Post by Beriadan on Jan 30, 2024 13:34:48 GMT
"I can hear it. Every sound, every silent scream or deafening whisper. The sounds of dying, living, laughing, crying people. It's all there. You're just choosing not to listen."
General Information
Full Name
Nigel Cribb
Codename or Alias
Agent Echo; a name chosen when he joined the Mutant Liberation Front to avoid using his real name
False identities; Nigel has a myriad of fake names and identities that he creates and burns as he needs to
AnonymityAnonymous; as far as most people are concerned, Nigel Cribb is a missing person, and nobody knows his true identity
Gender
Male
Race
Mutant; born with the x-gene
Age
33
Place Of Birth
Hammersmith, London, England
Occupation/Status
MI6 Intelligence Agent; former
Radical Activist; concerning the rights of Mutants who are discriminated and trodden down by the rest of humanity
Counter-government Insurgent; working against governments and official companies to aid in the betterment of Mutant-kind
Mutant Liberator; using his considerable skills and knowledge to help find, liberate and give Mutants a new lease of life in an unkind world
Alignment
Chaotic Good; or Chaotic Evil depending on who you ask, but Nigel sees himself as a man who bends the rules for the sake of other Mutants, and will go to any length to reach his goals
Factions
The Mutant Liberation Front
Canon Or Original
Original; within the X-Men universe
Powers/Abilities
Acoustokinesis
Nigel can manipulate soundwaves in a variety of different ways. His body acts like a conduit, absorbing sound around him and expelling it with altered effects in line with Nigel's wishes, able to controlling the direction, tone, pitch and volume of sound. He has full control over sound emanating from his own body, able to alter or muffle anything audible that happens across his person, replicate any sound he has previously heard with key precision, ormaking himself entirely silent by dampening all noise created by himself or anything on his person. He can also manipulate soundwaves in a radius of about five feet from his body, allowing him to redirect sound before it has a chance to hit his or anyone else's eardrums. Nigel can make soundwaves move around specific people or objects, so they aren't heard by some but picked up by others as he chooses. He can also "visualise" soundwaves, more of a sixth sense rather than anything, and can sense them as they emanate out of a person or object, allowing him to know the location of something giving off sound with pin-point precision if he can pick up their soundwaves.
Soundwave Absorb and Release
Nigel can absorbs any soundwave up to fifty feet from him, either one at a time or all at once, creating a sphere of dead silence for a few moments. He can store a soundwave within his body and release it in a way that will replicate the noise or noises at the point it entered his body., expelled as soundwaves that act as an area-of-effect blastwave, releasing every sound he has absorbed. He can also focus this blastwave towards a singular direction, which packs far more power but is a size that could only hit two or three people closely packed together.
He absorbs a snapshot of soundwaves at any given time, something that lasts for a few seconds until new soundwaves wash over the area. Nigel can continuously absorb over a few seconds as well, which increases the power of his soundwave release. However, if he continues to absorb a lot of soundwaves but not release it, Nigel falls under danger of violently vibrating, something he theorises would shake him apart from the inside out. He has yet to find this threshold, but it's better to be safe than sorry.
Soundproofing
Nigel can freely manipulate and move soundwaves in a five foot radius around him. This can be used to make the deafening sound of alarms seem a thousand miles away by moving the sound around him, or repelling sonic attacks directed at him. It is also how he can direct soundwaves that are expelled from his body after absorption, manipulating them to face one direction and then letting them fly, and how he can manipulate his voice so well. However, there is a limit, and having too many soundwaves in a short space around him can vibrate the air and the ground, as well as Nigel himself. He wouldn't keep a large amount in his immediate vicinity for long.
Voice Control
Nigel can replicate any sound that he has heard, including voices, and not limited to soundwaves that are in his immediate area. He can change the tone, volume and pitch of his voice, and is an expert in throwing words across the room. Nigel can whisper words into someone's ear from a distance of fifty feet without anyone else hearing, or turn up the volume to shout at over 100 decibels. The 5 foot radius of control means he can precisely throw his voice at a specific target, lining up the soundwaves of his words and moving it in their specific direction.
Enhanced Hearing
Nigel has an enhanced sense of hearing, able to listen to someone whispering from several miles away if he tried. This doesn't factor volume, instead picking up on soundwaves outside of his absorption range. He has to concentrate to do this, as it takes a lot of focus to pinpoint distant voices if there is a lot of noise around.
Muffling
Nigel reduces the volume of any sound emanating from his body so they are completely silent. Nothing worn on his body releases any soundwaves while he is using this part of this ability, and at this stage it is essentially second nature, like breathing. This power doesn't extend to the sounds of objects he holds. If he fired a gun, Nigel would have to focus on absorbing the soundwaves of that, but a jacket he was wearing wouldn't rustle as he moved, and his steps are never heard no matter what kind of footwear he as on.
MI6 Training
Nigel was trained by MI6 to be a capable field agent, even though his role was mostlyy office based. He was part of an elite department, after all, and they were all given intensive training to defend themselves in case their headquarters were compromised. Nigel is advanced in four different martial arts, can perform parkour like a pro, has ranged and melee weapon training and knows how to break in or out of most doors or buildings. He has since had a chance to use this training as part of the Mutant Liberation Front, going out on a few missions to liberate fellow Mutants that find themselves under pressure. His applied knowledge is just as good as his theoretical. Nigel has also been given the basic training of torture and information collection, and knows the best way to apply a pair of pliers to a human finger in order the get the best results.
