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Character Name: Eel Alternate Identities: Adam Newell Jr., Gen 2 Metahuman Player Name: NPC |
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| APPEARANCE | |||||
| Hair Color: | Grey | ||||
| Eye Color: | Brown | ||||
| Height: | 5' 7" | ||||
| Weight: | 143 lbs | ||||
| Description: | |||||
| Skinny white male in his late 70s and with every second of his hard life worn into the wrinkles of his face. He dresses in plaid shirts and bib overalls, usually wears a railroad cap and a bandana around his neck. Shoes are heavy-duty scarred leather with a well-worn sole. Smokes heavily. | |||||
| BACKGROUND | |||||
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The late summer sun of California's Central Valley blistered the thin layer of paint, shot through by rust, which coated the top of the railway boxcar. Inside the temperature had rocketed passed 100 degrees hours ago. Though the danger of a bull coming over the top of the rocking line of freight cars was increased markedly by the open doors to either side, the flow of fast moving air was the only thing that kept the three people inside from dying of heat stroke. The trio was a family and it was 1947. A boy of fifteen slumped against the wall on the aft side of one door, the rush of only marginally cooler air allowing him to doze. He was small for his age, by modern standards, but for the time he would have been considered nearly average. All he wore was an oversized pair of bib overalls and a tattered dark blue bandana tied around his head. When he bothered to open his eyes they were a washed out grey and devoid of any interest in the passing scenery. He'd been born in Oklahoma he was told but remembered nothing of it having migrated with his parents west to the promise of California as a baby. His father had first found work as a farm laborer in the Imperial Valley but soon moved on as the crops that covered the vast valley went through their seasonal cycle. At first they walked, then, taught by a hobo called Ernie, they learned to ride the rails. Never in one place more than a few weeks, the boy had no concept of 'home' and could imagine no other life than the perpetual roaming. Friends were people you knew at the next job and might not see again for months. Family was three people, that was it. His mother, a thin boney woman with weathered arms and hands looked ten years older than her 33 and wore a mask of indifference to any hardship they faced. She was clad in a gay flower print dress that his father had stolen from a clothes line only a few weeks ago. Without comment, she had accepted it, replacing her previous frock of nearly a year. Like her son, she was bare foot and instead of the bandana, she wore a battered wide brimmed straw hat she'd been given at the last farm. Stretched out on flat on the floor was his father. Originally a farmer in his own right he'd be reduced to the life of a nomad like so many across the country when the rain stopped and the dust bowl was the only thing that grew. He had a railroad cap pulled down over his eyes and wore Levis and a blue work shirt. One hand on his belly, he chewed a sliver of wood hoping to squeeze from it the last vestiges of moisture. His mother pushed herself up and stood to lean out the door and look ahead, hoping there might be a station and they would be able to slip away before the railroad's thugs spotted them. As she turned to move across to the opposite side of the car a huge figure in overalls and thick boots swung in from the roof of the car. His feet met the boy's mother square in the chest and lifted her from her feet. Without a sound she disappeared out the opposite door. In one fluid move the bull grabbed the boy by the bib of his overalls and hurled him after his mother. A hand shot out and gripped a rail that ran up the side of the car. The arm elongated unnaturally but was joined by a second hand. A body slammed into the boxcar's side and the boy found a toe hold. He stretched around the end of the car and found a safe platform just as the train started across a trestle over a bend in a river. Moving like a huge rubber band, the boy climbed out on the side of the car and eeled his way to the open door. Peeking around the opening he saw the bull had his father by the throat and as preparing to bash in his brains with a hammer. A fifteen year old boy was no match for a full grown man but physics didn't really care about size differences when things were just right. Contracting his body like a coiled spring, the boy's feet whipped around and through the door catching the man at the backs of the knees. It was enough to do two things. First it caused the hammer to miss his father's head, mostly, resulting only in a huge knot and unconsciousness. Second, it over-balanced the larger man and toppled him head long out the door. At forty miles per hour, his head hit the edge of a tie, crushing it like a tomato. The body flipped twice and landed with a small splash in the river fifteen feet below. The boy was horrified for about a second then the train's brakes locked and he was thrown forward against the boxcar's wall. Shooting sparks with screeching steel wheels the train ground to a halt straddling the length of the bridge. Pulling himself to his feet the boy went to his father and tugged on his hand trying to get him to his feet. The only reason the boy could image that the train would stop was that someone had seen the bull fall off into the river. They had to get out. Heart thudding, the boy tried to rouse his father but it was like dragging a sack of sand. Pausing, he peeked out the door and saw a man walking down the tracks toward the car. The guy spotted him and shouted then broke into a run. The boy retreated and stared for a moment at his unconscious father before ducking to the opposite door. Here, too, was a man coming down the tracks but from the caboose. He didn't see the boy as he slipped out of the car, his body elongating until he looked like a large snake. Sliding out of the overalls that no longer fit he dropped into the river catching his clothes with a toe just before hitting the water. Once out of sight he allowed his body to return to its natural shape and struggled to pull on the overalls without drowning. Overhead he could hear the