Ibarra

Real Name: Ibarra
Renegade Name: The Red Reaper
Title: The Red Reaper
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Race: Filipino - Metahuman
Hair: Black
Eyes: Varies (Naturally brown)
Height: 6’0 ft
Weight: 190 lbs
Blood type: A+

Ibarra is a tall young man with broad shoulders and an athletically built body. He has fair skin tone and unique eyes that change color based on his mood, although they usually rest at blue. He has black color hair, medium length and though rarely, if ever, fixed always remains the same being let down at the back of his head with short fringes above his face.

Not one big on extravagant and luxurious clothing, Ibarra instead chooses to clothe himself based on efficiency. Given a militaristic style of upbringing, he finds the greatest comfort in wearing tactical equipment, even in everyday use. As such, Ibarra can usually be found wearing combat boots and kevlar lined clothing, if not full on body armor. Usually with him to complete his outfit is a favored red helmet that serves to both protect his identity and his head.

On the rare occasions when he is found wearing actual casual clothes Ibarra tends to keep to simple clothing choices, though almost always chooses to have some red within his clothing.

Despite his years being molded into the perfect assassin, Ibarra always remained human. Sure, his skills rose to the teachings he was forced to learn, but his mind never succumbed to the emotionless husk that the syndicate sought to turn him into. Despite his years being trained as an assassin, he is still the kindhearted and sarcastic soul that he once was as a child. Despite living the life of an assassin for most of his life, he has never been a cold blooded killer. Much as an assassin should be, though, Ibarra is not squeamish when it comes to killing.

Even as an assassin Ibarra abides by a moral code much similar to one he possessed as a kid stealing to survive. To him, killing is and was simply a necessity for survival... sometimes for himself and sometimes for others. Naturally, Ibarra’s morality was not shared by the syndicate he was trained by. Ironically, to hunt them down he is willing to turn into a cold blooded killer ready to exact his vengeance in full force even if it required a sea of red.

As a former dirt poor orphan of the streets, Ibarra is extremely compassionate to the less fortunate souls that go through what he once did as a child. This also means he is easily angered by those of the opposite nature. Anyone abusing their power on the weak and taking from the lesser can expect no sympathy from The Red Reaper. That being said, he is no hero of justice, merely someone operating on their own moral compass no matter how right or wrong he may appear towards others.

Though Ibarra is brash, brazen, and extremely reckless at his core is a heart of gold, one that is not afraid of risking his neck out for others even if it means paying a heavy price.

Life is all about luck. Some hit the lottery big, born into comforts and luxuries beyond what the common man or woman would ever have the pleasure of knowing whilst less fortunate souls are simply cast aside and forgotten. Ibarra was a soul that should not have seen the light of day. Only an hour into his life and he was already discarded, tossed into the streets and left to die by heartless parents. However, lady luck was as twisted as she was cruel; instead of letting the abandoned child simply fade away, she allowed the infant to be chanced upon by a small-time crook belonging to a crime syndicate. There, neck deep amidst garbage, was Ibarra; silent as a whistle, emanating not a single peep or whimper of self preservation. Lucky to be found… lucky to be alive.

Growing up, Ibarra’s first memories would be that of servitude. Even as a child, he knew not a single day lived in comfort. From the moment he was found in that dumpster he had been forced to produce profit, made to risk life and limb out on the streets begging for money. As an infant he played the part of a prop meant to harvest pity out of the wealthy, whilst his acting ‘parent’ for that day sat and waited to be blessed by the passersby that believed their generous donations would turn into food or medicine for the infant.

Time passed and the boy grew older. With each passing season Ibarra drew in less donations; each subsequent year producing worse profits than the previous. He had gotten too old to simply be pitied. Growing up had turned him into nothing more than a dirty street child, incapable of plucking the heartstrings of the common person. Immediately he was replaced by the next abandoned infant and bumped up to a new position.

Like every child that had gotten too old to play possum, Ibarra was made to collect money directly. Day in and day out he would walk the streets of Manila, forced to hop on the back of speeding jeepneys and pester passengers until he was kicked out or had gotten enough to move on to the next. Some days it would be the highways, some days the train stations, and everyday he was made to hit a quota that determined whether he would have a meal that night or be forced to sniff solvent to stave off hunger. It was then, when a meal looked impossible to reach, that Ibarra would turn to thieving.

