Real Name: Johannes Vanderhuge
Alias: Bolt
Occupation: Military /Roboticist
Place of Birth: Cairo, Egypt
Known Relatives: Parents
Height: 193 cms (6'4")
Weight: 106 kgs (233 lbs)
Skin: Metallic/brass in appearance
Eyes: Green
Hair: Black
Music: Pendulum, "The Other Side"
[b]Personality:[/b]
He is generally a relaxed and easy-going individual, although with an obsessive streak. To one part he can be open and outgoing, to another quiet and retiring. He doesn’t like to stand in the limelight and is given to weighing choices and considering all options (even unlikely ones, which was often an irritant for his more gung-ho comrades). This hasn’t prevented him from acting, sometimes precipitously, when he felt the situation called for it.
[b]Powers/ Abilities:[/b]
Powered Armor -
Repulsors – The suit is equipped with repulsor/force technology that he can implement in several ways. 1. Offensively: most easily described as force bolts. He can control this somewhat, allowing him to generate bolts that are (theoretically) non-lethal to normal humans. 2. Defensively: basically a force field. Not designed for this purpose, the repulsor bubble ‘bursts’ within a few seconds. 3. Transportation: the repulsors allow him to hover and fly.
Electricity – The suit's primary offensive armament is the ability to generate energy or, as the layman would put it, lightning bolts. This can vary in type or scope from throwing out a charge field about itself to the classical lightning bolt effect. It is also capable of absorbing limited amounts of energy.
[b]Biography:[/b]
His name should have been Johannes Van der Huet, but a clerical error when his family emigrated from South Africa in the 19th century turned it into Vanderhuge. His ancestor tried to have the error corrected, but he quickly realized that this would require him to choose between spending several weeks jumping through hoops or feeding his family. He decided that Vanderhuge was a bit silly, as names went, but he could live with it.
Johannes was intelligent enough that school never challenged him. He could likely do or accomplish anything to which he set his mind. Unfortunately he lacked the innate drive or motivation to know which direction he wanted his life to take. Going to college was the done thing so, short on ideas for anything else to do, he opted for that choice. As these things are wont to be, it was the decision that dictated the course of his life.
* Joined the military to take advantage of the armed forces schooling program in order to afford college. His commanding officer during basic training saw enough potential to send him to NCO training; no option to refuse. With a little extra convincing he signed on for the officer training program.
* Earns the nickname ‘Bolt’. (“It’s kind of a funny story.” “Really?” “No, not really.”)
* Offered a chance to join the World Anti-Terror Taskforce, an experimental unit created to fight unconventional threats ("supers"). Johannes jumps at this singular opportunity. The training is designed to make everyone think about quitting at least once, but the psychs judged him well. His obsessive side carries him through the training.
* He continues to perform his duties to high satisfaction. Encounters Dr. Thodt plots on several occasions. Twice he and his entire team manage to extricate themselves from such plots alive – an unprecedented achievement. The WATT brass take note and decide to ‘promote’ the entire team to the Dr. Thodt Task Force. The DTTF can always use people who are that good or that lucky.
* First major encounter with Dr. Thodt troops. Johannes’ team manage to stop them, barely, but take heavy casualties. He himself is wounded but recovers quickly. Three more encounters with Dr. Thodt plots with varying results. Each one leaves its mark on him, although he is seriously injured in only one encounter. He takes an intellectual interest in the supervillain’s strange robot henchmen, the so-called T-bots.
* Successes against Dr. Thodt are indifferent. Most are amazed that he’s managed to survive so many encounters with Dr. Thodt’s henchmen. He loses his left arm, which is replaced by a cybernetic limb. Johannes chafes at the lack of progress and distracts himself by volunteering to assist the research team analyzing the T-bots. Shortly thereafter he decides to pursue the formal study of robotics.
* More cybernetic implants attest his fight and survival against Dr. Thodt’s minions. The DTTF scores several major successes against some of Dr. Thodt’s facilities while superheroes manage to engage the villain directly. Research teams make significant headway with the new material that becomes available. He volunteers to participate in a cybernetic overhaul and restructuring program using many of the materials and theories captured from Dr. Thodt’s facilities and gleaned from the study of his robots.
* The restructuring is successful and hits optimistic prognoses across the board. A particular highlight is the perpetual motion machine that was implanted to provide the additional power the new cybernetics require. (Based on Dr. Thodt's designs, the perpetual motion machine (PMM) remains a complete mystery. More than a few specialists from a variety of fields have argued that it is supernatural rather than scientific). An unforeseen side-effect is that Bolt's skin now strongly resembles brass.
