Post by Souleh on Jan 20, 2007 20:11:38 GMT -5
(Nngh. I'm hoping this is all right. I just got back to it today, after about, oh, six months. There's probably a sharp change of mood in the history portion.
I apologize for its length, by the way.)
Common Name: Malik (“Master, King”)
Birth Name: Garrick Heidrich (“Powerful With the Spear”)
Age: 21
Sex: Male
Experimentation: Injections of white Bengal tiger DNA (Panthera tigris tigris) and encouragement of choice attributes with suppression of others.
Physical Description: Malik is on the short side of average, more like stocky than anything. The feline genetics in him have granted him at least a shred of that stereotypical grace, evident in the hints of litheness in his limbs. His body is almost entirely covered in fur—white and striped with black in a pattern characteristic of his species but entirely unique. The fur has replaced his human hair; just as the pale blue cat eyes replaced his original browns. His only other variations from a typical human build are his tail and hands and feet that slightly resemble paws, equipped with a dangerous set of claws to match the tiger’s set of teeth.
History: Garrick Heidrich was born to a troubled home, a controlling, practically sociopathic mother and a father he can barely remember. His earliest memory is that of the ‘suicide’ of his father, which was most definitely caused by his mother—whether she was the one to push him from the hotel balcony or the one whose constant abuse simply drove him there has never been determined, but he has his suspicions. His mother raised him on her own, comfortably with the money from his father’s death, occasionally accompanied by the boyfriend or husband of the hour. She was a ruthless woman who wasn’t afraid to do what she had to in order to get what she thought she deserved, who considered herself above the laws and moral codes of her fellow human beings, and who imparted all of her ‘wisdom’ onto her son.
She sent him to a private school, where he immediately made himself stand out—as a discipline problem. The teachers had a difficult, almost impossible, time controlling him and he quickly became the class bully. His mother praised him for it, smiled when teachers explained the troubling patterns in his behavior—the constant locating and pouncing on the weakest of any group, the charisma with which he convinced others to fall in with him, the dangerous and violent temper that had sent more than one child to the nurse.
It slowly continued to get worse, while his mother slowly smoothed his rough edges, calmed his temper and taught him how to cover it with cool disdain. By nine, he was a terror, a small, male version of his mother.
His mother, however, had her shining plans for her son ruined when her slightly frivolous spending threatened their luxurious lifestyle. It was either the ruin of what she had become used to, what she had worked her entire life for, what she believed whole-heartedly was what she was entitled to, or her son. Through various shady contacts, she came into touch with a laboratory—sold her son without a second thought.
Garrick was hurt by the betrayal, naturally, and it was an odd, new experience for him. He did not suffer; he created suffering. He shoved the hurt down and calmly, carefully shaped it for his benefit, molding it into something he easily understood, hate. He took the painful alterations of his appearance stoically, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, in a moment of weakness. It was almost easy for him to accept what he was becoming—with it came power, predatorial instincts that he would have killed for, advantages he adored. He very quickly put them to use on anyone and anything that he could get his claws on
It was in this way that he wound up blacklisted, compared to other experiments created for similar purposes, placed on the backburner. There were other, more obedient, less volatile, safer alternatives to the very dangerous creature that had been created. They sent him to Generic Genetics Warehousing, to wait until he calmed, or their necessity drove them to damaging him possibly irreparably.
GGW was not so much a punishment as a playground for him, where the poor organization presented an open season-esque situation. It was in this way that he was drawn to a black cat calling himself Raynor—he testingly pushed the boundaries with him, and was fascinated by the cool resilience he met, his demeanor nearly unfazed, almost amused. He convinced the panther to fall in with him, and together they created more pain and chaos than he had on his own before, together they changed their names, together they shrugged off their old lives. It was a game to him to cultivate Obscuran’s viciousness, encourage the sadism that the great black cat had been hiding. He was always careful to assert his dominance, but was happy to let his confidence grow.
