Post by Drake Evans on Mar 21, 2009 4:30:28 GMT
Approved!
Full Name: Drake Evans
Alias: The Shadow Guard (The name of the vigilante hero he fashioned himself as)
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Occupation: Police Officer
Affiliations: Gotham City Police Department
Personality:
Drake has always been an introvert. He does not often, if ever, let anyone in, and if he does it isn't without trusting them fully. He hides his thoughts and emotions from those around him by adopting a friendly exterior around his peers, often acting how be believes others want him to act.
When alone, as he often is, he retreats within himself, often daydreaming. He is very creative, he spends much of his spare time writing and drawing, and also enjoys playing music. Drake is an avid guitar player.
He is very shy, but hides that from others.
Drake is not religious, and believes that religion is only useful to those justifying wrongful actions.
He strongly believes that justice by any means necessary is a good thing, and doesn't agree with the police hunting the Batman.
While he respects the law, he also realizes how little help it is to the citizens of Gotham.
He reads quite a large amount of fictional novels, and has a love for flawed heroes in books.
Unique Traits/Skills: Martial Arts Training, Police Training.
Appearance:
Celebrity name: Ewan McGregor
History:
Drake was born into a middle-class family in a rural area of Gotham. He was a bright child, his teachers always tried to get him to strive for better marks, but he never bothered. He made his way throughout his entire school career with a C minus average.
Throughout high school, Drake continuously found himself bothered by the large amount of drugs, gang fighting, and violence in Gotham City.
After graduating from high school, Drake joined the police academy and eventually became a part of the Gotham City Police Department with the hopes of lowering the rate of crime.
Soon after joining the Police Force, Drake read a novel about a man growing tired of crime and injustice who turned to vigilante justice. He never finished the novel, and always intended to pick it back up and finish the final chapter. Soon after, he pulled a mask over his face and took to the streets at night, making it his job to capture criminals his own way. He has made it his goal not to ever kill while out on a vigilante escapade, and never has. Until now...
Sample Post:
Where did things first begin to go wrong? Drake asked himself as he tore down back alleys and streets, getting as far away from the body as quickly as possible.
He sprinted up the steps of a monorail station, stumbling on the last flight of steps and nearly shattering his teeth against the pavement. Drake bounced from foot to foot as one of the railcars screeched to a halt before him. He pulled the doors open and stepped inside the abandoned car, dropping into a seat that wasn't covered in dirt or graffiti.
He pulled the ski mask off his face, revealing his disheveled hair and sweat covered face.
Drake was breathing heavily, gasping for breath. His heart pounded a relentless beat. He felt a pain in his side, and pressed a palm against the cramp as if it would help.
The hero in the book never killed anyone. What the hell was I thinking? I never should have started doing this in the first place...
What had started as a fun game of scaring off potential criminals had soon become an obsession with vigilante justice. Drake had gone from scaring off thugs to knocking them out and tying them up next to photographs of their lawbreaking.
Drake had thwarted everything from car-jackings to rapes, break-ins to gun-point robberies.
But this time, the thug had been carrying a gun.
Nothing too fancy, a simple 9mm handgun.
The thug had been young, younger than Drake. No older than twenty-three. He had been kicking the hell out of some kid, for no particular reason that Drake knew of.
The guy had thrown the kid behind a dumpster in an alley and started stomping on him. Drake had heard the cries for help and came in swinging, moments after the thug had shattered the kids nose with his boot.
Drake grabbed the thug and threw him against the wall. The thug swung at Drake, who ducked, and followed through with a jaw-shattering uppercut.
The thug kicked Drake in the chest and as Drake stumbled back, drew the gun.
The only thing that had saved Drake from taking two shots to the chest was the kid, who got up and ran screaming down the street. The thug turned to look away for a split second, and Drake charged. The two fell to the ground in a scuffle, and the gun went off.
Everything went silent.
Drake had pushed the limp thug off him, and the man rolled onto his back, revealing the chest wound. It looked like it had pierced his heart, killing him instantly. Drake didn't take the time to be sure. He did the first thing he could- He managed to lift the body into an abandoned shopping cart and wheeled him to the nearby pier. He tied a pair of cinder blocks around the dead man's waist, before dropping him into the black water.
Then the terror took over, and Drake ran faster than he ever had before.
As if death itself was at his heels, Drake had burned past buildings and through alleyways, tears soaking the mask that covered his face.
And now, in the rumbling railcar did he have the chance to reflect on what had happened.
I need to stop this. Never again can I go out and do this. I'll stick to police-work. I'll stick to dealing with the crimes after they happen. Never catching anyone as it happens. I won't allow myself to.
He took a deep, shaking breath, and stood up as the railcar slowed to a halt at the next station.
Drake walked through the station, down a flight of stairs and along the dusty catwalks. The night was silent. All he could hear were distant car engines, horns, and a car alarm.
He walked three blocks and got to his apartment, his hands buried in his pockets. In one pocket he had his mask, he would throw it out soon, along with the clothing he was wearing. He knew enough about police work to know that leaving his clothing as evidence would only get him in trouble.
As long as the body isn't found, I should be fine. Just go back to work tomorrow morning and act as if nothing happened. If the body turns up, I can figure out what to do then.
He fumbled with the key to his flat, on the seventh floor of the twelve floor building. He finally unlocked the door, and stepped inside. He locked it behind him and immediately peeled off his clothing. He turned on the water at full heat, and stepped under the water. His skin boiled, and he inhaled sharply in pain, but did not make the water colder. He curled up in the corner of the shower with his back to the wall, water cascading over him.
He stayed there for a long while, until he could take the heat no longer and he climbed out. Covering himself with a towel, he dropped onto his couch. He picked up the novel about the vigilante hero that he so loved, and read the final chapter.
At the end of the novel, the vigilante died fighting a criminal.