ULTRA

by **UltraEnigma** December 20th 2021, 11:35 pm

ULTRA
"One’s own yesterday is a ghost that will not be laid down. Death is the only exorcism.”


The Bio:Real Name: Dexter Lincoln
Renegade Name: Ultra
Thematics: [INVINCIBLE] [GENESIS] [MEATHOOK]
Psychology: ENTP | 7w8 | SLUEI | Choleric-Sanguine
Title(s): Ultra, Texas Red (formerly)
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Birthplace: Nacogdoches, TX
Home: Atlanta, GA
Age: 33
Gender: Male
Race: Metahuman
Hair: Black
Eyes: Red
Height: 6'3
Weight: 225 lbs.
Blood type: O-

The Looks:

The Personality:Assertive as a bull, and stubborn as a brick wall. Ultra's usual demeanor sits on a turbulent scale between rigidly aloof and ruthlessly flippant. Outweighing his physical destructive power is a chronic impulse to push people with inflammatory and provocative words. When coupled with his uncompromising forthrightness that crushes any regard for tact or subtlety down to vanishing infrequence, his audacity often results in escalation to the physical. Tragically, many of these personality traits are poisoned by a temper that lies at the end of a fleeting fuse, rending him at times unable to endure the same verbal heat he subjects others to.

Morally, his compass most often points to himself, although altruism isn't completely absent. Far too cynical to give himself entirely to a heroic cause, yet not so callous or selfish to become truly villainous. A usually neutral attitude toward villainous activity coupled with a brutal modus operandi puts him firmly in the gray area. Public perception of Ultra constantly bounces between that of menace and savior. At best he's a loose cannon whose motivations are often difficult to decipher. At worst he's a volatile wildcard with a short fuse and little restraint. 

The Story:



Dexter Albert Linclon was born in Nacogdoches, Texas to parents Albert and Sheryl Lincoln. Albert was a rancher and pastor, Sheryl was a veterinarian. Dexter grew up on the family ranch, Red River Cattle, which sat along Texas State Highway 21 several miles east of Nacogdoches. The middle child of three, Dexter became a problem child due to the parental blind spot caused by his lack of status as the eldest achiever or youngest delicate. As Dexter reached his teenage years, delinquency and drug use put his parents at their limit. Against his wishes, they sent him to San Andres Academy, a boarding school for troubled children and teens in Houston, as a last ditch effort to straighten him out. 

Unbeknownst to the Lincoln family,  San Acostes Academy wasn't at all what it appeared to be. What was supposed to be an institution to correct delinquencies was actually a government black-project that aimed to remove society's 'undesirables' early and use them as subjects for experiments with drugs, medical procedures, brainwashing, psychological torture, and anomalous materials. Claims that attending children and teens were criminally insane and unfit to be released coupled with government support kept their sinister practices unrevealed. Dexter would spend just over four years at San Acostes, being subject brainwashing, as well as multiple body-ruining experiments that left him maimed, disfigured, and infirm by the time he was nineteen.

Despite the constant hell he was subjected to, his mind never broke like his body. As a way of coping with his hellish reality, Dexter retained a belligerent and defiant attitude, often earning himself extra physical abuse and other torments as punishment. An escape attempt was inevitable. When the day finally came, a months-long plan was executed with the help several other subjects. Alas, they only managed to evade capture of several hours. All of the escapees, including Dexter, to be placed into the anomalous materials program once returned to San Acostes. 

The new program was a break from the regular beatings and procedures, but required subjects to work with dangerous and poorly understood materials. Unfortunately it would turn out to ultimately be more terrifying than the previous circumstance, as death and disappearance of subjects was a near daily occurrence.  After narrowly surviving several assignments Dexter's infirmity was at its peak, having contracted several ailments from hazardous materials. His ability to walk was almost nonexistent, was nearly blind, resigned to living in a constant state of agony. 