All this time, he had been sliding further into his own cruelty and obsession with power, violence becoming less and less satisfying. Troublesome teenage hormones were beginning to flood his brain as relentlessly as his tolerance for the mental and physical torture that had given him a high for so long. There was only one frontier left, and his temperament was perfect for it—his first victim was taken when he was just thirteen, the rush was well worth it.
The time passed monotonously, conquests after conquest in his cell, crime after crime out of it that fanned the ever-burning rage in his stomach. The guards took notice of he and Obscuran, after various smaller experiments in their shared prison were found dead, savagely brutalized. GGW had a thing for hiring the most ruthless security personnel in the business, perhaps because their profits relied more on the infrequency of escape than other establishments, and they took a quiet notice in the tiger and its panther friend. Malik was happy to take advantage, and soon the guards were suggesting his cell for various inmates—universally small and labeled troublesome by their parent labs. The great cats were more than happy to help crush any hope out of the unruly things.
Xiomar Messerli made a violent entrance into the cat’s life a little over a year after Malik’s first claim had been staked, the blood he cut from anything that got too close in those first moments of arrival immediately raised the tiger’s eyebrows. Before him was a beast, a creature that fell easily under the old ‘all brawn and no brains’ cliché. Obscuran agreed, the hyena could be put to use. And so they launched their attack in a language that the savage thing could understand; the night was filled with the growls and snarls of all three and, eventually, tired and out-numbered, the yelps of Xiomar’s defeat. Malik and Obscuran established themselves as superior in a way they had come to understand, forced him to join them in their relinquishing of all things of their past lives. Xiomar’s named changed as well, although he was slightly more reluctant, simply shortened it to Xio. What he had not known immediately upon seeing his newest recruit was that Xio’s classification as ‘unstable’ was no exaggeration; where he had been able to teach himself and Obscuran control, even poise in their brutal existence, the hyena could only be controlled by the occasional reminder that he obeyed orders.
Malik had formed a most formidable trio. He was the charisma and power, Obscuran was the knowledge and his own brand of charisma, Xio was the muscle. They were, however, never a true trio—always a foursome, a fourth pitiful creature serving as entertainment.
When he was sixteen, Malik had reached his prime of sorts. There was very little he or either of his lackeys wouldn’t sink to if they thought it might be entertaining. They had all three slipped into madness, and a restless itching had begun to creep into the rare bored moments he had. It was also when he was sixteen that Adrian Caldik had the misfortune of arriving at GGW labeled as troublesome (among other things) and the greater misfortune of arriving just after they had killed their last victim. A perfect match, and the trio pounced without hesitation, happy to have their entertainment returned.
But the restless itch was not satisfied with a new plaything, no matter how amusing the mockingbird’s ceaseless torment was. The itch wasn’t satisfied with bored moments, it crept into his sleep, or the calmer moments of his existence. The hate in him was growing as well, and Malik had become a time bomb, waiting to shake things up on a big scale.
His opportunity came when a rookie guard came into service of their section—their cell was well known for being well behaved, due to the military state that was enforced by the three most dangerous of its inhabitants. He was well known for being…‘cooperative’ with the lab. Needless to say, said guard lost his life to a false sense of security. And their cell was left with an open door and a set of keys.
He was going to shake things up on a big scale, and for once do something that could almost be considered ‘good.’ Every cell on the block was unlocked. He and his lackeys proceeded to create as much mayhem as they could on their way out, destroying any lab property they could get their hands on, killing any lab workers in their way.
Of course, they had no plans for the outside, and were quickly assaulted by reality. Malik loathed the lack of power—he had only Obscuran and Xio to lord himself over, was living as a fugitive in the dark places of the world. It was no surprise, then, that when GGW had reestablished itself and approached him and his fellows about a very generous position, he jumped on it.
He has worked as a sort of mercenary ever since, hunting down escaped experiments in return for a relatively comfortable life for an escapee. GGW, having severely reduced its escape rate, rents him out for other labs to use. It’s a good deal for Malik. In all but a few special cases, the labs don’t care how they get their experiment back, so long as it’s still alive. Some don’t even care about that. He enjoys it most thoroughly.