From nabbing wallets to outright taking food wherever he could, Ibarra quickly developed a talent. Without ever having anything in his life to lose, he was fearless which meant he was an incredibly ballsy thief. Some days he would find himself with so much coin in his pockets that he would be able to afford sharing his spoils with the others that wouldn’t have been able to earn their food that night. In time, he grew closer with his group of strays, forming a bond with them that served as the only family they all would ever know as children. For a time, life wasn’t so grim. Each day was an adventure, just out and about the streets with buses and trains taking them to new sights.

Eventually Ibara wised up, grew rebellious, and started making trouble. All his life it had been hammered into him to hand the money he had collected during the day to the adults and each night of his life that had been exactly what Ibarra did, but the thing with family was that they took care of their own. Stealing enough for their own survival, Ibarra and his group of strays decided to run away and it was far simpler than it sounded. Everyday they would be dropped off into the streets and let loose, but every night they were made to return to one spot where vehicles would bring them back home. All they had to do was go missing. It was the easiest thing they had ever done… but nothing in life was ever so simple.

The taste of freedom that they celebrated only lasted a day. By the end of it they were hunted down by the adults and brought back home to be punished. Unfortunately for Ibarra, one of the higher ups had a unique power that allowed him to see the children’s location wherever they went, no matter how far they ran.

Once Ibarra and his group were found, they were beaten until the hope from their souls had been snatched and twisted into unwavering obedience, but even then the true punishment had yet to be started. An example had to be made out of one child. One of them was to be slaughtered, turned into a lesson forever etched into the hearts of those remaining. Ibarra, the leader of the little rebellious group was chosen, but luck sought a different end for the boy. The power hidden with his little body had awakened that night and he turned the tides to his favor, taking his first life. By the end of the night, the underling that was meant to kill the boy was nothing more than a corpse created by Ibarra’s aura.

Instead of being angered, the boss that had been watching over was simply impressed. He saw potential in Ibarra, all that had to be done was turn the kid to their side. Ibarra was made an offer he wouldn’t dare to refuse. In exchange for the freedom of his family, he would swear his unending service and loyalty. With one action, his execution had turned into an initiation. Just like that, he was recruited to become a part of the syndicate.

That had been the last time he had ever seen any of his ‘family’ again. Having displayed his potential, Ibarra was trained and educated, turned into a living weapon to be pointed and fired at whoever the syndicate needed dead.

For a decade Ibarra lived his life as the syndicate's personal assassin. During his time spent as what was essentially a slave made to kill, the boy gained a small reputation and a nickname ‘The Red Reaper’. Donning a red mask in each of his missions and leaving nothing but crimson, the name stuck and the child that had been left to die in the gutters of Manila had become one of the city’s most feared names.

Despite growing notoriety and status within the syndicate, Ibarra had always remained an unwilling participant in the murders he committed. There were many moments that he had thought of simply refusing to carry out orders, but at each of those times the lives of the family he had made were turned into an albatross around his neck. Although he hadn’t seen or heard from them ever since the night of their failed escape, he had made a promise to keep them safe and so long as he followed orders they would stay safe… or so he believed.

One day, Ibarra was tasked to recover a stolen shipment alongside a few other members of the syndicate. The thieves, making the same mistake that Ibarra did so long ago as a child, were completely unaware of the syndicate’s ability to track down its property. The man with the power that had caught Ibarra and his family served as the leader for the raid. Caught off guard and largely untrained, the syndicate group mowed through the thieves and though the enemy numbers were far greater than Ibarra had expected, they triumphed without casualties. Once inside they secured what was left of the shipment.

Unbeknownst to Ibarra, the shipment they were meant to reclaim were child slaves owned and sold by the syndicate. Suddenly he realized why the numbers they faced were so many. Those that were freed from the syndicate had chosen to fight back and free others alongside those that had set them free. For the first time in his life Ibarra had truly felt the weight of the murders he had committed for the sake of his family. Walking through piles of corpses sucked whatever little light remained in his soul. Every single dead body could have and should have been him, but instead there he was on the other side pulling the trigger.