Administrators looking to get some final use out of Dexter assigned him to be the next subject for experiments with an odd spaceborne object known only as 'The Relic'. Discovered in by an American expedition in Antarctica, the object was believed to be some kind of reactor of alien origin that channeled an enigmatic kind of energy dubbed 'Ultrawaves'. Scientists at San Acostes were charged with determining its effects on humans before attempts to harness its power as a seemingly infinite energy source could be approved. Three subjects previous to Dexter had been disintegrated Ultrawave flares during testing. It seemed that he too would suffer the same fate. 

Upon contact with 'The Relic', the Ultrawaves given off by 'The Relic' spiked, sending a blinding dazzle of crimson through the chamber. Dexter's screams were drowned out by the sounds of electronic interference and power surges throughout the facility.  As the energy storm raged through the chamber, Dexter could perceive nothing but pain. Every molecule in his body began to disintegrate under exposure to the flare. Suddenly, Dexter could feel a presence through the anguish, something horrible and malicious which ordered him to perish. In a final act of defiance, moments from being atomic dust, he refused. At that instant, a second, stronger flare shook the facility as Dexter reconstituted in a flash of red thunderlight as the Relic merged with his being. Overcome with sudden power and rage, Dexter tore through San Acostes with sudden newfound strength and destructive potential, leaving a bloody mess of bodies and rubble in his wake. As the initial rush waned, and Dexter realized that the brainwashing could still be used against him, he fled prematurely and went into hiding for just over a decade. 

Hearing that San Acostes had been declassified, and that those involved with the project who survived his initial onslaught had been indicted and locked away, Dexter return to society believing that the chances of anyone knowing of his origin or brainwashing were vanishingly small. 

The Powers:



THE ULTRAFORCE:
The source of Ultra's power, dubbed The Ultraforce, is an enigmatic variation of electrical energy with an unclear origin. It manifests as red electricity, sometimes accompanied by a red haze. Curiously, it shares many qualities with electrometric energies such as visible light and infrared radiation (such as not requiring a conductor and being able to propagate in a vacuum) despite not actually being electromagnetic. As a living battery of the Ultraforce, Ultra is able to manifest and manipulate powerful arcs of this energy, primarily for lethal and destructive purposes. 

ULTRA-REFLEX:
Ultra's reflexes are highly enhanced by the Ultraforce. His visual reflexes are enhanced far more than his auditory and touch reflexes, though all remain well above the peak human benchmark. When coupled with his other capabilities, Ultra is easily capable of feats such as catching and dodging bullets, swatting missiles out of the air, and going toe to toe with even the quickest among supers. 

ULTRA-SENSE:
Yet another benefit of the Ultraforce, all five of Ultra's senses are highly tuned above the standard human benchmark. Some examples include; hearing heartbeats, smelling the tiniest shifts in compounds both organic and otherwise, seeing intricate details on things moving at high speeds, tasting blood types, and feeling the Earth's rotation.

ULTRA-VISION:
A unique manipulation of the Ultraforce, Ultra can focus the energy through his ocular nerve and condense it into a highly volatile form. When released, these Ultrawaves react violently with compounds in Earth's atmosphere upon agitation (such as contact with an object), and violently erupt into an explosion. Ultra can willingly vary the intensity of this effect, with a peak reaching near that of a high explosive tank shell.

ULTRA-FLIGHT:
Ultra also  possesses the gift of flight. He can easily and comfortably reach speeds up to Mach 1, with a top speed of Mach 3 that can be sustained for short amounts of time.

ULTRA-STRENGTH:
Superhumanly strong, Ultra can effortlessly lift up to one hundred tons (Blue Whale, Boeing 757, House). While straining, he can push his limit up to around one thousand tons (Cargo Ship, Sierra Redwood Tree).