I apologize for its length, by the way.)
Common Name: Malik (“Master, King”)
Birth Name: Garrick Heidrich (“Powerful With the Spear”)
Age: 21
Sex: Male
Experimentation: Injections of white Bengal tiger DNA (Panthera tigris tigris) and encouragement of choice attributes with suppression of others.
Physical Description: Malik is on the short side of average, more like stocky than anything. The feline genetics in him have granted him at least a shred of that stereotypical grace, evident in the hints of litheness in his limbs. His body is almost entirely covered in fur—white and striped with black in a pattern characteristic of his species but entirely unique. The fur has replaced his human hair; just as the pale blue cat eyes replaced his original browns. His only other variations from a typical human build are his tail and hands and feet that slightly resemble paws, equipped with a dangerous set of claws to match the tiger’s set of teeth.
History: Garrick Heidrich was born to a troubled home, a controlling, practically sociopathic mother and a father he can barely remember. His earliest memory is that of the ‘suicide’ of his father, which was most definitely caused by his mother—whether she was the one to push him from the hotel balcony or the one whose constant abuse simply drove him there has never been determined, but he has his suspicions. His mother raised him on her own, comfortably with the money from his father’s death, occasionally accompanied by the boyfriend or husband of the hour. She was a ruthless woman who wasn’t afraid to do what she had to in order to get what she thought she deserved, who considered herself above the laws and moral codes of her fellow human beings, and who imparted all of her ‘wisdom’ onto her son.
She sent him to a private school, where he immediately made himself stand out—as a discipline problem. The teachers had a difficult, almost impossible, time controlling him and he quickly became the class bully. His mother praised him for it, smiled when teachers explained the troubling patterns in his behavior—the constant locating and pouncing on the weakest of any group, the charisma with which he convinced others to fall in with him, the dangerous and violent temper that had sent more than one child to the nurse.
It slowly continued to get worse, while his mother slowly smoothed his rough edges, calmed his temper and taught him how to cover it with cool disdain. By nine, he was a terror, a small, male version of his mother.
His mother, however, had her shining plans for her son ruined when her slightly frivolous spending threatened their luxurious lifestyle. It was either the ruin of what she had become used to, what she had worked her entire life for, what she believed whole-heartedly was what she was entitled to, or her son. Through various shady contacts, she came into touch with a laboratory—sold her son without a second thought.
Garrick was hurt by the betrayal, naturally, and it was an odd, new experience for him. He did not suffer; he created suffering. He shoved the hurt down and calmly, carefully shaped it for his benefit, molding it into something he easily understood, hate. He took the painful alterations of his appearance stoically, refusing to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him in pain, in a moment of weakness. It was almost easy for him to accept what he was becoming—with it came power, predatorial instincts that he would have killed for, advantages he adored. He very quickly put them to use on anyone and anything that he could get his claws on
It was in this way that he wound up blacklisted, compared to other experiments created for similar purposes, placed on the backburner. There were other, more obedient, less volatile, safer alternatives to the very dangerous creature that had been created. They sent him to Generic Genetics Warehousing, to wait until he calmed, or their necessity drove them to damaging him possibly irreparably.
GGW was not so much a punishment as a playground for him, where the poor organization presented an open season-esque situation. It was in this way that he was drawn to a black cat calling himself Raynor—he testingly pushed the boundaries with him, and was fascinated by the cool resilience he met, his demeanor nearly unfazed, almost amused. He convinced the panther to fall in with him, and together they created more pain and chaos than he had on his own before, together they changed their names, together they shrugged off their old lives. It was a game to him to cultivate Obscuran’s viciousness, encourage the sadism that the great black cat had been hiding. He was always careful to assert his dominance, but was happy to let his confidence grow.
