Main Event Winner!

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 11 Wins!

Brutal - 2 Fatalities

AFFILIATION

Alignment: Hero

Team: Solo Hero

VITAL STATS

Strength: Weak

Agility: Weak

Mind: Weak

Body: Weak

RECORD

Personal Wins: 11

Personal Losses: 2

red

[Alternate Khazan: Mindsplatter] I don't think even I could play it out right, whispering and wailing on the saxaphone, commemorating the dead. It would be just a key lower than a love lost song, or a maybe a tribute to the recently deceased. But I can't hit it right cause it'll still come out all jazzy with a bit of the old sombre and gin. Don't you come to me none to hear it all. Better place with a better man. And when you don't find that, you go to Jim Strange. They call him The Sane Man. Uncertifiable. Nailed into the wall with a rivotting gun, just outside the gate to the Throne District, awaits the dangling man, telling the whole story for just an old shoe and a toothbrush. He don't use them, but lets them pile up before his wasted body. He's jealous for anyone to be touching his pile he got there, so they keep a guard at his feet. They like him there, like people going to him. The Immortal Raven brings him bread every two days. With his sickly smile and a hint of morbid fondness, he'll tell you the whole tale. Usually starts with a pun or one liner, something about the weather or the smell of turbine. He crazy like that. Then goes on to say, word for word same each time around, "Uberman is dead. Jack Spanky is dead. Whiplash Smile is Fallen. Phil is dead. Pajama Pockets is Fallen. Captain Coma might be Fallen, but no one can tell. He is captured and on display. Seryph Gibbons is captured. Nurse Helia is Fallen. Rivenn is Fallen. Stella Aurorae is dead. Chakos is dead. Xerathis is Fallen. Aliester Michaels is Fallen. Zoot Suit Riot is Fallen. Mr. Hero is missing. Bunny is Fallen. Felicity is dead. Trevor Bouvier is Fallen. Most of the free world is Fallen. They all fell with Mindsplatter when Queitus jacked into their brains with his Quinten Circle, just before he died. Got a group of them psychics together, joined up, and became something of a hive mind. These psychics started infecting the people with the Mindsplatter. The Honorable Festering Ire went around a 'preaching, telling them all of the second baptism. Called it a baptism of the Night. Then the heroes started Falling, suddenly switching sides, killing their famlies and friends off one by one. Zalrafel made them his foot soldiers, everyone of them. They went Fallen, and that was just the start. Zalrafel now sits on the throne of what used to be called Uptown, back in the day. Now it's the Throne District. Marc Dollar transcended, now there is a little alter on every corner, where a man can pray, bleed, and pay to get close to his new god. When thunder and lighting crack through the sky, its his face you see sneering down at the people, and his hands at the horizons. Devyn Soyokaze razed the science sector, turned it into one gigantic power plant fueled on souls. That there's the Furnace, and it's the only thing keeping the place warm now that the sun went out. Even I don't know where its gone. Soyokaze gets his men together and they search the streets for the unFallen, and nab them. A single man will light the streets of eight city blocks for an hour, they say. An average Sentinal can do the same for five. That's why they try for bigger game. Course, there are few left anyhow, and all in hiding. The Sentinals and the Syndicate all joined the Reavers. Elyssa Smile leads the remaining few, now," somehow Jim Strange always knew the up to date, "and their numbers dwindle with continuous sacrifice and Mindsplatter. They hide in Lowtown Crash, where the Fallen Tower landed and plunged the land deep into the Undergrounds. Its all rubble. Layer upon layer of rubble and caves with patches of untouched development. The former Pajama Pockets went Fallen, and they unleashed her full potential to make her became NeoNightmare Nightgown, and she now roams Lowtown Crash, feeding hand and foot, teeth a blazing on whosoever she finds. She's the new Fallen General, and leads the army as they search and fight the remaining few. You all stay away from there, no patriot or self respecting bum would be found in the hero hideout camp they have there, hidden somewhere among the rocks and rubble." Then Jimmy laughs a whole eighteen seconds on the nose, then lists off the names of four or five new ones that went Fallen, and then gravely receits the names of the recent dead from Lowtown Crash, "Walden, Toc Darkone, Fastest Pussy Cat, The Up Town Prankster, Orb, Captain Infinity..." And he keeps on talking, all in that monotone he drawls on when listing names, like all the dead are lined up right before him, saluting him off as they depart. Some folks like coming to him, hearing how the world is going. Some don't say nothing and just mind their own. The Highlight Strip, formerly the Industrial, is where we all spend our scant time now, five miles long of casinos, clubs, additctions, bars, dives, hopes, sins, slums, and shrines to the almighty Marc Dollar. Card carrying Fallen get their third drink free, if you can manage to charge them at all. There is a little know-nothing club a quarter of a mile in from the Throne District call Nightshifters. Open twenty-four seven now that the sun don't shine. Its in the basement of a breedery, but no one minds the smell no more, now that its everywhere. There you can still get seltzer waterr in your drink, if you want it. Still got peanuts, got pretzels, got napkins. The Fallen heroes like it much, though, so not a lot of regular folk hang around. I play there, the Rock Sugar Baby. Just a man and his sax, and the slow waltz of the blues, drifting from cord to cord and trying to find one right for me. The imps and dollarcorp soldiers don't bother me none, busy from raiding souls, and wanting another draught on tap to forget they didn't get the world they signed up for. NeoNightmare Nightgown comes in a lot too, busy from devouring her one time friends. Lord of Nothings comes in a lot with his converts, all with a dollar sign tattooed on their foreheads. That's why I play it true. Its alright. Its all good. Don't mind me nothing, baby, I'm just the ambiance. I don't want nothing good or bad, I just want to drift on in the air, letting loose my slow soulful sax as the world around just won't end. I'll be here all night play the blues wishing just once I could get a full hour shut eye. I ain't nothing for sleep and it ain't nothing for me, not for none of us now. We all got something we didn't pay for. Some come for the music, some for the atmosphere, and some just come to remember. I got my soul, which says a lot. I got it deep and strong, bellowing out into the thick, sultry of Highlight Strip. Slow sweet sugar nector, baby, drifting on the night air.

