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"Democracy don't rule the world You'd better get that in your head This world is ruled by violence But I guess that's better left unsaid.” ---Bob Dylan---
School: John C. Fremont High School Year: Junior Name: Joshua “JT” Treborn Alias: JT, Mutt Date of Birth: June 2, 1991 Age: 17, soon 18 Nationality: American Ethnicity: English/German/Dutch Blood Type: A- Height: 6’2” Weight: 195 pounds Hair Colour: Naturally Black (Bleached Blond) Eye Color: Light Blue Handedness: Right Sexual Orientation: Ambisexual (Not quite bisexual – he doesn’t care either way and goes with whatever he feels like at the time.)
--Physical Appearance-- An extremely intimidating individual. At six feet, two inches of solid, reinforced muscle, and a bad attitude scratched into his very soul, the man is one hell of a physical specimen. Let’s take it from the top. JT changes his hairstyle routinely and has naturally jet black hair, but recently he bleached his entire head a pale blond. He has heavy brow ridges that slant upwards toward his temples and deep set eye sockets which ends up casting his eyes in a constant shadow, giving him a cold, primeval look. When his eyes are visible, they are seen to have a piercing, light blue color surrounded by a constant web of red capillaries, permanent bloodshot eyes. His large nose has been broken several times and has a slight left bend near the bridge where the bone did not heal properly. His jaw is very defined and his chin is wide and square, traits that give him a mature, masculine appearance. In fact he may have been considered handsome at one time, but years of abuse and hard living have left their scars deep beneath the skin’s surface. He has been prematurely aged, producing an unyielding and frightening look in his face and in his gaze.
From the neck down, the body follows in a similar fashion to the head. He has fair skin by birth and can maintain only a slight tan, even with the constant hrash sun of Southern California. He is naturally hairless and has not a single hair or even a blemish on his entire body save his armpits and his pubic region. Because of genetics he has a naturally lean frame that sheds body fat easily, keeping the overall fat percentage low. Compounded with that, however, is his near-constant fitness conditioning, giving him an exceptionally toned and powerful looking body. His muscles are not huge like a bodybuilder's but far from tiny. The best description would be if you combined the visual attributes of a gymnast with a professional MMA fighter. Eight-pack abs, chiseled cuts under the pectoral muscles, a wide V-shaped back, large arms, tree trunk thighs with a sprinter’s calf muscles, and short gnarly fingers covered in calluses, along with the soles of his feet. Simply put, the total package, designed for violence.
--Apparel & Accessories-- JT's clothing style is minimalistic at best. Salvation Army, Army/Navy surplus, thrift shop, anywhere with cheap clothing, that's his store of choice. Faded, loose jeans, cargo shorts, tank tops and military jackets, running shoes and leather boots. There really isn't any style. In fact, because of the hot temperatures through most of the year, he's just as likely to be seen going shirtless and shoeless as anything else. No jewelry, no tags, no anything.
He does however hate his school uniform, with a burning passion. He will take whatever shortcuts he can to get out of wearing even one item of the code. He never tucks in his shirt, his ties are never tightened, his pants are baggy and held up with cracked and fraying belts. He goes barefoot in the hallways whenever possible. Despite disciplinary measures he refuses to conform any more than the bare minimum.
These are just a few adjectives used to describe JT over the years. He is, without question, a beast. A mutt. A mad dog. Suffering from ASPD, Antisocial Personality Disorder, JT is constantly at odds with the accepted behavioral patterns of the normal world. Shaped by years of abuse, violence, exploitation, and neglect, JT has learned that the only person he can fully trust is himself. He is distrustful, even spiteful, of anyone who tries to help him or get close to him. He will manipulate people to get what he wants and will be willingly manipulated in return, as long he feels he will benefit from it in the end. He is highly sexually charged and has on more than one occasion assaulted both women and men, having been accused of rape several times. He is a liar, a bragger, charming in a shallow way but decietful and reprehensible just below the surface.
His motives are never fully clear, although the one consistency in his life seems to be a burning desire to defeat and destroy those stronger than him. He has been known to pursue a fight for months in the mere hope of slaughtering his opponent. He has a short temper that usually ends in violent confrontations. He hates the duality and condescending nature of society; for him good and evil, right and wrong are one and the same. He is not amoral - he understands the differences - but he chooses to ignore them. He never excuses his behavior and knows how others view him, but doesn't care.
In the end it's just too difficult to truly understand what goes through his mind, what pushes him to commit his atrocities. Smiling, staring, screaming, thrashing, he's an enigma soaked in blood. Just don't get in his way...
--Combat-- -Style- Brutality/Survival - In the words of a former opponent, JT is "a beast, an animal. He doesn't know mercy or limits or codes of honor. When you're fighting him, it's like fighting a rapid dog. It's...truly...a terrifying experience." That's a pretty good summary of his style. JT has no formal training in martial arts of any kind. Everything he's learned has come from trial and error. Punching, kicking, headbutting, biting, eye gouging, choking, groin attacks, nothing is off limits. He is an offensive brawler, taking the fight to the opponent and overwhelming them with his ferocity. Environmental weapons like chairs, walls, and metal pipes are fair game and used regularly. His attacks are chaotic, unpredictable, and down right deadly.