Genius Intellect
Nigel has an eidetic memory, can pick up new skills with ease and can rattle of facts and figures about most topics with confidence. He has studied philosophy, economics, geopolitics and a wide range of other relevant topics, making him a worthy adversary to argue with. Nigel is an avid reader, keeping his mind sharp with fiction and scientific literature, advanced mathematics, genetic research and more.
Computer Master
Nigel can work a computer like most people can ride a bike. His skills surpass anyone that he personally knew or knows, and he knows anything and everything there is to know about software creation, hacking, server bypassing and many illicit and illegal skills. Nigel is a dangerous man on the right end of a keyboard, and is always a few steps ahead when engaging in virtual warfare. He has created his own malware that can get past most basic computer security software, has hacked into various high security governmental departments globally, and can track down a person via their digital footprint within a far shorter time than most other people in his line of work.
Experienced Charlatan
Nigel is an expert in sleight-of-hand, a master of stealth and sneaking (even without his powers), a silver-tongued charmer who can figure out someone's buttons or mental weaknesses while conversing with them in order to get his own way.
Weapons/Items
Appearance
Physical Appearance
Nigel is a short man of 5'5, not incredibly imposing or noticeable by means of stature or weight. His lean muscles are often hidden beneath baggy clothing, making him seem fairly scrawny, not an intimidating figure to say the least. His features are rather plain, a snub nose nestled between narrow hazel eyes, thin lips always twisted in an expression of cynicism or a grimace. Nigel's hair is cut short, bleached blond and spikes. He has two expressive eyebrows that are heavily arched, marking a fairly forgettable face that doesn't stand out much in a crowd. Nigel knows he'll never win any beauty contests, but being someone of average looks suits his needs to blend in and go unforgotten just fine.
Clothing and Armor
Personality
Sexual Orientation
Straight
General Personality
Nigel is an outwardly cynical man, voice dripping with dry sarcasm whenever he speaks. He can be vocally pessimistic, combining with his rather dull voice to create an aura of someone who doesn't want to be in any given situation. Nigel is rather egotistical as well, putting a lot of stock in whatever he puts his mind to do, and can be fairly dismissive if anyone talks out against him without backing up their words. Nigel is a ridiculously confident man, putting a lot of stock in his own abilities and knowledge. He is a talker, someone who loves their own voice, and can easily hold a one-sided conversation with other people for hours at a time.
He is an incredibly smart individual, someone who has a back-up plan for his back-up plan in case the unthinkable occurred, which in his world is entirely plausable. Nigel has bug-out plans, escape routes for every room, burner IDs and a large formation of wealth spread across dozens of off-shore bank accounts. In short, he is paranoid, a fierce conspiracy theorist who is always reading dark web news and keeping an eye on current affairs across the globe to see what storms on his doorstep might be getting brought into existence by a butterfly's wings on the other side of the planet. Nigel only speaks what he knows to be true, never allowing himself to think something that he can't at least back up with facts, even the conspiracy theories that he subscribes to.
Nigel is a man who holds a grudge, but is also incredibly patient. He could sit on a grievance for fifty years, just to show up at a deathbed to deal with the person who did him dirty. Nigel stores a lot in his powerful memory, and has plenty of people that are sitting comfortably on a long list, unwittingly waiting for their dues to come. The same goes the opposite way, and Nigel will do all he can for a loyal friend, or ally. Of course it takes a lot more work to join that inner circle of his friendship, but once there, it is a solid relationship that has a lot of perks. A man who can do a lot with computer software can do plenty in this modern age.
Nigel is totally committed to the Mutant Liberation Front, seeing it as a way to make up for the wrongs he did against his own people. He will defend it to the end, and is entirely ready to lay his own life down for the cause. Nigel sees the Front as a necessary evil, and anyone that stands in their path collateral that can't be avoided. He won't go out of his way to harm others, and doesn't like killing, but will do both if it means saving a fellow Mutant, or protecting other members of the Front. Unfortunately, he is a man trained in killing and torture both, and has extensive experience with these skills. Nigel is a conflicted individual, so makes sure that he is entirely confident in whatever he does.
Face/Voice
Will Poulter
Anything Else
Character's History
Siblings
Samantha Cribb, deceased
Mother
Mary Cribb, deceased
Father
Brian Cribb, deceased
Other Family
Jane and Carl Thompson, foster parents, alive
History
Role Play Sample
Gender
Male
Race
Mutant; born with the x-gene
Age
33
Place Of Birth
Hammersmith, London, England
Occupation/Status
MI6 Intelligence Agent; former
Radical Activist; concerning the rights of Mutants who are discriminated and trodden down by the rest of humanity
Counter-government Insurgent; working against governments and official companies to aid in the betterment of Mutant-kind
Mutant Liberator; using his considerable skills and knowledge to help find, liberate and give Mutants a new lease of life in an unkind world
Alignment
Chaotic Good; or Chaotic Evil depending on who you ask, but Nigel sees himself as a man who bends the rules for the sake of other Mutants, and will go to any length to reach his goals
Factions
The Mutant Liberation Front
Canon Or Original
Original; within the X-Men universe
Powers/Abilities
Acoustokinesis
Nigel can manipulate soundwaves in a variety of different ways. His body acts like a conduit, absorbing sound around him and expelling it with altered effects in line with Nigel's wishes, able to controlling the direction, tone, pitch and volume of sound. He has full control over sound emanating from his own body, able to alter or muffle anything audible that happens across his person, replicate any sound he has previously heard with key precision, ormaking himself entirely silent by dampening all noise created by himself or anything on his person. He can also manipulate soundwaves in a radius of about five feet from his body, allowing him to redirect sound before it has a chance to hit his or anyone else's eardrums. Nigel can make soundwaves move around specific people or objects, so they aren't heard by some but picked up by others as he chooses. He can also "visualise" soundwaves, more of a sixth sense rather than anything, and can sense them as they emanate out of a person or object, allowing him to know the location of something giving off sound with pin-point precision if he can pick up their soundwaves.