I got my Girl and she got me. We don't even knows each other's names. Never asked. Never did tell. She comes in every few days wearing black denim, spikes, blades and a few sentinel badges with the bottom half dipped in blood to show how many she killed. Later, she'll trade them in for meal tickets, and maybe we even get some goat cheese and bread. We drink. She passes out against my shoulder, then wakes up a few hours later. She grips me tight for a minute, then shoves off heavily for another eighty plus hours in the field. We never said nothing to each other, except maybe that one lie. "Hush, baby. Hush. One of these days its gonna be alright."

Mindsplatter

     Mental Defense: Ultimate

• Reinforced Defenses

If Mindsplatter's got ya, that's all she wrote. You ain't different, but you sure ain't the same, is what they all say. When NeoNightmare Nightgown comes in, she takes a full bottle of whisky from behind the counter, sits back, and stares at it without flinching, nor turning her head, nor nothing. She pulls from it twice a night. Its gone. Five hours later she heads for the door. She gots her dream powers, her creativity, and her dreams. And now her cruelty, appetite, and visions. Sometimes I sing real low as my band plays on. Lord of Nothings comes in, with a man on his sides. Both of them got shaved heads, somethings plucked out their eyes. He buys a nothing cigar and smokes it, too. He gives it a taste--bites it whole--like maybe next time it be you. Whiplash Smile got a leather whip, made from hides of the syndicate. She enters the room, with rank perfume, but can't roll two words off her lip. That the mindsplatter. You don't want none of that, and it happens to the best of them, so you stay low, know nothing, and focus all your mental talents on shielding yourself. There's a psychic in the Temple District that will teach you for only seven hundred quid and the heart of the recently dead. He shows you real good, too. Even if you shield yourself all fine, they got Aura Girl tied up on a pole midway down the Highlight Strip with metal wires and tubing coming out of her head, mixing in with Avalon Towers Security Computers from Dollarcorp, so it reads out the spectrum on you and tells if you've been naughty or nice. You best be naughty or they'll be after you.