murmur of conversation but could make out nothing. Someone slid the boxcar's doors closed and he heard the latch being set. There would be no returning to the train and his father was gone. After the rumble of the caboose passed overhead the boy swam back the way they'd come, hoping to find his mother, hoping she'd survived the fall. It was over an hour before he found her body, the head twisted at an unnatural angle. He didn't shed any tears, his life had inured him to minor things like grief but he did scrape out a hollow in the rich earth of the Central Valley and laid her to rest. The bright lights and noise of the carnival attracted the boy. He had never seen its like before. Standing just outside the ticket booth he stared at the spinning swirling cacophony that made up the traveling circus. Awe-struck he wandered the midway, his mouth watering at the smell of cotton candy, popcorn and hotdogs. When he reached the geek show, he stopped and stared for a long time at the 'Rubber Man'. Long spindly arms looped around the man's body, legs bent and bowed, astonishing onlookers but the boy just shook his head. Something in his intense look caught the man's attention and as other strolled by the man began to play to the boy, attempting all manner of amazing contortions. The boy watched, his face placid, with only mild interest. When, out of boredom, the boy stretched the bottom of his foot without bending over, the Rubber Man nearly fell out of the chair. Ten minutes later the boy sat in a caravan with a hotdog, Coke and a cone of cotton candy. The next day he was the 'Snake Boy'. He leaned against the side of the caravan watching the girl on the trapeze. She wasn't wearing the garish makeup she wore for a show and he thought she was even more beautiful. Since her family had joined the circus in the spring, the boy had been watching her, infatuated. At first she'd thought it was cute that this boy was so obviously taken by her but when she slipped into the geek show to watch him elongate his body into impossible shapes, she been repulsed. For the next few months she tried to ignore him but every time she looked up, there he was, watching. It had gotten so bad that she imagined him lurking beneath her caravan, looking for a way to slip inside to watch her, then she'd had the nightmare and awoke with a scream. She swore to her father and brother a snake had slid into bed with her and she thought it had been the boy. Callused hands caught the boy as he ducked out the back of the geek tent, one going around his mouth to silence any call for help. Two men picked him up and carried him out into the orange grove until the lights of the now silent circus were but a glow on the underside of the lowering clouds. Without a word the two began to beat the boy, pounding on him with closed fist propelled by arms strengthened by years of trapeze work. They left him battered and bleeding under a tree and by the time he regained consciousness the circus was gone. Clothes torn, lips swollen, eyes nearly puffed closed, the boy staggered down the street unsure of where he was going or why he was even bothering. A figure loomed up and he was caught between two powerful hands. At first he tried to pull away, fearing it was the trapeze artists back to finish the job then the man spoke. "Boy, you look like you've had a rough night," the man said. "You look like you could use a cup of coffee and something to eat. How about a couple of donuts?" They packed him into a bus with sixty other men and drove him to Fort Ord where for the first time in his life he found three square meals a day and a warm bed every night. The cost? Two years of his life and service in some place called Korea. Arriving in Pusan in time to take part in Operation Chromite, the boy learned quickly that he did not like the idea of bullets whizzing about his ear and just how to use his powers to avoid any contact with the enemy. Subj: Pvt. Adam Newell, US Army, now classified as a deserter On or about December 3, 1952, Private Newell disappeared from the 7th Infantry bivouac in the vicinity of Hill 751, Hwach'on, Korea. At the time elements of the Peoples Volunteer Army of China were conducting a probe in force against US Army units. Pvt. Newell was mistakenly listed as missing but further investigation by Army Military Police located reliable witnesses to Pvt. Newell's abandonment of his post and subsequent theft of a US Army jeep, 47-019283. Said vehicle was discovered three miles outside of Seoul on December 6, 1952. The boy disappeared into the slums of Seoul into the hobo-like society of the war-torn city. He remained in hiding for the better part of two decades, using his 'talents' to slip unnoticed into first Army bases then, increasingly into the homes of Korean government officials and the wealthy. During that time he established a rapport with the local people that would in later years prove useful thousands of miles away in Los Angeles' Korea Town. |
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| POWERS/TACTICS | |||||
| PERSONALITY/MOTIVATION | |||||
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Adam's the lazy one, the guy who just wants to be left alone. While he has done some terrible things, including killing, he is not so much evil as someone that believes in removing obstacles. He doesn't really care about anything, well, maybe, except his daughter. With the hard life he's led not much in the world surprises him or upsets him. As long as he can pick up enough cash to keep himself comfortable, that's all he looks for. Even though he has plenty of money, and even though his daughter is always trying to get him to move into a nice house, Adam is most comfortable in flophouses or fleabag hotels. He eats in greasy spoons, wears Salvation Army hand-me-downs and will still hop a train once in a while just to keep his skills sharp. |
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| CAMPAIGN USE | |||||
| Adam is actually an unusual 2nd Generation Metahuman that is somewhat more than his contemperaries and while not up to the levels of the later generation, his powers are still remarkable. | |||||
| DESIGN NOTES | |||||
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Created: Sat, 27 Jul 2019 15:41:34
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