ULTRA-ENDURANCE:
Ultra's body is extremely resistant to harm and hazard. He can withstand extreme environmental conditions including extreme heat, extreme cold, and the vacuum of space. His skin is highly resistant to kinetic energy, making things such as bullets, blades, and even most explosives practically useless. His bones are durable enough to withstand the impact of falling from the sky and building collapses. Despite this, he is not entirely invincible.

The Weaknesses:
THE EYES:
Ultra's eyes are one of the primary windows for Ultrawaves to escape his body, and as such are a notable weakness. While more far more durable than the average humans, they aren't on the same level as the rest of his body, and in addition his ocular nerve is sensitive due to the Ultrawaves passing through them constantly. Extremely bright lights, and high-speed strobing lights, especially in the green spectrum (opposite of red), can daze, injure, and even render Ultra temporarily blind. Trauma can also be inflicted much easier to his eyes than any other part of his body. The explosions from Ultra's Ultravision, if erupting too close to their point of origin, have the potential to seriously injure him. 

METABOLIC FUEL:
The Ultraforce isn't without a price. Ultra's metabolism has mutated to convert chemical energy into Ultrawaves, but this requires a heavy upkeep of nutriets lest his body start feeding on itself to maintain the unceasing production of Ultrawaves. Upwards of ten thousand calories per day are required for basic upkeep, with even more required when Ultra actually exerts his powers. The more he uses his power without fuel, the progressively weaker they will become. 

GALLIUM:
Gallium, or more specifically the gallium-71 isotope can absorb Ultrawaves and render them inert. Because of this, Gallium is unaffected by the Ultraforce, and is highly toxic to Ultra, able to drain his powers gradually on contact as well as on occasion break through is durability entirely based on the purity of the substance.

CODE PHRASE: 
Years of psychological conditioning, hypnosis, and brainwashing at San Acostes resulted in the implantation of a code phrase. This phrase, once uttered, will put Ultra into a robotic state with full subservience to the speaker. An excerpt from Vladimir Nabokov's poem Pale Fire, the expression is as follows: 

"In a bright sky above a mountain range
One opal cloudlet in oval form 
Reflects the rainbow of a thunderstorm."

Ultra is aware of the code phrase's existence but is oblivious to the syntax. Whilst under its effects, Ultra essentially becomes the personal killing machine of the speaker. A second rendition  of the phrase will deactivate the hypnosis and render him afflicted by a daze for several minutes.

MAGNETISM:
Powerful magnetic forces can scramble Ultrawaves, making them hard to control, or in extreme cases, disabling Ultra's powers entirely. Naturally, at the North and South poles, Ultra is significantly weakened.

SHORT-FUSE:
Notoriously irascible, Ultra can be rather easily provoked into a bad situation. His short fuse and sense of pride can get the better of him, allowing would-be opponents to bait him into disadvantageous situations.

ASTATINE:
Similar to Gallium, Astatine can render Ultrawaves inert, and its specific radioactive emissions can interfere with Ultra's powers to the point of become self-destructive to manifest. It is even more effective than Gallium in bypassing his durability, with an Astatine bullet being just as lethal to him as lead to anyone else.


The Fluff:
MENTAL FORTITUDE:
Not at all a superhuman quality, and rather something that has been innate since birth. Dexter has staggering willpower and mental strength.

CRIMSON LIGHT:
When manifesting his powers, Ultra gives off a red aura and stray bolt of Ultrawaves that are entirely involuntary, making him very hard to miss. Additionally, his eyes never stop glowing, resulting in him resorting to the constant utilization of sunglasses to hide his identity (to varied success.

TEXAS RED:
Ultra's original superhero persona was less than ideal. A man in a Texas flag suit flying around with red lighting. This was shortly after his return and poorly thought out. Few people know that Ultra and Texas Red are one and the same.

The RP Sample:
As per what is allowed in the template example, I will be including two excerpts from elsewhere. 