Soundwave Absorb and Release
Nigel can absorbs any soundwave up to fifty feet from him, either one at a time or all at once, creating a sphere of dead silence for a few moments. He can store a soundwave within his body and release it in a way that will replicate the noise or noises at the point it entered his body., expelled as soundwaves that act as an area-of-effect blastwave, releasing every sound he has absorbed. He can also focus this blastwave towards a singular direction, which packs far more power but is a size that could only hit two or three people closely packed together.
He absorbs a snapshot of soundwaves at any given time, something that lasts for a few seconds until new soundwaves wash over the area. Nigel can continuously absorb over a few seconds as well, which increases the power of his soundwave release. However, if he continues to absorb a lot of soundwaves but not release it, Nigel falls under danger of violently vibrating, something he theorises would shake him apart from the inside out. He has yet to find this threshold, but it's better to be safe than sorry.
Soundproofing
Nigel can freely manipulate and move soundwaves in a five foot radius around him. This can be used to make the deafening sound of alarms seem a thousand miles away by moving the sound around him, or repelling sonic attacks directed at him. It is also how he can direct soundwaves that are expelled from his body after absorption, manipulating them to face one direction and then letting them fly, and how he can manipulate his voice so well. However, there is a limit, and having too many soundwaves in a short space around him can vibrate the air and the ground, as well as Nigel himself. He wouldn't keep a large amount in his immediate vicinity for long.
Voice Control
Nigel can replicate any sound that he has heard, including voices, and not limited to soundwaves that are in his immediate area. He can change the tone, volume and pitch of his voice, and is an expert in throwing words across the room. Nigel can whisper words into someone's ear from a distance of fifty feet without anyone else hearing, or turn up the volume to shout at over 100 decibels. The 5 foot radius of control means he can precisely throw his voice at a specific target, lining up the soundwaves of his words and moving it in their specific direction.
Enhanced Hearing
Nigel has an enhanced sense of hearing, able to listen to someone whispering from several miles away if he tried. This doesn't factor volume, instead picking up on soundwaves outside of his absorption range. He has to concentrate to do this, as it takes a lot of focus to pinpoint distant voices if there is a lot of noise around.
Muffling
Nigel reduces the volume of any sound emanating from his body so they are completely silent. Nothing worn on his body releases any soundwaves while he is using this part of this ability, and at this stage it is essentially second nature, like breathing. This power doesn't extend to the sounds of objects he holds. If he fired a gun, Nigel would have to focus on absorbing the soundwaves of that, but a jacket he was wearing wouldn't rustle as he moved, and his steps are never heard no matter what kind of footwear he as on.
MI6 Training
Nigel was trained by MI6 to be a capable field agent, even though his role was mostlyy office based. He was part of an elite department, after all, and they were all given intensive training to defend themselves in case their headquarters were compromised. Nigel is advanced in four different martial arts, can perform parkour like a pro, has ranged and melee weapon training and knows how to break in or out of most doors or buildings. He has since had a chance to use this training as part of the Mutant Liberation Front, going out on a few missions to liberate fellow Mutants that find themselves under pressure. His applied knowledge is just as good as his theoretical. Nigel has also been given the basic training of torture and information collection, and knows the best way to apply a pair of pliers to a human finger in order the get the best results.
Genius Intellect
Nigel has an eidetic memory, can pick up new skills with ease and can rattle of facts and figures about most topics with confidence. He has studied philosophy, economics, geopolitics and a wide range of other relevant topics, making him a worthy adversary to argue with. Nigel is an avid reader, keeping his mind sharp with fiction and scientific literature, advanced mathematics, genetic research and more.
Computer Master
Nigel can work a computer like most people can ride a bike. His skills surpass anyone that he personally knew or knows, and he knows anything and everything there is to know about software creation, hacking, server bypassing and many illicit and illegal skills. Nigel is a dangerous man on the right end of a keyboard, and is always a few steps ahead when engaging in virtual warfare. He has created his own malware that can get past most basic computer security software, has hacked into various high security governmental departments globally, and can track down a person via their digital footprint within a far shorter time than most other people in his line of work.
Experienced Charlatan
Nigel is an expert in sleight-of-hand, a master of stealth and sneaking (even without his powers), a silver-tongued charmer who can figure out someone's buttons or mental weaknesses while conversing with them in order to get his own way.
Weapons/Items
Knives
Nigel always carries around two or three concealed combat knives, hidden about his person.
Hand-gun
Point and shoot. Nigel isn't a gun-nut, and would prefer not to have one, but keeps it on-hand as a last resort.
Lockpicking tools
High grade tools that allow him to break through most standard locks.
Laptop
Nigel's pride and joy, a Frankenstein's monster of a computer that looks like a slab of black granite and weighs a fair amount. He designed it himself, putting together an operating system that works exactly how he wants it, a device that is almost limitless in its capabilities when in Nigel's hands, and that has an instant suicide function if accessed by anyone but himself.
Appearance
Physical Appearance
Nigel is a short man of 5'5, not incredibly imposing or noticeable by means of stature or weight. His lean muscles are often hidden beneath baggy clothing, making him seem fairly scrawny, not an intimidating figure to say the least. His features are rather plain, a snub nose nestled between narrow hazel eyes, thin lips always twisted in an expression of cynicism or a grimace. Nigel's hair is cut short, bleached blond and spikes. He has two expressive eyebrows that are heavily arched, marking a fairly forgettable face that doesn't stand out much in a crowd. Nigel knows he'll never win any beauty contests, but being someone of average looks suits his needs to blend in and go unforgotten just fine.
