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Character Name: The Reaper Alternate Identities: 'Painter' Murdoch, Gen 5 Metahuman Player Name: NPC |
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| APPEARANCE | |||||
| Hair Color: | Brown | ||||
| Eye Color: | Brown | ||||
| Height: | 6' 0" | ||||
| Weight: | 198 lbs | ||||
| Description: | |||||
| Murdock is a good looking guy with dark hair and eyes who appears to be in his mid-20s but is actually nearing 40. He is suntanned and weather-beaten dressed in paint spattered jeans and teeshirts, usually with paint in his hair. He rarely cracks a smile but has little trouble picking up female companionship, always a one or two night stand. He does not make committments as he refuses to put any woman in danger because of his activities. | |||||
| BACKGROUND | |||||
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He was just a house painter with his 1958 Chevy fleet side pickup parked a few feet from where he had erected the portable scaffolding he had to use to reach the peak of the barn shaped building. There was about an hour’s worth of daylight remaining and the hot Chicago day was at last giving up some of its heat to a wind that had shifted to blow off Lake Michigan. Painting doesn’t require a great deal of concentration so when a pair of new Caddys rolled up to the front of the restaurant across the street. The painter, looking over the end of the roof line, made note of it and admired the cars. Four men, dressed in suits, erupted from each of the two cars like Champagne corks and without even closing the cars’ doors, headed for the building’s front entrance. Curiously, the two drivers remained with the cars then both did something that made the painter’s blood run cold. Both men pulled pistols from inside their jackets and aimed at the restaurant’s door. Gunfire erupted from inside the building and the two men tensed. The door flew open and two women, one older, in her forties, the other in her twenties, bolted from the building. The two men calmly shot them. Two rounds each, square in the chest. Neither woman made a sound as they crumpled to the ground. Horrified the painter dropped his brush and started to call out but realized how stupid that would be. Instead he sank down until only the top of his head was exposed and watched. The six men that had entered the build rushed out and there was a slamming of doors, the shriek of tires on asphalt and the two cars shot off down the road. The painter watched them until they were out of site. “Mother of God,” he whispered then slid down the ladder of his scaffolding to the ground. Hitting it at a run, he crossed the weed covered lot between the two buildings and dropped to his knees next to the women. “Oh, shit, oh, fuck!” He muttered as he tried to find a pulse in the elder. Finding none, he tried the other woman, nothing. Inside the building was a slaughter house. Later he found out fifteen had died in there, including six children and a pregnant women. He did all the right things, called the cops, the ambulance service, waited for everything to arrive, followed by hours of interrogations by the police then hours more with a sketch artist in an attempt to get some kind of description of at least one of the eight. The police looked for the killers, they said, but in Chicago that wasn’t necessarily true, especially when the crime had all the earmarks of a mob hit. Exhausted, another day of spreading paint on a house in the middle of a mid-Western heat wave, the painter only detoured to the refrigerator before collapsing in the beat up old recliner. With the church key lying on the side table he pierced the can of Hamm’s beer and took a long swig. Idly with his left hand he began to roll a fifty cent piece across the backs of his knuckle, that day’s Chicago Tribune on his lap. Inwardly he gave a sigh of relief at the headline ‘Nine Arrested in Restaurant Killings!’. It was over. It wasn’t. For three weeks he sat in the courtroom available to be called as a witness, ready to do his civic duty and tell what he’d seen, then his sister disappeared and the phone call came. “You didn’t see no faces,” the voice said followed by a woman’s scream of pain. That was all it took and without his being able to identify even one of the defendant’s the state’s case collapsed. All nine were acquitted. His sister’s raped and beaten body was found the next day at the dump. |
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| POWERS/TACTICS | |||||
| The Reaper will locate his target/targets and move to range that allows him to reach his target in a single phase. He will then drop into the Speed zone (phase 1): Moves to the target location (Phase 2): Move to killing range (no more than half movement), make his attack (Phase 3) (these attacks are always targeting the neck and so -8 OCV but with the target as 0 DCV and with his native 8 OCV +3 levels giving him an OCV of 11 the targeting modifier makes his to hit chance 14-): He then moves to the second target or repeats his attack if there is only one target (phase 4): Repeat up to twice more (phases 5 and 6): move out of the area 20" (phase 7): enter non-combat movement (phase 8): Drop out, his next phase ... at least 200" from attack site. | |||||
| PERSONALITY/MOTIVATION | |||||
| Motivation? Revenge. | |||||
| CAMPAIGN USE | |||||
| Reaper has been active in the Chicago area since the 1990's and is something of a folk legend. | |||||
| DESIGN NOTES | |||||
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Born in Jan 1972: Killings were in 1993, he was 21. Discovered the Speed Zone shortly after the murder of his sister in 1995. Took up the mantle of the Reaper in 1996.
Created: Fri, 28 Feb 2020 15:39:22
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