Character Name: Slater Monroe
Alternate Identities: Psiblade
Player Name: Harle
|Hair Color:||Light Brown|
|Slater is movie star handsome with sandy brown hair and gray eyes. He dresses extremely well and if there were a picture of him beside the definition of ‘prep’ in a dictionary, no one on his team would be surprised. As he has matured his body has reached a physical level beyond that of any Olympic athlete and though he is extremely strong in relation to other men, it does not manifest as bulky muscle but rather well-toned fitness. Truth be told, Slater is a perfect male specimen in all respects and only Nat’s sheer size draws the female eye quicker than Slater.|
Rich kids around the world tend to have a superiority complex thinking that money makes them better than those without. By virtue of that money, the privileged have opportunities others do not. Access to better school, better clothing and even better food produces superior education and superior physical condition. Still, it does not make for a better person.
Sometime a set of circumstances arise that alter or temper that belief in superiority. It can be personal tragedy, the loss of a loved one or friend. It can be the loss of wealth and social status through financial mismanagement or as a result fraud. Or it can be by a lucky choice.
Slater Monroe was 10, already handsome with sandy brown hair and gray eyes, the scion of the Monroe family of Boston Massachusetts when he witnessed his tragedy. No one died or was even seriously injured but his friend, also 10, was very thoroughly pummeled by three older boys and when Slater tried to interfere, he was rendered unconscious with a single elbow to the temple. He didn’t even get in a punch.
His father, a senior partner at a prominent Boston law firm chastised him for attempting to involve himself in a matter ‘concerning poor people’. He was told that was the job of the police. The boy tried to explain that there had been no police in the area and that the victim was his friend. To his father none of that mattered.
“If they wish to brawl in the gutter, let them,” his father said. “It is no concern of yours.”
It was a small thing, a chance comment by a parent but to the ten year-old still innocent enough to be unaware of the power of money, it was just wrong.
“Why do you want to take up the martial arts?” the elder Monroe asked his 11 year-old son. “Why not football or baseball?”
“I do not care for team sports, father,” the boy replied. “Nor does tennis or golf interest me.”
“I suppose you need some method of keeping fit, very well.”
“The martial arts is NOT about beating people up, it is about defending yourself,” the instructor said on the first day of class. “It is not about fighting but about control. If you expect you advance you must understand that discipline as more important than power or strength. If you cannot or will not embrace this side of martial arts, you have no place in this class.”
Discipline saved Slater Monroe from killing.
The fall should have killed him. It would have killed him, in fact, if he had been anyone else. His father had planned to spend a month at the lodge they owned in Vermont but an ‘important’ case had come up and he had insisted that his wife and son go on without him. Thirteen year-old Slater was anxious to get out of the city having discovered the previous year the excitement of mountain bikes. His mother, also ready to relax away from her near constant social obligations readily agreed and by afternoon they had arrived and unpacked.
Before dawn the next morning, Slater had eaten, packed a lunch and set out on his new bike. Shadow hid the chasm until he shot out off the edge. It was just slightly too wide to jump at his speed and as he saw the stone of the opposite bank loom up over the front tire of his bike he had just enough time to suck in a breath of shock before he struck. The bikes rim collapsed, forcing the forks back and down causing the cycle to pivot forward, throwing the boy head first into the wall. His helmet prevented instant death by protecting his skull but the shock transferred to his spine. He heard the pop of bone and felt the instantaneous burst of pain before the world went black.
The ravine was not terribly deep, only a little over three meters, but the floor was lined with rock and as the tangle of boy and bike hit, physics did its job. It could have been worse but the boy was limp and so his body just absorbed the fall with slack muscles. Both legs had minor fractures, six ribs were cracked, his right arm separated at the shoulder and jagged slivers of rock pierced his crest in three places. Unless he was found very quickly and transported to a major trauma hospital, he would die.
It took him just over a minute to wake up and another minute to realize he was staring at a beetle trying to dig its way into the soft dirt where rock met soil. He remembered the wall rushing up to meet his bike. He remembered the crack of something in his neck. He remembered the pain but curiously felt none. For several more minutes he lay still, mentally taking stock of his body … his legs felt cramped. He could feel the tubing of the bicycle frame pressed against the small of his back and hear the song of birds above. Slowly he freed his arms from beneath his body and, getting his hands into position on the rocks, levered himself up enough to look back over his body.
The bike was a tangle of piping imprisoning his legs. By kicking and wiggling he managed to shove the mess clear and roll over onto his back. That was when he understood just how far he’d fallen. Balancing gingerly he pushed to his feet and looked down at himself.