Clothing and Armor
Nigel wears whatever he shrugs on whatever is nearby, regularly involving jeans, leather jackets or shirts, graphic t-shirts, heavy boots to finish them off. He always wears a pair of old-fashioned square glasses, thin-rimmed thick lensed.
Personality
Sexual Orientation
Straight
General Personality
Nigel is an outwardly cynical man, voice dripping with dry sarcasm whenever he speaks. He can be vocally pessimistic, combining with his rather dull voice to create an aura of someone who doesn't want to be in any given situation. Nigel is rather egotistical as well, putting a lot of stock in whatever he puts his mind to do, and can be fairly dismissive if anyone talks out against him without backing up their words. Nigel is a ridiculously confident man, putting a lot of stock in his own abilities and knowledge. He is a talker, someone who loves their own voice, and can easily hold a one-sided conversation with other people for hours at a time.
He is an incredibly smart individual, someone who has a back-up plan for his back-up plan in case the unthinkable occurred, which in his world is entirely plausable. Nigel has bug-out plans, escape routes for every room, burner IDs and a large formation of wealth spread across dozens of off-shore bank accounts. In short, he is paranoid, a fierce conspiracy theorist who is always reading dark web news and keeping an eye on current affairs across the globe to see what storms on his doorstep might be getting brought into existence by a butterfly's wings on the other side of the planet. Nigel only speaks what he knows to be true, never allowing himself to think something that he can't at least back up with facts, even the conspiracy theories that he subscribes to.
Nigel is a man who holds a grudge, but is also incredibly patient. He could sit on a grievance for fifty years, just to show up at a deathbed to deal with the person who did him dirty. Nigel stores a lot in his powerful memory, and has plenty of people that are sitting comfortably on a long list, unwittingly waiting for their dues to come. The same goes the opposite way, and Nigel will do all he can for a loyal friend, or ally. Of course it takes a lot more work to join that inner circle of his friendship, but once there, it is a solid relationship that has a lot of perks. A man who can do a lot with computer software can do plenty in this modern age.
Nigel is totally committed to the Mutant Liberation Front, seeing it as a way to make up for the wrongs he did against his own people. He will defend it to the end, and is entirely ready to lay his own life down for the cause. Nigel sees the Front as a necessary evil, and anyone that stands in their path collateral that can't be avoided. He won't go out of his way to harm others, and doesn't like killing, but will do both if it means saving a fellow Mutant, or protecting other members of the Front. Unfortunately, he is a man trained in killing and torture both, and has extensive experience with these skills. Nigel is a conflicted individual, so makes sure that he is entirely confident in whatever he does.
Face/Voice
Will Poulter
Anything Else
Character's History
Siblings
Samantha Cribb, deceased
Mother
Mary Cribb, deceased
Father
Brian Cribb, deceased
Other Family
Jane and Carl Thompson, foster parents, alive
History
Nigel Cribb was born as the second child to Mary and Brian Cribb, younger brother to Samantha. The home was not a happy one. Brian worked long hours, and when he wasn't at the office he was loud, angry and abusive. Mary was a drunk, constantly trying to get out of her own head with booze and drugs. Nigel remembers her best lying comatose on the dirty floral sofa. These moments, with his father out and his mother unconscious was time he got to spend with his sister, uninterrupted and unspoiled. They were the best memories of childhood.
Nigel and Sam were very close. She was more like a surrogate mother to him, which looking back he felt immense guilt over. She was seven years older than him, but lost her childhood to raising him. Between the beatings, psychological abuse, physical abuse and constant fear, Sam had to give up her friends and time to make sure Nigel was fed, washed and clothed. She held him close when their parents had cataclysmic arguments, and hid him away so that their father wouldn't catch him, focusing his rage on her instead.
Nigel grew up knowing that life was unfair, but that every cloud had a silver lining. Sam was his, a bright star in the darkness. So it was even harder when she vanished. He was eight years old, and she had been walking home from school when she disappeared from the face of the earth. Nobody saw where, nobody found any evidence. It was like she never existed. Nigel's life became a thousand times worse after that, without protection from his father's tirades, and having to feed himself lest he starve. He missed Sam more than anything, a hole in his heart that never truly healed.
Nigel's powers appeared as he was entering puberty. It was subtle at first, but he realised how sound seem to shape and bend around him. He could make his movements completely silent, and found he could throw his voice, allowing him to escape his father's anger and sneak money from his mother's purse to feed himself, as well as a cheeky cigarette or two. Nigel soon became used to the powers, making money in less than legal ways, stealing food from supermarkets and money from stores. It was what he had to do to survive. Nigel knew he would be dead if he didn't help himself.
It was the last beating that pushed him over the edge. His father beat his mother into unconsciousness, then turned on Nigel. Nigel, however, had already decided not to take another. He used his powers to burst his father's eardrums, deafening him with an amped up blast of soundwaves absorbed from the surrounding area. It shook the house, shattering every window for miles and setting off every dog and car alarm beyond.
The police found Nigel outside the wreckage. He told them that they'd been attacked by someone with unbelievable powers, which was believable considering the rising Mutant movement in the UK. His parents were both dead, his mother from a blow to the temple, his father after having suffered several fatal heart-attacks. Nigel was put into foster care, and for the first time in his life he actually had time to think. His new parents were kind, but boring, and left him to it. He focused on his studies, working hard to move away from his dark past. From memories of Sam.
