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Breaker (PL 10) - Quinn (Bronze)


Quinn

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Player’s Name: Quinn

Character’s Name: Breaker

Power Level: 10 (150/151 PP)

Trade-Offs: -0 Attack / +0 Damage, -0 Defense / +0 Toughness

Unspent PP: 1

Progress towards Gold: 01/60 (Silver Status earned with Crow)

 

In Brief: Ex-Liverpudlian Small-Time Crook Turned Ex-DNAscent “Volunteer†Turned Ex-Superpowered Gangster Turned Project Freedom Hero.

 

Alternate Identities: Frank Flynn, Subject 24.

Identity: Markus Flynt

Birthplace: Liverpool, England.

Occupation: Project Freedom Volunteer

Affiliations: Liverpool Underworld (past), Freedom City Underworld (some contacts), Iron Hands/Knights In Shiny Leather Gang (current), Project Freedom (current)

Family: None living.

 

Age: 35

Gender: Male

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Height: 7’0â€

Weight: 325 lbs.

Eyes: Blue

Hair: Neon Green

 

Description: A wiseacre in the Iron Hands once described Markus as a ‘walking wall of hair and leather’, which, while earning a pretty fair amount of ribbing, isn’t entirely inaccurate. Standing a solid seven feet tall (seven feet twelve inches including his neon green mohawk), Markus Flynt is a big man in pretty much every sense of the word. Broad shoulders, a bodybuilder’s frame, arms lined with whipcord muscles, stout legs, with the whole kit and caboodle usually stuffed into heavy biker leathers (though nowadays they tend to be less studded and somewhat cleaner – also, the emblem of a heavy steel helm with a knight’s crest has been plastered across the back of the jacket; with the words ‘Knights In Shiny Leather’ stitched below it). His face looks pretty standard for the life he’s lead; chiseled jaw, kinda squashed nose, sloping forehead, and blue eyes that are often (sorta incongruously) given to smiling (and usually these days covered by a domino mask).

 

History: If you asked Breaker about his history, he’d make no bones about it – he was a bad man. He thought he’d be a bad man from cradle to grave, truth be told; born in one of the worst parts of Liverpool’s dockside to a dad who spent most of his days drinking or hauling contraband for cash, and a mom who up and vanished as soon as she realized just how much of a deadbeat Mr. Flynt was. Truthfully, Markus doesn’t hold it against them or anything like that; it was just the way things were in that area of town. And you had to be tough to survive.

 

Make no mistake, Markus Flynt was tough. His dad was no slouch in the broad frame department, and the son inherited that with interest – by the time he was fourteen he’d been running with a gang of young troublemakers, knocking over mailboxes and shaking down everyone not them for lunch money; and by the time he hit eighteen he was running the gang, knocking over convenience stores, and shaking down store owners for protection money. To be fair, he worked damn hard with his gang to make sure nobody got seriously hurt, but the rule of the day was always look out for number one. S’what his dad did, his mom did – and it worked out fine for him, even when he got rousted by the law now and again. He never did enough for them to hold him long.

 

Eventually, he got picked up by one of the larger outfits in the area as a legbreaker and collections agent – more often than not his burly frame and meaty hands causing them to cough it up before he even had to bust out a lead pipe or brass knuckles. He quickly got a rep in the underground for that, too – guy knew just how to squeeze the last bit of cash out of the deadbeats, how to hunch his shoulders just right to scare the living daylights outta people; and when an offshoot of the Circus Maximus came to town, trying for an international rep? Those hulking muscles of his (exercised every day, said his prayers, and ate his vitamins, our boy did) got him not to the top spot, but a respectable place in the semi-finals; before this chica who could turn her fist into a sandy sledgehammer knocked him ass-over-teakettle. He tried asking her out after that; he suspects the chutzpah was what kept her from putting him through a wall. And he also suspects making it to the semi-finals was what got the attention of people who like to play with syringes.