As if lady luck had not had enough with the boy, Ibarra’s pupils fell upon a group of corpses that looked all too familiar.

Hand in hand as they lay on a pool of red were the only people Ibarra had ever cared for. All this time he had thought them safe, living a normal life somewhere far from the messed up fate they had all been casted by lady luck, but that dream was just that… a dream. In reality, the syndicate would never have thrown away what they saw as nothing more than merchandise, and that was all Ibarra and his friends were ever meant to be. For ten years they had lied to him, forced him to do his bidding in exchange for his family’s comfort and safety, a promise that was never honored.

Once more, Ibarra was left alone. With nothing but anger and despair left in his heart, Ibarra walked up to their leader and fired as many bullets as he could at the back of the man’s head. Ibarra thought it to be his final action and as the others quickly turned to realize his treachery, the boy accepted his death.

Then, lady luck twisted his fate from the sweet escape of death to a cruel life meant to be lived with the knowledge of all his failures. A rival gang had barged in on the syndicate intending to plunder what was left of the shipment and amidst the ensuing chaos of gunfire, Ibarra had managed to escape. Never stopping for one moment, he ran as fast as he could, but he knew that no matter how far he ran, they would simply find him. The city, and even the entire country, was theirs. The syndicate’s eyes and ears were everywhere, so Ibarra did the only thing he could.

Ibarra hopped on the back of a ship bound to a place far from home. For the first time in his life the boy was truly free and as he set into the unknown, Ibarra couldn’t help but look back at the life behind him. One final time, he laid eyes on his home country. One day he would return and on that day he swore to end each and every single person that had wronged him. Vengeance, not luck, had kept him alive.

The source of Ibarra’s power is a unique aura that surrounds and emanates from his body. While the aura provides him with a myriad of abilities, those abilities all coalesce to form Ibarra’s unpredictable brand of lightning speed gun slinging.

Energy Arsenal - The very essence of Ibarra’s arsenal is his ability to manipulate a field of aura that surrounds him and comes from him. Ibarra is able to turn his aura into an assortment of weapons limited only to his imagination. More importantly he is able to turn his aura into ‘bullets’ which can range from mimics of a 9mm to laser beams, again the creativity of these bullets are limited only by Ibarra’s own imagination. Although Ibarra refers to what he fires as ‘bullets’, those ‘bullets’ are nothing more than visages of the real thing. In actuality what Ibarra produces from his aura are pure manifestations of energy that are emitted from his aura merely taking the shape of whatever he has conjured in his thoughts. Any ‘bullet’ he fires can either be channeled to emanate from one of his aura weapons, a real physical object, or even any part of his body— such as an open palm or a finger gun.

Freeflow - Whenever he is surrounded by his aura Ibarra’s physical capabilities are significantly boosted beyond what the regular man is capable of. Although his pure strength is boosted a fair amount by the aura, the aura primarily focuses on increasing the level of Ibarra’s speed and movements. With his aura augmentation Ibarra is able to not only move at extreme speeds but also move through his environment with perfect fluidity and perform absurd maneuvers or body contortions even in mid air with ease.

Bullet Time - By far the greatest ability that Ibarra’s aura provides is the ability to slow down his perception of time. Bullet time effectively allows Ibarra to see things in slow motion when channeling the ability. In this hypersensitive state of receiving stimuli Ibarra is able to over-process situations and perform extremely precise shots or absurd matrix dodges.

Aura Dependence - Since the source of every single unique ability Ibarra has is his aura, were anything ever to dampen or nullify that very aura Ibarra would immediately have his abilities weakened, if not completely lose access to all of his abilities. As he is a metahuman, anything that would hamper the abilities of a metahuman or even block the meta gene would nullify Ibarra's aura.

Big Bang, Big Limits - Although the weapons and ‘bullets’ that Ibarra forms are limited only by his creativity, they do have a strict limit when it comes to their effectiveness. Everything Ibarra forms with his aura can only be as strong as his own aura currently is.