The First, from a Star Wars RP character, an Imperial Knight named Morrow: 

War is fear. It is the formulation and handling of fear far more than it is organized murder. Those who best dominate the primal aversion of becoming a ghost bound to oblivion shall seize the day. This was the lesson that stuck with Morrow above all others. Thus, in the name of that very superintendence over trepidation, beneath the pitiless rain of Dromund Kaas with his pallid saber aloft and evidencing the enemy, Morrow ordered men and women to begin dying for their cause. Emboldened by the monologues of their respective leaders, they complied without a single thought spared for what-ifs. They fought through death-kingdomed gates with neither eye turned toward the inevitable. They died in the shadow of their principles cast by the Iron Sun at their backs.

No one would sing songs or tell stories in their memory. This was not Bastion, nor Coruscant, nor Carlac. Just another stage for the unending galactic theater, and one of particularly diminished Imperial significance. They lacked names of renown like the 501st or Gladius. Notoriety dictated they would be their own mourners. Mourners of no one. Mourners of the the unknown soldier. History wouldn't be bothered to remember. Yet, in the nights yet to come once the fighting stops, when rare silence calms the mind, the survivors of the 46th Vanguard will remember, and they will all live again.

Caught flat-footed by the sudden onslaught, their retaliation did little to damn the stygian stream. The Imperial formation became a bloody swath of corpses and desperation across the Alliance camp, blemished by disparate survivors on the offensive in what felt like moments. Viscera drowned the landscape, a macabre painting of degenerate cannibal gluttons. This was how the Maw formulated fear. This why they were execrated. The clouds themselves cold have bled, and it wouldn't have looked much different. Rain mixed with crimson, created a shimmering, rushing plain of diluted ichor which swallowed the dead and washed away dismembered limbs.

Morrow led from the front, blade alive and nimble, meeting the surprise onslaught at its head. On his own, the difference he made was negligible. They were losing. Aiding the Alliance at the breakthrough of this assault had been a decision made purely of necessity. An attempt to take the serpents head before any significant momentum had been gained. Morrow knew once that Maw contingent was done with Alliance, they were next, and laying in wait felt like waiting to die. He had thought a counter-attack would be wise. He believed guile would compensate for any gaps in his confidence. Tragically, the truth was that his aversion to inaction had inadvertently killed dozens. Now, it seemed his only option was to choke on his cleverness and die.

One by one, the enemies came. Limb by limb, they fell at his feet, creating a promenade above the bloody floodplain. Soaked black locks hung like ribbons, stuck to his face like leeches, obscured the killing fields and oncoming assailants. Morrow shouted for an advance, but the sound of rain, screams, and firepower drowned every syllable. Pearly blade thrust into the air and indicated toward hell queued the circumstantially deaf. They charged. Alliance troops and intrepid civilians fell in with them. Creed and color meant nothing when faced with the prospect of being disembowled by a common enemy.

Morrow manifested a tug in the force to trip a flanking cannibal, those that ran followed behind tripped atop their comrade. Like a conductor before the symphony of war, Morrow indicated again with the unpigmented blade. "Fire, fire fire!" he shouted, all authoritativeness drowned beneath the desperate, frantic malice of self-preservation. A hail of blaster fire filled the pile of men with holes before they had a chance to unacquaint themselves with the ground. They had blitzed through the assault, cut the attackers in two. Surrounded, it was break the assault or be devoured.

Morrow ignored his premonitions, he didn't wish to see his fate.

The second from another Star Wars RP character, a recently fallen Jedi named Zaavik:

No stuncuffs, no press, no tribunal to administer condemnation. This homecoming lacked everything he expected it would have should it ever come to fruition, and contained so much more he would've never anticipated. Invader instead of prisoner, enemy instead of detainee, volition instead of compulsion. The Jedi Temple was a nostalgic sight. To see it again should have been a relief, would have been a relief, were it not for the minatory implications that drove his return; blackmail intertwined with a test of his mettle.