 

Markus was walking home from the pub one fine January evening – it was bitter cold, he remembers that vividly – when he got blindsided by a pack of thugs jumping out of a nearby van. Hunching up his collar let them blindside him, or so he says; two of them he took out with heavy haymakers, before everything went shocky and fuzzy – the jerks hit him with a taser.

 

When he woke up, he was...somewhere else. Truth be told, it’s still all one big blur. He remembers a surgeon’s table, strapped down, strange men with masks and syringes hanging over him. Chemical tanks, floating in one, pins and needles all over him, before more pain than he’d ever felt before or again. Voices talking, fancy science words he still doesn’t understand or comprehend. Doors growing too small for him, tanks too small, everything too small. Running obstacle courses in a haze, tunnel vision forced on him by...something. Drugs? Pharmaceuticals? He still doesn’t know – but it made him pliable. Lifting things he could never have lifted before. Throwing things distances he could never have managed before. Jumping, climbing, ploughing through walls and buildings. One memorable time, being jabbed with something that just made him so...so angry – so furious, so full of rage he tore a tank to metal shreds as it desperately tried to evade his berserker fury.

 

That, coincidentally, was the day he escaped.

 

The makers of the drug had done their job too well – they’d thought his enhanced physiology required more of the substance, but would burn it off relatively quickly; and they overdosed. So when the guards and their shock batons came in to subdue him, he bowled through them like so many pins – knocking them aside, into walls, across great distances. He tore through that laboratory like a whirlwind, only remembering small snatches afterwards of the chaos, the tumult, the noise – he just wanted it all to stop and the angry to go away.

 

He doesn’t talk about the escape much, these days.

 

Ultimately, he broke out – kicking a huge metal door open and fleeing into the wilderness; rapidly losing his way. They tried to surround him with helicopters and such, but one mighty LEAP (he didn’t even know he could do that!) took him higher than he’d ever imagined. As he saw the sun, breaking through the clouds, the rage was already ebbing...and when he tumbled and plummeted back to ground wheeling his arms and yelling like crazy all the way down, impacting and making a small crater in the middle of nowhere, it was pretty much gone. Replaced with a wicked headache.

 

The rest after that is a bit of a blur; mostly from the concussion and wounds – he remembers hotwiring a pickup truck he’d found somewhere, driving just in random directions hoping to shake off...something...he doesn’t remember. It might’ve been a whole day, it might’ve been a week; either way, he didn’t stop until the truck ran out of gas on the edge of Freedom City limits (it was bright and shiny in the distance, so naturally he drove towards it).

 

After that, his arrival was fairly stereotypical of those arriving to the City Of Heroes. He ducked into a hostel and took stock of himself; arriving in the superpowered capital of the world, muscles on muscles on muscles, with nothing to his name and no idea how he was going to get home, in an orange jumpsuit, and likely pursued by nasty fellows in black suits with syringes. And like hell he was going to let them take him again.

 

Yeah. He needed help. He needed help, he needed manpower, he needed a power base, and he needed money and clothes. Probably not necessarily in that order; but if they came to grab him again, whoever they were, they’d be really damn surprised. And hey, there were a lot of bosses here in Freedom City who’d like some superpowered help, right? Couldn’t be that different from the Liverpool underworld.

 

Oh, how wrong he was.

 

From there, his rise through the Freedom City underworld was fairly well established – at least by the FCPD. Started with brawling at a few fight clubs, establishing his credentials as muscle. He worked for a lot of the small-time villains; The Magician, Scrounge, even had a brief stint working for Trawler II (he was awfully helpful carrying the big things out of the water – though after Siren put him through a whirlpool to keep him busy while she was tangling with Trawler, and he came out with eyes spinning and a headache fit to burst, he didn’t do that again!). FCPD files noted, however, that he didn’t stick with any of them. He just kept bouncing from villain to villain. They assumed it was just a case of money-by-job, rather than dedication. And, in part, that was the circumstance. But...