Nigel left school as soon as he could, found an apprentiship in I.T. and found a new world of possibilities before him. He hadn't owned a computer at home, but took to it like a fly takes to shit. He was called a genius at his work, and was soon in a full time position working on software security for a small business. From there, it was natural progression. Nigel kept his head down, only using his powers when he knew he could get away with it. Anti-mutant feelings in Britain were on the rise, and he didn't want to be at the wrong end of an angry mob.
Nigel's knowledge of software and security programming got him noticed by the prestigious secret service organisation, MI6. They headhunted him, offering him a position in their Intelligence department. Nigel was thrilled, a great fan of James Bond that he was, and soon found himself deep in the bowels of government work. A few months in, and they propositioned him for another move. It was a role with a very secretive branch that Nigel hadn't even heard of while he had been perusing the databases of MI6. The Mutant Relocation and Rehabilitation Department.
Nigel soon realised the great big swamp of shit he was in. He was tasked in finding everything he could about other Mutants. What happened after that, he couldn't say, but Nigel had growing suspicions. The government was becoming openly anti-mutant, painting them as criminals and dangerous people. Nigel began to feel on edge, eyes on him at all points. He kept going, though. Kept on working without trying to think about it. Perhaps he was wrong? Maybe it was just a way to make sure mutants were kept safe and seperate from society.
Until he was given a dossier that includes mention of one Samantha Cribb. It was about a group that had been rounded up around London in an operation called Midnight Sweep. Mutants ranging from 9 to 87 were picked off the street using information gathered by the MRRD and taken to a secret facility far to the North. Nigel read what he could without breathing, reading how they were experimented on, picked apart, put back together, tortured and maimed and torn to so many little pieces that they couldn't tell the remains apart by the end.
Nigel felt sick. Not just for the gruesome realisation of what had happened to Sam after all these years, but also the fact he had been aiding all of this for years. How could he live with himself? He needed to atone. Needed to get out. And if Sam's name was here, they would be watching him too. Perhaps that was why they put him right in the middle of all of it.
The real final straw was the footage of the Mutant leader Magneto and his cohorts, murdered in broad daylight and crucified with flaming crosses. Nigel knew it was time. The world was turning, and he had to escape this place before it was too late. Nigel used his skills, all of his knowledge of the system and the operating systems used, to get out. He left quietly, literally and figuratively, so that MI6 wouldn't have cause to scrub him entirely from the system. Nigel was future-proofing, and knew a time would come when he could take advantage of it.
He disappeared for a few months, going totally off-grid. Nigel had set up several bank accounts in other names, created various IDs and personas that allowed him to move through Europe, until he reached Tampa. Nigel had heard rumours of a new Brotherhood of Mutants, named the Mutant Liberation Front, which was active across the world. A lot of chatter showed up around New York, and more digging lead Nigel to a surreptitious building in the area.
It was here he found the others. A Mutant named Diaspora was leading them, trying to continue in the wake of Magneto's violent death. Nigel had found his people, and immediately donated his vast knowledge to the cause. He knew what he could do, and what he could do would help the Front advance their place on the world stage by a lot. Helping mutants would help Nigel come to peace with his sins. If he had to work for his whole life just to make up for the years of damage he had caused Mutant kind, then so be it. Nigel was prepared to give the Front his whole body, mind and soul.
Nigel and Sam were very close. She was more like a surrogate mother to him, which looking back he felt immense guilt over. She was seven years older than him, but lost her childhood to raising him. Between the beatings, psychological abuse, physical abuse and constant fear, Sam had to give up her friends and time to make sure Nigel was fed, washed and clothed. She held him close when their parents had cataclysmic arguments, and hid him away so that their father wouldn't catch him, focusing his rage on her instead.
Nigel grew up knowing that life was unfair, but that every cloud had a silver lining. Sam was his, a bright star in the darkness. So it was even harder when she vanished. He was eight years old, and she had been walking home from school when she disappeared from the face of the earth. Nobody saw where, nobody found any evidence. It was like she never existed. Nigel's life became a thousand times worse after that, without protection from his father's tirades, and having to feed himself lest he starve. He missed Sam more than anything, a hole in his heart that never truly healed.
Nigel's powers appeared as he was entering puberty. It was subtle at first, but he realised how sound seem to shape and bend around him. He could make his movements completely silent, and found he could throw his voice, allowing him to escape his father's anger and sneak money from his mother's purse to feed himself, as well as a cheeky cigarette or two. Nigel soon became used to the powers, making money in less than legal ways, stealing food from supermarkets and money from stores. It was what he had to do to survive. Nigel knew he would be dead if he didn't help himself.
It was the last beating that pushed him over the edge. His father beat his mother into unconsciousness, then turned on Nigel. Nigel, however, had already decided not to take another. He used his powers to burst his father's eardrums, deafening him with an amped up blast of soundwaves absorbed from the surrounding area. It shook the house, shattering every window for miles and setting off every dog and car alarm beyond.
The police found Nigel outside the wreckage. He told them that they'd been attacked by someone with unbelievable powers, which was believable considering the rising Mutant movement in the UK. His parents were both dead, his mother from a blow to the temple, his father after having suffered several fatal heart-attacks. Nigel was put into foster care, and for the first time in his life he actually had time to think. His new parents were kind, but boring, and left him to it. He focused on his studies, working hard to move away from his dark past. From memories of Sam.
Nigel left school as soon as he could, found an apprentiship in I.T. and found a new world of possibilities before him. He hadn't owned a computer at home, but took to it like a fly takes to shit. He was called a genius at his work, and was soon in a full time position working on software security for a small business. From there, it was natural progression. Nigel kept his head down, only using his powers when he knew he could get away with it. Anti-mutant feelings in Britain were on the rise, and he didn't want to be at the wrong end of an angry mob.