If he cannot win within the first series of exchanges, JT will rely on his thick hide to see him through to the end. Every time the opponent fails to put him down, JT is learning. He is studying, memorizing, picking things apart. Attack patterns, breathing habits, damage levels, taking in the subtle clues and exploiting any weakness, even attacking innocents if the need arises. Each time he survives, he grows one step closer to finding the winning edge. He has even been known to allow attacks to hit in order to gain superior leverage or to find a window of opportunity. In short, put him down fast...or you might not get the chance again.
-Grades- Strength: C - JT's constant training has produced fruit. For a man his age and stature, JT's strength is in the top 50% of his class. Able to bench press one and a half times his bodyweight and deadlift nearly 350 pounds clean off the floor, he is a force to be reckoned with. Strength is not his main attribute so while he does pack a wallop, it is not earth shattering. But, put enough bullets on target, and eventually everything (and anybody) goes down. Dexterity: D - The main weakness of JT. Since most of his past fighting and physical experiences have been brief, intense matches, speed is not his forte. He's quicker than the average man his size but not by much. His reflexes, say, for dodging a punch, are exceptionally quick. But any controlled motion, such throwing that punch himself, are not exactly lightening. Constitution: B - JT's best physical attribute. Simply put, he is the human equivalent of a tank. His pain tolerance is off the charts, able to shrug off even the hardest of blows with barely a flinch. His stamina to continue fighting is also world class; he can maintain peak performance for over a half hour of constant fighting, attacking, and defending. As close to A-class material in a new student as you're going to find at The Collective. Wisdom: C - Though only at C-class now, JT's fight knowledge is surprisingly deep and rapidly evolving. Having been in a vast variety of life threatening situations, JT never hesitates in any movements and has complete confidence in his skills. He has fought numerous times with hardened opponents so his instincts are finely tuned. He is fast becoming an expert at predicting movements and other battle related techniques. He uses this knowledge to compensate for his lack of speed, stopping opponents in their tracks instead of chasing them down.
-Weaknesses- JT's most obvious weakness is his speed. With relatively slow hands, he cannot stand toe-to-toe with a speed demon and expect even a quarter of his attacks to land. And while his strength is nothing to sneer at, a one-hit KO is not likely unless the blow lands in exactly the right spot. On top of these short-comings is his own style of combat. It is perfect for street fighting, but a formal match with set limits on his options can put him at a severe disadvantage. Along the same lines, a seasoned, trained martial artist who can neutralize JT's initial massive onslaught will find him backed into a corner and easily dispatched. (As long as he's dispatched quick, otherwise he'll come back with a vengenace.)
-Strengths- Pretty obvious really. It's extremely difficult to stop JT. He just keeps coming, and coming, and coming. Either put him down fast like the rabid dog he is or he will keep the pace high and simply run you into the ground. His style is also very unorthodox, making predictions on his next move almost impossible to correctly guess. In vice versa, JT has a firm knowledge of the anatomy of a fight and can sniff out what the opponent's next move will be (unless the opponent is as unorthodox as him). This same knowledge allows him to stop faster, stronger opponents by catching them off guard or in moments when they least suspect it.
---History---
"Arrghhh, fuckin' mutt. Nearly chewed my thumbs clean off."
"Stop bitching and load him into the van. We won't have long before he starts waking up."
"Fuckin' hope so. Took three of us to put him down without killing him out right. If he comes to and starts thrashin' again I'm splittin' his skull in two. I don't care what the bosses say."
"Fine, whatever. Just make sure his cuffs are tight. We'll be back in San Diego in an hour."
That's as much as JT heard before the lights went dim. When he finally came to, he was seated in a metal chair that was bolted to the floor, with long lengths of shiny chain holding him down. A rag soaked in alcohol was stuffed into his mouth and secured by a thick strip of heavy duct tape. His senses started to quickly return and he began to wrestle against his bonds, limbs thrashing and head whipping side to side like an epileptic. He was in a small, deathly dark room, the edges of which he could not see. A single bright spotlight over his head was the only illumination in the room. Cement floor and black nothing was all JT could see.
Suddenly there was a thundering crack as a fist wrapped in brass knuckles collided with the base of his neck. The blow caused him to pitch forward and let out a muffled gasp in the jolt of pain. Blood dripped from an open wound just above his eyebrow and pitter-pattered against the cement floor. After a moment's pause JT sucked in some of the alcohol on the rag and sat back up, motionless but breathing through his mangled nose hard and ragged like an overheated dog.
"See that's what I love about you JT. Anybody else your age, taking a hit like that to the neck, they'd be choking, screaming. Hell, they'd be out cold. But you...nothing. Not even a groan."
