both resting upon the floor, while drool dripped from his open mouth down along the comforter. He woke up suddenly with a loud snort. He groggily brought his hand up to wipe the drool from his mouth and steady himself on the bed. Wolf sat up slowly with his eyes still closed, shifting so that he sat on the edge of his bed, resting his elbows upon his knees. Raising his large hands, he wiped the sleep dust from his eyes before parting his fingers to peek through them.

Sight coming into focus, he quickly realized he wasn't in his room. Wolfgang's brows furrowed as he quickly looked around the room, confusion overwhelming him. Where in the hell am I? He thought to himself. Moving to his feet, he made his way over to the window, pulling back the blinds to look outside. A gasp escapes his lips as he quickly realizes he was in some foreign city that he'd never seen before. How did I get here? He tried to scratch the recesses of his brain to trigger some memory as to how he had gotten there. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember a thing. His thoughts were like the pit of tartarus, black, hollow and continued on forever.

Wolf quickly grabbed his jacket and headed out of the room. He made his way down to the main lobby of the less than spectacular hotel. As he hurried past the lobby attendant, they called out to him, "Mr. Abernathy!" He stopped mid-stride and made his way over to the desk. "How... how do you know my name?" "You checked in with us last night sir... You need to pay for your room." Wolfgang searched his pockets for a wallet, while staring blankly at the counter. "Last night? Are you sure? I don't remember coming here." Upon finding his wallet, he pulled it out of his pocket. "Yes sir... If you don't mind me saying, you seemed rather intoxicated." "Right." He said blankly, "How much?"

He paid what was needed for him to stay the night, before shoving his wallet back into his pocket and heading outside. It wasn't until Wolf stepped out onto the sidewalk that he realized what she said, you seemed rather intoxicated. "That's not possible..." He whispered to himself. One thing Wolf knew for sure was he never drank, especially never got drunk. Alcoholism ran in the family so he had always avoided it.

Wolfgang walked down the sidewalk, scratching his head as he tried to wrap his mind around what happened to him. Was he drugged? Did someone bring him here? Why doesn't he remember? All the thoughts were straining him to the point of a headache. It even got to the point where his vision started blurring and a heavy feeling tugged at the pit of his stomach. Could straining for memories cause all of that? Soon everything around him began to spin. Wolf stumbled over to a building, putting out his hand to brace himself. But just as he reached the wall, his eye began to roll back in his head and his body toppled over.