Nigel's knowledge of software and security programming got him noticed by the prestigious secret service organisation, MI6. They headhunted him, offering him a position in their Intelligence department. Nigel was thrilled, a great fan of James Bond that he was, and soon found himself deep in the bowels of government work. A few months in, and they propositioned him for another move. It was a role with a very secretive branch that Nigel hadn't even heard of while he had been perusing the databases of MI6. The Mutant Relocation and Rehabilitation Department.
Nigel soon realised the great big swamp of shit he was in. He was tasked in finding everything he could about other Mutants. What happened after that, he couldn't say, but Nigel had growing suspicions. The government was becoming openly anti-mutant, painting them as criminals and dangerous people. Nigel began to feel on edge, eyes on him at all points. He kept going, though. Kept on working without trying to think about it. Perhaps he was wrong? Maybe it was just a way to make sure mutants were kept safe and seperate from society.
Until he was given a dossier that includes mention of one Samantha Cribb. It was about a group that had been rounded up around London in an operation called Midnight Sweep. Mutants ranging from 9 to 87 were picked off the street using information gathered by the MRRD and taken to a secret facility far to the North. Nigel read what he could without breathing, reading how they were experimented on, picked apart, put back together, tortured and maimed and torn to so many little pieces that they couldn't tell the remains apart by the end.
Nigel felt sick. Not just for the gruesome realisation of what had happened to Sam after all these years, but also the fact he had been aiding all of this for years. How could he live with himself? He needed to atone. Needed to get out. And if Sam's name was here, they would be watching him too. Perhaps that was why they put him right in the middle of all of it.
The real final straw was the footage of the Mutant leader Magneto and his cohorts, murdered in broad daylight and crucified with flaming crosses. Nigel knew it was time. The world was turning, and he had to escape this place before it was too late. Nigel used his skills, all of his knowledge of the system and the operating systems used, to get out. He left quietly, literally and figuratively, so that MI6 wouldn't have cause to scrub him entirely from the system. Nigel was future-proofing, and knew a time would come when he could take advantage of it.
He disappeared for a few months, going totally off-grid. Nigel had set up several bank accounts in other names, created various IDs and personas that allowed him to move through Europe, until he reached Tampa. Nigel had heard rumours of a new Brotherhood of Mutants, named the Mutant Liberation Front, which was active across the world. A lot of chatter showed up around New York, and more digging lead Nigel to a surreptitious building in the area.
It was here he found the others. A Mutant named Diaspora was leading them, trying to continue in the wake of Magneto's violent death. Nigel had found his people, and immediately donated his vast knowledge to the cause. He knew what he could do, and what he could do would help the Front advance their place on the world stage by a lot. Helping mutants would help Nigel come to peace with his sins. If he had to work for his whole life just to make up for the years of damage he had caused Mutant kind, then so be it. Nigel was prepared to give the Front his whole body, mind and soul.
Role Play Sample
Nigel span around on his old red office chair, hands folded over his head as he watched Diaspora, a vaguely bored expression on his face. When she asked him the pointed question, he smirked. The wonders of being a trained intelligence officer, even if he had slipped out of the door and left the British Government in a state of panic. Nigel had taken a lot of sensitive, confidential information with him, and a lot of skills to boot.
"Listen, Spora, it's not as easy as just logging into Google Plus and checking out their holiday snaps. Have I found any Mutants? Yeah, too right. I've found them all, they're just out back having a pint."
He swung back to his laptop. It was an old, battered affair, circa 1998 and as thick and heavy as a slab of concrete. The room held a variety of desktops, laptops, ancillary screens and the constant hot whir of computer fans. On it we're a myriad of code, windows popping up and disappearing, a flashing, dancing affair that looked like nonsense to the untrained eye. Nigel tapped the screen with one hand as he lit a cigarette with the other.
"This is the data equivalent of a Mission Inpossible bloke dangling above a wall of lasers and pressure plates. When I left the SIS, I didn't go scorched earth. I didn't steal any data or wire myself all of the King's underwhelming bank account. I snuck out the back door in a manner that meant, while the bosses had a panic, all of the tracks and paths I had laid out stayed in place. They didn't wipe my system or torch all the software I'd put in place. So I had a way in. Not one I could use more than a couple of times, but one none the less. This is one of those few chances I get to sneak back in. It's not as easy as waltzing in amd taking the information I'm looking for from a shelf."
Nigel's fingers began to hammer at an old-fashioned keyboard. White symbols reflected from his glasses, his eyes flickering like he was trying to watch every individual in a swarm of flies, all at once. The cigarette hung from his lips was occasionally drawn on for a hit of smoke, but he never took his eyes from the screen.
"Now, when I worked for the Mutant Relocation and Rehabilitation Department, whose role was just as nefarious as that seemingly innocuous name suggests, they didn't just lay out names and addresses like the yellow pages. Every word had encryption, every layer had a firewall which pinged an alert if anything that wasn't triple verified tried to go through it. Ball-ache just trying to book a holiday, I tell you. So what this meant was that even someone with access didn't have access to everything. I couldn't see names, addresses, photos, details, not unless I was assigned to a case. Even then, they diced up dossiers and profiles, making it damn near impossible for an outside source to waltz in and take whatever they wanted."
Nigel pushed himself off, wheeling to the other side of the room, a different screen pulsing with a faint blue light. He squinted at a few lines and words, puffing smoke as he did so.
"So where does this leave us? Up a certain creek without a certain paddle. I a pitch black room fumbling around in the dark. Hence my earlier statement. I left a little doorway for myself, which the MFFD would have found if they had been smart. But I disappeared quietly, so they forgot about muggins over here. What about the security, I hear you ask? Those oh-so-clever firewalls? Well, here's the clever bit."