 

Truthfully, Markus was slightly discontented. Back in the day, he’d run his crew in Liverpool fairly clean – sure, they ran the protection rackets, shook down folks, and generally made themselves nuisances; but they didn’t hurt bystanders or seriously hurt people. These ‘supervillains’ (though privately he wasn’t sure half the people he worked for qualified for ‘super’) weren’t quite so picky. And if he ever voiced discontent, it would usually end up with him legging it after a lot of “YOU DARE?!†speeches

 

And worse – he’d never get to actually fight the heroes. Granted, that wasn’t a really nice thing to think, but he had superpowers now! He wanted to fight something that would really stretch himself!

 

Anyway - to put it bluntly, working for real villains sucked. Still, it was a means to an end; even if it was leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Ultimately, he got the money and the rep to assemble his own crew; a gimmicky band of thugs called the Iron Hand Gang. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure why he went with that, but it seemed cool. He was a heavy metal fan (hence the mohawk), and cool metal gauntlets really let his mooks stand out. Plus, now he was getting heroes of his own to fight – and that was just awesomeness on toast.

 

In short, he thought he was on his way. At least until the Southside Incident.

 

It was the first fight against the rookie Crimson Tiger that it started to hit him that maybe something was just...off. Moreso when he started seeing, really seeing, from the authority figure; the villain level, just what was happening in Freedom City. Before, he’d just been the chief thug – now he was actually seeing the plans and villainy going on, rather than being the last to find out. He’d been there on the ground when the Metaceptors came in, and there on the ground when the Gorgon showed up, and there on the ground when...well, a whole lot of things happening. And he was just a small-time brawler, whose main goals were keeping from being kidnapped, and fighting heroes because they were a damn good scrap.

 

He started wondering whether, well...he really had it in him to be a villain. If he even wanted to be one. If, in looking for good fights and making himself real comfortable and authoritative, he was distracting people better than him from fighting people worse than him. He started feeling...

 

Guilty.

 

Which is a hell of a thing, he’ll tell you. It started real small, at least – just looking at other villains and trying to avoid what they were doing. Then it grew...bigger. Starting to look at heroes, and maybe avoiding causing trouble where they were working. They had more important people to fight, after all. Then looking at both, and maybe now and again sending a bit of info to a hero who wanted to take down someone really bad. He had a lot of contacts in the underworld, after all; folks owing him favors, or just liked him better than jerkass bad guys who preferred intimidation over chatting over beer.

 

Ultimately, it lead to him just starting to not do anything – which his gang really didn’t like, but hey; at least they weren’t getting beat up by good guys.

 

It came to a crescendo, finally, when he was witness to the chaos of the Hot Zone incident. Where powers ran rampant, and rather than take advantage, he started helping to contain it; keeping his people who were running wild under control, and keeping his few neighbourhoods in the Fens and Southside clean. He couldn’t attack or loot or whatever when this much of the city was at risk; not after everything he’d already considered.

 

The same month, he told his gang they were done. He explained his thinking. Told them where he’d came from. Why he was what he was, and why things had changed. Some of them understood. Others just left. But they all agreed – after the Metaceptors, the Gorgon, and the Hot Zone, they just couldn’t keep going. And hell, he’d helped them all out at one time or another, right? Backed them up, unlike a lot of other villains – and he was sure as heck a lot nicer. They told him if he wanted to change, they’d go with him.

 

He didn’t cry. But he may have hiccupped; just a bit. In the end - they robbed a bank. And got caught. (Insert link here.)

 

What’s happened since then has been fairly well-documented; at least by those interested. Breaker, AKA Markus Flynt, was a model prisoner at Blackstone. Stayed in his cell, exercised, the works. Spent a good two years before applying for parole – and got given a chance at Project Freedom. The recommendation from a couple of very particular heroes went some distance to that. At the time, he wasn’t sure about if he’d take it, but now...

 

Still, the nullifier cuffs kind of suck.

 

Personality & Motivation: In personality, Markus/Breaker is just like his frame – big. He eats big, talks big, laughs big, lives big – and honestly, given his past, can you blame him? Villain or hero, he likes throwing himself into the action whenever he can; whether it’s being the life of a party, telling ribald dockside jokes and boastful stories, or diving headfirst to headbutt a villain’s giant robot (though doing that tends to squash his carefully coiffed hair) before ripping off a metal arm and beating it into scrap metal with it.