From behind him came a deep voice, smooth as silk but with a threatening edge like barbed wire. JT craned his neck around to try and see his attacker, but the man was well out of his vision's range. After he was done speaking JT heard papers being shuffled around and the click-click-click of a pen being opened and closed. After an annoyingly long moment the deep voice spoke again.
"Yeah, we know a lot about you JT. Full name 'Joshua Treborn', no middle name. Born to Mary Treborn and an unknown father on June 2, 1991 in Los Angles, California. Mother was a drunk and routinely beat you as an infant, often forgetting to feed you or to clean you. Brain damage was even feared by clinic doctors at one point. By age 4 civil services came in and took you away, jumping you from foster home to foster home. None of them very nice; one left you alone in a locked room for two weeks with only a bowl of water and a box of cereal. This kept up until one, a John Reed, disappeared off the grid and took you with him."
"You popped up again near the Mexican border three years later. John had been using you as a drug mule to supply his own cocaine and pot habit. At age 7 John was killed in a deal gone bad and you taken in as a hostage by an unknown drug cartel operating out of the deserts on the borders of Arizona, New Mexico, and California. For the next five years you were used in a variety of elicit activities: boy-child prostitution, drug smuggling, extortion/murder. Our intel says it is likely you had already killed a man by your 12th birthday."
"It was around that time your captors were wiped out by a rival cartel and you're custody changed hands. Your new masters saw your savage nature and an opportunity for you as a fighter, and began training you as such. For the next three years you were an illegal pit fighter, participating in a wide variety of match types: boxing, no-rules, weapons, animal-vs-human. The pictures from the rottweiler vs you fight were particularly interesting. How did you manage to break the dog's spine with your bare hands...?"
"Anyway, around the age of 16 you managed to escape by killing your captors while en route to a pit tournament. Nice work there, I see from the file you shoved a tire iron up a man's anus as a farewell gift. You happened to be in Los Angeles at the time and so began a new life there. But having never been to a school you had no choice but to go back to a life of crime, living wild and sleeping in the foothills. Selling yourself as a male prostitute. You also kept up your physical training and fighting for profit. And that's where you remained...until we picked you up this morning."
"There are plenty of holes we haven't filled in. Your past is a mystery to most. But honestly, I couldn't give two shits about who you were. All I, all we, care about is who you ARE..."
The man placed his hands on JT's shoulders and leaned in close, speaking less than a foot away from JT's ear.
"You're a beast JT. An animal. A rabid dog. And that's why we want you. Do you know about The System, JT? Probably not, you've never been to school in your life. Well we do. Back in the 70's and 80's, we were students in schools participating in The System. We were beaten, and abused, and drilled to toe the line, to believe in their lies. And we've got a bit of a grudge against 'them' for that. Think about it: former students grow into adults. You don't think they'd just accept the hell they went through. There are lots of us, a whole underground society. We just want one thing..."
"We want a little payback. Paid in blood and suffering. And that's where you come in. You're going to be our dog from now on. We pulled some strings and tomorrow you're going to start your first day of school, at a place called 'The Collective'. And you're going to do what you do best: raise hell. Do whatever you like, like a good beast. Fight, steal, kill, rape, whatever."
The man took his hands off of JT's shoulders and started walking, slow methodical steps until he was standing directly in front of JT. He wore a silver suit and was easily six feet tall, with a scar across his wide chin. But his face was hidden by the dark shadow of a wide brimmed hat. He stood for a moment, staring down at JT. Then, without the slightest hesitation, he lifted his foot up and slammed the heel of his boot into JT's balls. JT's eyes shot wide open and a barely muffled scream escaped the edges of the rag and tape. The man didn't even flinch; instead, he slowly twisted his heel back and forth, churning JT's testicles into a fine powder.
"Here's the deal JT: you're fucked. I've got your balls beneath my shoe and your life in my hands. You say anything other than 'Yes sir!' to me and I'll feed you your own eyeballs and use your scrotum as a condom to rape you. You're going to go to school, throw a bloody wrench into their system, or otherwise, we'll put a .45 in your head. Even someone as tough as you doesn't walk away from that."
"You'll have freedom otherwise: go to the cities. Go to the borders. Do whatever you like. But stray away from the Southern Cali-Northern Mexico area, and we'll find you, just like today. And kill you. We'll be watching you, keeping tabs, but no interference. You're on your own. So have fun, okay? You were born and bred to do this sort of thing JT. You're the kind of kid we need...the type that won't break. Ever."
The man in the silver suit slowly lifted his heel from JT's crotch and stood firm, towering before him. In an easy motion he reached down and ripped the tape from JT's face, taking a thin layer of skin with it. He wrenched the rag from JT's mouth and dropped the mess in the kid's lap, watching with a grin as JT coughed and sucked air.
"So then JT...do we have a deal?"
JT looked up, bloodshot eyes filled with seething rage but a total understanding of the situation. The answer was easy, but came with great difficulty. Finally, with a sarcastic, wrath-filled tone, JT said,
"Yes...sir." [/i]
« Last Edit: May 25, 2009 22:37:50 GMT -6 by zev »