He spun to Diaspora, hands now clasped across his stomach, smiling smugly up at her through out-of-fashion glasses. Nigel loved to stroke his own ego.
"The firewall is like a castle. High walls, thick stones, moats and gates and all that. One look at that and anyone might wonder, "how the bloody hell would you get in?" Well, that's the beauty of it. Everyone always forgets the latrine. Somewhere where the necessary waste data is flung out without being checked, because it's dead data. Nothing should be coming in."
Nigel scooted to a small desk, where an instant coffee machine began to pour our a dark, strong looking liquid. He drank it, still hot, and stubbed out his cigarette.
"Nobody wants to check the shit pipe. It's dark, and it stinks. Plus, climbing around in there means you're likely to get crap on yoir hands. So my secret pathway sits there, totally forgotten because nobody wants to stick their nose there in the first place. And that's a totally unguarded way in. So I release a piece of software that finds a rope I left hanging down through the shit. It climbs up, and the firewall is none the wiser, because it isn't designed notice anything crawling through fecal matter."
He lit a cigarette, and moved to another laptop. Nigel's fingers were a blur again, typing out streams and streams of code that seems open and activate windows every other second.
"But then we're in the castle without knowing where to go. What now? Who are we looking for? So now I have to harvest what data I can without setting off any alarms. A first name here, an address there. If I'm lucky, a photo that someone forgot to encrypt. If I'm not, then a random pile of data that I have to sift through. I run it through another bit of software, outside of the firewall, one that trawls social media. People love to post their lives on Facebook, to tweet about where they're eating their mediocre eggs on toast this morning. It's a digital blueprint, a map of lives. Billions of them, and I have to find what matches. This is the hard bit. I'm a sitting duck, on my arse with nothing I can do but hope nobody is sniffing around."
He looked up at Diaspora from his chair, watching her expression, gauging her reaction. Then he suddenly rose to his feet, striding past her. A bank of screens had started flashing red, each slightly out of sync. Nigel tutted under his breath, returning to the original laptop.
"And... bingo. A name, from countless lines of data from across the Internet, matched with locked down files within the SIS. Tagged as a Mutant, with a known address, photo, name, family, the whole lot. But now they sense me. What's going on, the software begins to say. Why is someone poking at all of these locked-down profiles of mutants?"
Nigel tapped the table fast, as if he was counting something happening at a rapid pace. He frowned.
"So you distract it. My little clever software suddenly makes a lot of noise. Not at one location, mind you. It releases a whole load of data, like fireworks going off. Or a monkey flinging shit. The security software goes haywire, and everything starts to lock down. They can't trace most of it, but there's still a trail that they could follow. Follow back to me."
Nigel gave another smarmy smile at Diaspora, before he pressed a series of keys. A number appeared on his screen. 10. He watched as it flashed to 9, then to 8.
"So now I burn the bridge. Now I scorched earth the whole thing. There'll be nothing left but ash and bone, no leads to follow, no nothing. Of course that means the SIS will be off-limits for months. They'll shut down, increase security, maybe even board up the crap-tube if they find it. I have to start from scratch somewhere else."
1. Words flashed up on every screen. GOOD NIGHT. Then it went black. The computers suddenly clicked off, the fans running to a stop. The room was dead quiet, apart from a single printer in the corner. A very old Xerox machine, slowly pushing a piece of paper out. There was an obvious face, a woman, and a lot of information beside it. Nigel watched it for a moment, holding his cigarette between two fingers. Then he rose, pulling the paper and handing it to Diaspora. A Mutant, names and known address, how much she'd been monitored, what the next stages of action were. He leant against a desk, watching her with a cool gaze.
"One name. That's all it takes to find out everything about one Mutant. 46 minutes."
Nigel took a deep drag of his cigarette.
"46 minutes, 13 days, 6 months. Seven laptops and computers, that I have to now start again from scratch, operating system and all. A burnt bridge with the SIS and most likely high alert from other allied nations and their anti-mutant program. If I did that non-stop to the end of my life, I'd be lucky if I saved sixty mutants."
He smiled, the first honest smile since Diaspora had walked into his room.
"If I had no other option, then I'd do just that. Save sixty people from a fate I know is worse than death. But that's not exactly responsible time management, is it?"
Nigel tapped his finger against the paper.
"So we start with this one. When are we heading off to liberate her?"
"Listen, Spora, it's not as easy as just logging into Google Plus and checking out their holiday snaps. Have I found any Mutants? Yeah, too right. I've found them all, they're just out back having a pint."
He swung back to his laptop. It was an old, battered affair, circa 1998 and as thick and heavy as a slab of concrete. The room held a variety of desktops, laptops, ancillary screens and the constant hot whir of computer fans. On it we're a myriad of code, windows popping up and disappearing, a flashing, dancing affair that looked like nonsense to the untrained eye. Nigel tapped the screen with one hand as he lit a cigarette with the other.
"This is the data equivalent of a Mission Inpossible bloke dangling above a wall of lasers and pressure plates. When I left the SIS, I didn't go scorched earth. I didn't steal any data or wire myself all of the King's underwhelming bank account. I snuck out the back door in a manner that meant, while the bosses had a panic, all of the tracks and paths I had laid out stayed in place. They didn't wipe my system or torch all the software I'd put in place. So I had a way in. Not one I could use more than a couple of times, but one none the less. This is one of those few chances I get to sneak back in. It's not as easy as waltzing in amd taking the information I'm looking for from a shelf."