Zaavik's presence on Jakku had the unforeseen consequence of catching the attention of his lover's execrable mentor. What should have been a clandestine trip became leverage for Mori's machinations. The conniptions it gave him still weren't entirely out of his system. Most of his time since then had been expended with broodish contemplation. The only person he had to vent the objects of his ire toward was the same person who couldn't know. It was particularly claustrophobic, as corners go.

QUOTE Darth Mori said:
"This is how the game works, though I'm unsurprised you don't understand. The pieces are already in motion, there is nothing you can do to change what will happen on Coruscant besides maybe trying to kill me now -"

Would any Sith besides Aradia give him a second look if he cut Mori with her back turned? That was the kind of underhand thing they were partial to, wasn't it? Zaavik doubted he'd find a better opportunity in the foreseeable future. All it would take is one stroke while the shifter had her eyes set on the conflict, and that would be it. The end, lights out, goodnight changeling. It wasn't any real personal restraint that kept him from trying it, and rather the contrary wishes of his paramour. Incessant fish-eye toward the Sith Lord might have given them both half a mind toward what he was really thinking.

Maybe then the insight would be mutual. He imagined he knew what they were thinking. The Shifter probably wanted revenge for an Empire now fallen. Aradia wanted revenge for a life upheaved and nearly taken. They thought this was justice, didn't they? Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't, yet he didn't feel like he had the right to an opinion on what was and wasn't just. If things had been different, perhaps he'd feel like he was getting revenge too. Part of him felt entitled to it, but jaded acceptance was the overwhelming voice.

Old memories and faces draped over him a heavy melancholy. A vestigial urge to throw himself off the dropship tried to poke holes in his reason more than one. Zaavik was haunted, in this moment more than ever. Haunted by words still left unsaid and by the people who never heard them. Haunted by the faces he'd snuffed from the Living Force. Haunted by the blood that wouldn't wash from his hands. Haunted by the knowledge that he was furthering the cause of something that deserved to be scrubbed from the face of the galaxy. Haunted by the persuasion that those Jedi who would eradicate these dark directives are little better than the Sith who conduct them. Haunted by the clear cognizance that evil always triumphs.

As much as it might have placated the woe to wallow, there wasn't any time for it. A tight, adrenaline-fueled shake of his head forced him to man up. At least, it was the foundation to the façade that he tried to let fool him that he was persevering. He was doing that same headshake, deep breath, game face routine a lot more lately. Those feelings and thorns didn't just go away, but he could bluff himself if nothing else.

No moping, no complaining, swing your saber and suck it up.

QUOTE Aradia Pavanos said:
"...Do you know another way in?"

Of course he did. Though he couldn't think of a single one that wasn't possibly being utilized or had otherwise been found out. There was a numbers advantage ahead of them, though the filter of blue and green blades of plasma didn't make it look very promising. "We don't need one," Zaavik remarked. Their in was right in front of them, no use wasting an advantage. Surprise and numbers would be more than adequate to get them past the frontline. It was their specialty, after all.

Already ahead of both the girl and a possible protest, he clashed blades with a Jedi. A Sith stuck them from behind. Zaavik shoveled past, clashed with another. Red strobed against blue eightfold, strikes of quick succession blared with epileptic radiance. Zaavik spun under his own riposte, recalling Ataru as he kept his blade against his assailants while an acrobatic whirl gathered momentum for a backfisted strike into the Jedi's jaw. His enemy crumpled to the floor, still living, but unconscious.

Zaavik didn't jump at the chance for an execution, but another Jedi did, flying through the air for an overhead strike. One stroke of Zaavik's crimson cut her in half. Dead before she hit the ground. No avoiding that one. A look wasn't spared to the bisected Knight. Either indifference or a fear of facing the reality of what was happening. "If we stay on the wall we can give this whole frontline the slip," he called back to where he could vaguely sense Aradia's presence, though he was hardly audible over the Hell that the Temple foyer had become.

by **Chellizard** December 21st 2021, 12:01 am

Approved and moved.

ULTRA

ULTRA

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