Depletion - Ibarra’s aura is not exactly an unlimited well of energy. If he were to ever fully deplete his aura, Ibarra would have to rest for a whole day and be completely powerless for the duration. The more complicated the use of his aura, the more of his aura is depleted. As an example, conjuring and firing a 9mm bullet wouldn’t deplete his aura as much as firing off a laser beam. Physical exhaustion and pain can also deplete the aura of Ibarra. Other than sleep, Ibarra can also intake calories to restore his aura reserves.

Slice and Dice -  A stylish pair of black pistols that use .45 bullets.

Red Reaper Gear V1 - Ibarra's gear during his days as an assassin and the only way he could ever be identified as the 'Red Reaper'.

The entire outfit including helmet is made from a light, yet durable, kevlar weave designed to stop heavy ballistic attacks, but more importantly look cool doing so under a leather jacket. The helmet is painted red whilst the rest of the outfit is painted matte black. The helmet has one way smoked eye lenses to hide Ibarra's often extravagant colored pair of pupils. For added comfort the helmet is also modular in nature, meaning Ibarra is able to easily slide the face part off and show his face whenever the whether gets too hot. Comes with nifty utility pouches. Does not come with internal air-conditioning, much to Ibarra's dismay.

Unique Pupils - So long as Ibarra's aura gas tank isn't yet depleted, his eyes will change color depending on his mood. This does not burn up any of his energy in any way, but is a good indicator for when he is out of gas. When all is well, Ibarra's eyes tend to be blue in color.

Hand to Hand Expert - Part of Ibarra's training as an assassin was to learn various martial arts. Although the martial skills only tend to come out when he is out of energy or actively trying to conserve it, Ibarra is still a veritable master of both striking and grappling arts.

With one big bang, the charging monster truck had been turned into a literal fire truck that was going in reverse. Ibarra and his new friends had managed to send the thing packing, but hadn’t quite destroyed it for good. It would be back soon and the boy wasn’t keen on a round two… he had after all just barely made it past the first encounter thanks to his water defense's mild failure. There were a few burns throughout Ibarra’s body and though they pained, the boy wouldn’t be out of it just yet… it was a damn good thing that the fight had stopped for the moment.

It was time to get the fuck out of here.

Before Ibarra would begin moving though, he would hear his friend Asami weeping over a rat… ‘A rat?’ Ibarra’s blue eyes quickly turned to the corpse of the Big Cheese. He hadn’t realized it then, but now that he saw it with his own two eyes, a faint melancholy washed over him. It seemed the others mostly felt the same… Craiton aside that is. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one grieving the most since you're an x-form too?” Ibarra quickly retorted. He hadn’t known Lucky all too long, but Ibarra had seen enough to know that the Big Cheese was a pretty cool dude… ignoring the fact that he made his goons open fire on them at least.

Interrupting the grieving session, a car would suddenly pull up in the garage. Ibarra readied his pistols and got into action mode once more, but when he actually saw who it was any sort of emotion he felt turned into skepticism. “Ehhhh…” Of course Din was alive, he had guessed as much, but now the strange green pervert was with them too? Goddammit. Was all of this supposed to just be part of the entrance exam? Then did that mean Lucky wasn’t really dead? Before Ibarra could really test the corpse out for life, he was reminded of the goal. Time was ticking after all and they all had to make it out to the blonde guy before time was up.

The boy would look around and see his friends hop into vehicles. Asami found herself a cool tricycle and Gilfred drove away in a car. Ibarra couldn’t quite find anything to his liking until suddenly a beam of moonlight shot out from the skies to land a holy spotlight on a tipped over piece of metal. From the corner of his vision, he would find the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Rushing over to the hunk of metal that fate had guided him to, the boy quickly pulled up the tipped over naked sport bike to its feet. Almost as if Lucky was watching him from above and guiding the boy, the motorcycle’s keys would be tied right at the handle bar. “I’ll take care of her for you, Big Cheese.” The boy would say to the sky, hoping that this wasn’t all just part of the script… otherwise, he would look really stupid if Lucky came back to life.

Finally, Ibarra would pop the keys in and turn it towards ignition. It had been a whole lot of time since he had ridden one of these and this time? He was gonna keep the new ride. Pulling on the throttle and putting his weight back on the rear tire, Ibarra would speed off towards the group in a wheelie. Despite the mild pain he felt, the boy felt damn near invincible now.