 

Oddly enough, despite his past, Markus also tends to be a fairly...well, good isn’t entirely accurate, but more a nice guy – even when he ran with the Iron Hands or the dockside legbreakers he had a tendency to back up his friends, avoid hurting anyone who didn’t have it coming, or cause a bigger ruckus than the cops could handle (nobody liked it when they had to break out SWAT teams or fire hoses, after all). Admittedly, he’s had his rough patches, but a few good whacks to the head and running into better people have pulled him back into what he used to be like; before All The Badness happened. Time will tell if it’ll stick, or if he’ll fall back into old habits. If asked, he’ll say he’s hoping for the former.

 

Power Descriptions: Breaker’s powers are all genetic; supercharged bone and muscle that lets him hit like a sledgehammer with a rocket engine strapped to the end. As of yet, he hasn’t manifested any really visible mutations or side effects from the Program, but it’s only been a few years...

 

Powers & Tactics: Befitting his name, Breaker's powers and combat style are straightforward and uncomplicated. Step one; find the biggest, meanest, toughest, ugliest wanker currently occupying prime Freedom City real estate (read, the pavement under it's feet) during a kerfuffle, and ask it if it wants to go grab a beer and talk this whole thing out. If it does, right on - go grab a drink, talk shop, and persuade the big lug it'd be better to serve some time, get out on good behavior, and change it's ways.

 

In the quite likely event this does not happen, however...

 

Even with nullifier cuffs on, Breaker's raw brute strength is considerable - mighty punches that can crack concrete or dent cars are rendered with due diligence onto the obvious foe, with a surprising swiftness and deftness bespeaking Markus's considerable years of street fighting and back alley brawling. This usually continues until it gives up or stops moving, whichever comes first; whereupon he promptly uncorks that gale force bellow onto whatever minions said big jerkface might have nearby. Usually seeing their boss beat down street-style does wonders for persuading mooks to turn themselves in; worked well enough with his old crew. Epic lectures also help a lot - he enjoys giving those.

 

Complications:

 

99 Problems - There's an old saying, the road to heck is paved with good intentions (it should be a different word, but the guy is trying to clean up his act). Fact is, while Breaker is trying to go straight...there are a lot of issues a guy can run into, especially when you used to be a career thug. Not to say he doesn't mean well - he does! It's just that sometimes the wrong thing seems like the right thing, or it gets kinda easy to fall back into an old habit when it comes to intimidation over diplomacy, or maybe he mighta skipped over a chapter or two of the Project Freedom Rulebook, or he accidentally finds something he really shouldn't...being a superhero is hard.

 

Secrets From The Underground - Beware of people with syringes, for they are inevitably up to no good. Breaker knows this very well, having become intimately acquainted with a no-name group who enjoyed poking him with strange substances and mysterious rays and such odd sciencey procedures that he knows very little about. That isn't to say he doesn't enjoy the result of said processes, but there's a distinct problem constantly lingering in the back of his head - who were those guys? Why did they want him? The fact remains that whoever they were, they're still out there; and given how successful they were...they likely want their property back - and are willing to go to a lot of lengths to get it. This normally doesn't bother him, but sometimes...it does scare the green out of his hair. Smart guy could capitalize on that distraction.

 

Thunderstruck - Breaker isn't sure if it's the AEGIS quartermaster or some kind of biofeedback problem (whatever those words mean) with his powers, but ever since he turned himself in and joined Project Freedom, he has always had a problem with those ruddy power nullifier cuffs they keep putting on him whenever he goes out in public. Not to say he's complained, mind - price of doing business - but sometimes when he's pushing himself on the job, things can go...awry. Like the time he was having to lift up a whole chinese noodle stand, and the cuffs magnetized - leaving him walking around with a noodle shop on his right arm all day. Or the time a fearsome foe struck at his arm, tapping the cuff, and he was left wondering why he suddenly felt several thousand pounds heavier and weak as a kitten. And then there's the emergency anti-escape shock systems...