Blood nearly obliterated the original color of his Polo shirt and three holes large enough for three fingers showed the flesh beneath. Poking fingers through a hole just below is right pectoral he felt the skin expecting a blood gash at the least. He found nothing, just smooth, unmarked flesh. It was the same with the other rips in the fabric. The shirt was torn but not the skin beneath.
It took him nearly a half hour to find a way out of the ravine then, hanging the remains of his bike on one shoulder, he headed home. Only after he’d stripped and settled into the whirlpool tub did he began to think about what had happened. Something was definitely strange.
Disciple saved a life and prevented a boy from becoming a killer two years later. By that time, Slater had plucked up enough courage to try a couple of simple experiments, the first involving an X-acto knife and a finger, to prove to himself that for some reason he healed almost instantly. He knew by that time he should have died in the ravine or at the very least been a quadriplegic for the rest of his life. It was also this knowledge that placed him in a situation ripe for killing someone.
As with all boys of a certain age, Slater had begun to notice girls and, being of handsome stock not to mention having loaded parents, girls had begun to notice him. In his freshman year of high school a girl had caught his eye. She was dark haired with brown eyes, slightly short, but with curves that promised great things in the near future. Not being shy in the least, he asked her out only to discover she was already dating another guy. A senior. A football player. She politely turned him down and promptly forgot about the offer. Neither knew the exchange had been overheard.
Three days later, he was crossing the school’s football stadium when he heard a muffled scream. His father’s ‘it is no concern of yours’ flashed across his mind and he promptly ignored it. Breaking into a trot he headed for the ‘visitors’ side of the field and the portable bleachers there. As he rounded the end of the structure a huddle of figures came into view and voices became clear.
“You wanna fuck him?” one male voice screamed.
A girl’s voice, wrecked with sobs said “He just asked for a date! I turned him down!”
Slater knew the voice. He broke into a run. Tucking a shoulder he hit the senior in the small of the back and knocked him to the dirt. The four with him had formed a ring around the girl as she lay, clothes ripped, breasts exposed. Slater pushed off the older boy and dropped into his martial arts stance.
“Leave her alone!” he screamed.
The one on the ground rolled to his back and came to his feet as if nothing had happened. Slater’s attention on the one left him open and the others mobbed him.
“Just asked for a date, huh,” the football player sneered. “Hold him!”
The first blow was to the stomach and Slater doubled over, retching. Pulled upright be the two now holding him the second blow took him on the chin and snapped his head back. Strangely neither bothered him intellectually. It was the other two pulling the half naked girl to her feet and holding her that started the burn. His attacker turned to her and backhanded her across the face splitting her lip and cracking several teeth. That distinctive cracking was the trigger.
He felt the pulse explode out from his body like a grenade. Everyone, including the girl grabbed their heads. For her, it was all that was needed and she swooned. Her two supporters failed to keep their hold as did the pair gripping him. She fell to the ground. Not understanding and really not caring Slater stepped in close to the football player and double up his fist. As he cocked it for his first real punch in anger, a blue white aura formed and extended into a foot long spike of energy. A split second before it touched the older boy, he realized it was death and pulled it back.
The punch connected but no one died and in the next few moments, the years of training kicked in. Moving like some kung fu star from a Hong Kong movie, Slater became a whirlwind. No hesitation, no mercy, three punches or kicks each and all were down. When the police arrived Slater was cradling the girl in his arms, bare-chested, his shirt draped around her body.
Miller showed up three days later.
|Slater’s powers are mind-based and still being explored. With Nat’s imagination and prodding he has begun to discover new abilities beyond that thing he calls his ‘psi blade’ and it greatly relieved that he has other options to killing outright. Nat pointed out to him one drawback, however, when, during a training session that involved more than a little chaos in the surrounding area, Slater had trouble concentrating and delivering his full power. Nat hopes that with practice, this limitation will be overcome.|
|Despite being raised in an old money Boston house hold, Slater is surprisingly down to earth. He does not have his parents’ snobbish attitude toward the help nor does he share his father’s belief that others should be left to their own fate. Though he dresses extremely well and comes off as both a prep and jock, he is neither but rather open and friendly. When offered a position with the new government program in San Diego, he jumped at it, see it as an opportunity to really help the world, unlike his high powered corporate lawyer father who only worked for the highest bidder. His initial encounter with Alicia Cross was something more stunning than discovering he was a metahuman, and in that instant something and someone became more important to him than anything. He feels for the first time in his life like he belongs to something other than a country club. To him his teammates are real people, not just a faceless crowd and as he comes to know them they have become his true family.|
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