All this time, he had been sliding further into his own cruelty and obsession with power, violence becoming less and less satisfying. Troublesome teenage hormones were beginning to flood his brain as relentlessly as his tolerance for the mental and physical torture that had given him a high for so long. There was only one frontier left, and his temperament was perfect for it—his first victim was taken when he was just thirteen, the rush was well worth it.
The time passed monotonously, conquests after conquest in his cell, crime after crime out of it that fanned the ever-burning rage in his stomach. The guards took notice of he and Obscuran, after various smaller experiments in their shared prison were found dead, savagely brutalized. GGW had a thing for hiring the most ruthless security personnel in the business, perhaps because their profits relied more on the infrequency of escape than other establishments, and they took a quiet notice in the tiger and its panther friend. Malik was happy to take advantage, and soon the guards were suggesting his cell for various inmates—universally small and labeled troublesome by their parent labs. The great cats were more than happy to help crush any hope out of the unruly things.
Xiomar Messerli made a violent entrance into the cat’s life a little over a year after Malik’s first claim had been staked, the blood he cut from anything that got too close in those first moments of arrival immediately raised the tiger’s eyebrows. Before him was a beast, a creature that fell easily under the old ‘all brawn and no brains’ cliché. Obscuran agreed, the hyena could be put to use. And so they launched their attack in a language that the savage thing could understand; the night was filled with the growls and snarls of all three and, eventually, tired and out-numbered, the yelps of Xiomar’s defeat. Malik and Obscuran established themselves as superior in a way they had come to understand, forced him to join them in their relinquishing of all things of their past lives. Xiomar’s named changed as well, although he was slightly more reluctant, simply shortened it to Xio. What he had not known immediately upon seeing his newest recruit was that Xio’s classification as ‘unstable’ was no exaggeration; where he had been able to teach himself and Obscuran control, even poise in their brutal existence, the hyena could only be controlled by the occasional reminder that he obeyed orders.
Malik had formed a most formidable trio. He was the charisma and power, Obscuran was the knowledge and his own brand of charisma, Xio was the muscle. They were, however, never a true trio—always a foursome, a fourth pitiful creature serving as entertainment.
When he was sixteen, Malik had reached his prime of sorts. There was very little he or either of his lackeys wouldn’t sink to if they thought it might be entertaining. They had all three slipped into madness, and a restless itching had begun to creep into the rare bored moments he had. It was also when he was sixteen that Adrian Caldik had the misfortune of arriving at GGW labeled as troublesome (among other things) and the greater misfortune of arriving just after they had killed their last victim. A perfect match, and the trio pounced without hesitation, happy to have their entertainment returned.
But the restless itch was not satisfied with a new plaything, no matter how amusing the mockingbird’s ceaseless torment was. The itch wasn’t satisfied with bored moments, it crept into his sleep, or the calmer moments of his existence. The hate in him was growing as well, and Malik had become a time bomb, waiting to shake things up on a big scale.
His opportunity came when a rookie guard came into service of their section—their cell was well known for being well behaved, due to the military state that was enforced by the three most dangerous of its inhabitants. He was well known for being…‘cooperative’ with the lab. Needless to say, said guard lost his life to a false sense of security. And their cell was left with an open door and a set of keys.
He was going to shake things up on a big scale, and for once do something that could almost be considered ‘good.’ Every cell on the block was unlocked. He and his lackeys proceeded to create as much mayhem as they could on their way out, destroying any lab property they could get their hands on, killing any lab workers in their way.
Of course, they had no plans for the outside, and were quickly assaulted by reality. Malik loathed the lack of power—he had only Obscuran and Xio to lord himself over, was living as a fugitive in the dark places of the world. It was no surprise, then, that when GGW had reestablished itself and approached him and his fellows about a very generous position, he jumped on it.
He has worked as a sort of mercenary ever since, hunting down escaped experiments in return for a relatively comfortable life for an escapee. GGW, having severely reduced its escape rate, rents him out for other labs to use. It’s a good deal for Malik. In all but a few special cases, the labs don’t care how they get their experiment back, so long as it’s still alive. Some don’t even care about that. He enjoys it most thoroughly.