The Soulful Mournful True

     Illusion Creation: Ultimate

• Auto-Hit Attack
• Area Affect

We are called Rock Sugar Baby and The Soulful Mournful True. We ain't good but we ain't bad, they say. You good and you have to play for Zalrafel, and nobody wants to pay that price cause you don't go on living even if you're great cause then you gotta play for Marc Dollar, too. So they send you to another plane of existence. You bad? That's the end of that--to the Furnace with you! Soyokaze can't handle a song he can't dance to. We just good enough to play our set on loop the night in and the night out. Mostly we play by gut, pursuing a real tune we just don't find, improving with our impoverish ears and minds. We don't get much business at Nightshifters, but the business we get is real mean and insistent we keep up our noise. Lots of the Fallen heroes come around. They get to think they ain't so Fallen anymore for a couple hours or so. Even that Fallen penguin throws a tip on stage after a set. A while back my pianist died of exhaustion and malnutrition, but someone in the audience brought him back as the undead, so we just kept playing. Course, his tune hasn't been quite in step for some time, but they don't mind. Fits better with the rest of us.

Rock Sugar Baby on Sax

     Psychic Vampire: Ultimate

• Ranged Attack Only
• Auto-Hit Attack
• Area Affect
• Target Seeker
• Ranged and Melee Attack

If you alive and part of the free peoples, its cause you got talent, luck, or some odd value to keep you that way. I guess I got all three. My music is a little bit of the give and take. The Fallen heroes, they don't mind giving up a little bit of their soul each time I play. Maybe that part can't be damned later for whats they doing. My Girl, she a sweet heart, and one day she'll fade. She be lost in the cool free jazz, my nector on the night. My Girl, one day she fade into the rhythm, and one day she'll be free. I keep from taking her, cause I'm her man and she has me. I keep from taking her she keeps me level with the ground. I sooth in on the low, low, low; on the count of three we're gonna go, go, go. We try and take our break, be with my Girl for my own sake; those dead in the chairs say "No, no, no. Bring us the smooth, bring it down low. Keep us dancing toe to toe. Bring it sharp, and ever you bring it slow, slow, slow."

Who you gotta be

     Iron Will: Ultimate

Sure, I get out of the club some days. Surviving on gin and taste of soul don't bring you far. Once you out of the club, it's any man's game. You got presence, you got esteem. It don't matter if your wearing dollarcorp, no matter when sometimes Soyokaze's butchers will grab you for the Furnace. People get robbed, beaten, killed, or possessed right there on the street. Nobody doing nothing about it, except maybe joining in. I gotta get out, though, and hit the streets. Seryph Gibbons is our only street light on the Highlight Strip, trapped in flux three thousand feet up and glowing with all the electricity serging through him--glowing bright enough not to look straight on and screaming loud enough, too. I go to see my man Jim Strange, give him an old boot and my old, bristly toothbrush so he can get a chance to tell his tale. Sit down at the foot of his pile, light a cig. Nobody will touch you while you listen to Jim Strange. There are some things still holy, and guessing that's a one. I hear it maybe a hundred times a year. But its who I gotta be to be staying sane. There ain't no more wards for those that break down. Maybe they'll take you to the Area of Champions Colussium, wherein you gotta fight Forte or Clara Ands to stay alive (the one is chained up and the other just won't leave). Course, you fighting for your life, so maybe you don't win? You just too crazy even for that, they give you a gun, and try and get you to shoot the right direction. Fine if you don't. Maybe they set you after Mr. Graves, and his ragtag band. Rumor has it, they got the Minsplatter and it just don't matter, they still won't bow down. Not me, and The Soulful Mournful True, cause I'm very Rock Sugar Baby of them all. I'm not cool enough to say I don't care, but not nihilistic enough to pretend I do.

Kevlar, Denim, Sax

     Body Armor: Standard

• Reinforced Defenses

Threads my Girl left me. That's how I know she all and care. She squeezes so tight against me, I hardly know she's there. Somewhere behind that denim, there scars no one can see. I think I know her well enough just to let it be. I once thought to ask her, why don't she want it back? But when I turned towards her, her face stopped me in the track. I don't know if she'll be living. That don't bring no tear. Cause at least if she is a dying, it'll get her out of here. Lord, have mercy.