Nigel's fingers began to hammer at an old-fashioned keyboard. White symbols reflected from his glasses, his eyes flickering like he was trying to watch every individual in a swarm of flies, all at once. The cigarette hung from his lips was occasionally drawn on for a hit of smoke, but he never took his eyes from the screen.
"Now, when I worked for the Mutant Relocation and Rehabilitation Department, whose role was just as nefarious as that seemingly innocuous name suggests, they didn't just lay out names and addresses like the yellow pages. Every word had encryption, every layer had a firewall which pinged an alert if anything that wasn't triple verified tried to go through it. Ball-ache just trying to book a holiday, I tell you. So what this meant was that even someone with access didn't have access to everything. I couldn't see names, addresses, photos, details, not unless I was assigned to a case. Even then, they diced up dossiers and profiles, making it damn near impossible for an outside source to waltz in and take whatever they wanted."
Nigel pushed himself off, wheeling to the other side of the room, a different screen pulsing with a faint blue light. He squinted at a few lines and words, puffing smoke as he did so.
"So where does this leave us? Up a certain creek without a certain paddle. I a pitch black room fumbling around in the dark. Hence my earlier statement. I left a little doorway for myself, which the MFFD would have found if they had been smart. But I disappeared quietly, so they forgot about muggins over here. What about the security, I hear you ask? Those oh-so-clever firewalls? Well, here's the clever bit."
He spun to Diaspora, hands now clasped across his stomach, smiling smugly up at her through out-of-fashion glasses. Nigel loved to stroke his own ego.
"The firewall is like a castle. High walls, thick stones, moats and gates and all that. One look at that and anyone might wonder, "how the bloody hell would you get in?" Well, that's the beauty of it. Everyone always forgets the latrine. Somewhere where the necessary waste data is flung out without being checked, because it's dead data. Nothing should be coming in."
Nigel scooted to a small desk, where an instant coffee machine began to pour our a dark, strong looking liquid. He drank it, still hot, and stubbed out his cigarette.
"Nobody wants to check the shit pipe. It's dark, and it stinks. Plus, climbing around in there means you're likely to get crap on yoir hands. So my secret pathway sits there, totally forgotten because nobody wants to stick their nose there in the first place. And that's a totally unguarded way in. So I release a piece of software that finds a rope I left hanging down through the shit. It climbs up, and the firewall is none the wiser, because it isn't designed notice anything crawling through fecal matter."
He lit a cigarette, and moved to another laptop. Nigel's fingers were a blur again, typing out streams and streams of code that seems open and activate windows every other second.
"But then we're in the castle without knowing where to go. What now? Who are we looking for? So now I have to harvest what data I can without setting off any alarms. A first name here, an address there. If I'm lucky, a photo that someone forgot to encrypt. If I'm not, then a random pile of data that I have to sift through. I run it through another bit of software, outside of the firewall, one that trawls social media. People love to post their lives on Facebook, to tweet about where they're eating their mediocre eggs on toast this morning. It's a digital blueprint, a map of lives. Billions of them, and I have to find what matches. This is the hard bit. I'm a sitting duck, on my arse with nothing I can do but hope nobody is sniffing around."
He looked up at Diaspora from his chair, watching her expression, gauging her reaction. Then he suddenly rose to his feet, striding past her. A bank of screens had started flashing red, each slightly out of sync. Nigel tutted under his breath, returning to the original laptop.
"And... bingo. A name, from countless lines of data from across the Internet, matched with locked down files within the SIS. Tagged as a Mutant, with a known address, photo, name, family, the whole lot. But now they sense me. What's going on, the software begins to say. Why is someone poking at all of these locked-down profiles of mutants?"
Nigel tapped the table fast, as if he was counting something happening at a rapid pace. He frowned.
"So you distract it. My little clever software suddenly makes a lot of noise. Not at one location, mind you. It releases a whole load of data, like fireworks going off. Or a monkey flinging shit. The security software goes haywire, and everything starts to lock down. They can't trace most of it, but there's still a trail that they could follow. Follow back to me."
Nigel gave another smarmy smile at Diaspora, before he pressed a series of keys. A number appeared on his screen. 10. He watched as it flashed to 9, then to 8.
"So now I burn the bridge. Now I scorched earth the whole thing. There'll be nothing left but ash and bone, no leads to follow, no nothing. Of course that means the SIS will be off-limits for months. They'll shut down, increase security, maybe even board up the crap-tube if they find it. I have to start from scratch somewhere else."
1. Words flashed up on every screen. GOOD NIGHT. Then it went black. The computers suddenly clicked off, the fans running to a stop. The room was dead quiet, apart from a single printer in the corner. A very old Xerox machine, slowly pushing a piece of paper out. There was an obvious face, a woman, and a lot of information beside it. Nigel watched it for a moment, holding his cigarette between two fingers. Then he rose, pulling the paper and handing it to Diaspora. A Mutant, names and known address, how much she'd been monitored, what the next stages of action were. He leant against a desk, watching her with a cool gaze.
"One name. That's all it takes to find out everything about one Mutant. 46 minutes."
Nigel took a deep drag of his cigarette.
"46 minutes, 13 days, 6 months. Seven laptops and computers, that I have to now start again from scratch, operating system and all. A burnt bridge with the SIS and most likely high alert from other allied nations and their anti-mutant program. If I did that non-stop to the end of my life, I'd be lucky if I saved sixty mutants."
He smiled, the first honest smile since Diaspora had walked into his room.
"If I had no other option, then I'd do just that. Save sixty people from a fate I know is worse than death. But that's not exactly responsible time management, is it?"
Nigel tapped his finger against the paper.
"So we start with this one. When are we heading off to liberate her?"