 

We Are The Road Crew - Fact is, Breaker doesn't have a lot of friends. Neither does Markus Flynt. Oh sure, they got a lot of associates - maybe even close acquaintances. But he's never really had a true 'friend' - or people he could trust outside of a working environment. The fact that his crew, the Knights In Shiny Leather (formerly the Iron Hand Gang), chose to stick with him 'cos he did right by them? That really hit home, y'know? Made his heart all mushy. And then these guys, these awesome guys in the Project Freedom program - they gave him a second chance, not just left him to rot in Blackstone like he figured would happen. Fact is, any of these folks, if they were in trouble, he'd go in mohawk-first and take the hits on the chin, even if it was a dumb move. Imagine what he'd do for another hero who'd give him a fair shake.

 

Youth Gone Wild - Let's face it - for an ex-con, and worse, an ex-superpowered-con, Freedom City ain't the best place in the world to be. The capital of heroism, the center of superpowered justice and light in the world, the bulwark against a thousand thousand foes who might seek to subvert the world to their nefarious ends, the greatest nexus of good in the omniverse. It's a place that might think a guy who originally was sort of maybe against all that isn't quite welcome - and might treat him accordingly. Granted, he doesn't mind overmuch - again, price of doing business - but sometimes it can get a bit wearying. Maybe even get in the way a bit. He wants to go straight, after all. But he can't control how people see him.

 


 

Abilities: 10 + 4 + 10 + 4 + 4 + 8 = 40PP
Strength 30/20 (+10/+5)
Dexterity 14 (+2)
Constitution 30/20 (+10/+5)
Intelligence 14 (+2)
Wisdom 14 (+2)
Charisma 18 (+4)


Combat: 12 + 12 = 24PP
Initiative: +2
Attack: +6, +10 melee
Grapple: +15/+24
Defense: +10 (+6 Base, +4 Dodge Focus), +3 Flat-Footed
Knockback: -5, -10 against physical attacks, -2 w/o powers


Saving Throws: 2 + 3 + 4 = 9PP
Toughness: +5/+10 (+5/+10 Con), Impervious 10 vs physical
Fortitude: +7/+12 (+5/+10 Con, +2)
Reflex: +5 (+2 Dex, +3)
Will: +6 (+2 Wis, +4)


Skills: 44R = 11PP
Diplomacy 6 (+10)
Intimidate 11 (+15, Skill Mastery)
Knowledge (Civics) 3 (+5)
Knowledge (Streetwise) 8 (+10, Skill Mastery)
Notice 8 (+10, Skill Mastery)
Sense Motive 8 (+10, Skill Mastery)

Feats: 20PP
All-out Attack
Attack Focus (melee) 4

Connected

Contacts
Dodge Focus 4
Improved Critical (unarmed) 1
Improved Grapple
Luck 2
Power Attack
Skill Mastery (Intimidate, Knowledge [streetwise], Notice, Sense Motive)
Startle
Takedown Attack

Well-Informed

Powers: 10 + 10 + 5 + 3 + 10 + 8 = 36PP

Enhanced Strength 10 [10PP]

Enhanced Constitution 10 [10PP]

Impervious Toughness 10 (Flaws: Limited to physical damage [-1]) [5PP]

Leaping 2 (x5 distance [100'/50'/25'], Power Feats: 1 Alternate Power) [3PP]
Alternate Power: Speed 2 (25 MPH) [2PP]

Regeneration 10 (bruised 1/round, injured 3/round, staggered 2/5 minutes, disabled 4/5 minutes) [10PP]

Super-Strength 4 (Heavy load: 12 tons) [8PP]

DC Block:

ATTACK RANGE SAVE EFFECT
Unarmed Touch DC 25 Toughness (Staged)

 

Abilities (40) + Combat (24) + Saving Throws (9) + Skills (11) + Feats (20) + Powers (46) - Drawbacks (0) = 150/151 Power Points

Edited by Supercape
+1 PP March 2014
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