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[b][u]"Hello, me."[/b][/u]
His eyes were open. The blackness was so complete that his brain had to populate it with phantoms. The phantom lights sparkled in the dark, now like static and other times like a crazy quilt of supernovas going off with the regularity of a metronome marking the seconds. Sometimes the two fused and he thought he could almost see a kaleidoscope playing out before him.
But his eyes were open and they worked. He knew this with the indefinable certainty that was normally reserved for dreams. It was a sense, a feeling that a part of his brain was working on his eyes with the detached efficiency of a computer running through a checklist.
The sudden light was so bright that it stunned him.
One part of his mind shouted, [i]Ow! Shit![/i]
Another part wondered, rather indignantly, [i]Hey, why didn’t I say that out loud?[/i]
[i]Be glad you didn’t[/i], stated a third, colder part. [i]I bet you would have screamed like a little girl.[/i]
The rest of his brain clamored hard to get his attention: [i]Pain! Blindness! Panic![/i]
Echoes down a long tunnel, getting farther away every moment. These impressions made sense to him. Such a bright light could have – should have – blinded him. It should have hurt. But there was no pain. With a start he realized that the blackness had returned. There was not even an afterimage to attest to the sudden brightness.
Voice 1, as if ticking off the seconds: [i]Check. Check. Check.[/i]
Voice 2, farther and farther down the tunnel: [i]Blind! Blind… blind… panic…?[/i]
Voice 3: [i]Little girl. Pfft. But it’s true, you know. I should be blind. Then again, everything’s black again so how do I know I’m not blind? It’s not like I’ve got experience with it or… (Mumblemumblemumble)[/i]
Voice 4: [i]This makes no sense. There should be an afterimage. Something. This kind of complete… Oh, the ghost lights are back. What does…?[/i]
Pause.
[i]There are way too many of me talking to myself.[/i]
It took a few seconds for the absurdity of that thought to sink in. Once it did his mind became silent and a different world opened to him. It took him a few more seconds to understand that he was now feeling his body.
He did not know how much time passed before he realized that he did not actually feel his body. He was sensing his nerves. He could sense his nerves at work, carrying their signals. His mind provided visual cues: a vague outline of a human form filled with filaments of light he assumed must be his nerves. He concentrated on his leg.
[i]Which leg?[/i]
[i]Umm, the right leg.[/i]
A filament in the form’s right leg lit up a little more brightly.
Illusion, or…?
The blackness vanished again, although this time the light was so faint that he could only define it as a less than complete blackness. His view of the form – a diagram? – jumped to two short filaments between his eyes and his brain. His eyes worked. More flashes followed, lighter and darker, coming and going so quickly that the effect was stroboscopic. To his surprise, he was only mildly disconcerted that he had absolutely no control over his eyes.
[i]Okay, that’s enough work for today. Lights out[/i], he said to himself.
[i]I agree[/i], he replied.
Sleep.
**********
The drab grey of unadorned concrete walls. Strip lighting. Green linoleum floor. Something beeping. Beds that looked like they were leftovers from a nut house that had been renovated a decade ago. It was either a prison or…
[i]No cable TV. Yep, military hospital. So, I’m alive.[/i]
Nobody was visible. Not even an orderly passed by the windows that looked onto the corridor.
[i]Shit. I’m not staying awake for this.[/i]
**********
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Sleeping Ogre. Are your seven dwarves on a fag break?”
He knew that snooty, upper class English accent. John diMarco Bentley.
Bolt groaned. “Who did I piss off so that they’d send you to wake me up?”
“I love you, too,” Bentley said rather archly. “If you must know, your fairy godmother sent me.”
He cracked open an eye. “I thought you were my fairy godmother.”
“Touché. How do you feel?” Bentley glanced around, visibly put out that he couldn’t use his dapper air to best effect by pulling up a chair to sit down. Instead he contented himself by striking the pose he normally used to attract the attention of the fairer sex.
Which goes to show how awkward this is for him, reported a part of his brain. “I’m not sure I do.”
“Pardon?”
Bolt looked at his hands and arms. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure you do?” Bentley persisted.
“Hmm? Oh.” He shrugged. “Everything works alright. At least, I think it does. It’s like…” He grimaced. “I’m so busy feeling my nerves that I can’t tell what else is going on.”
Bentley’s right eyebrow shot up. It was almost a trademark expression of his. As always, when he saw it, Bolt thought that the only thing missing to complete the cartoon effect was a ‘poink’ sound.
“It’s kind of like, well…” He sat up straighter in the bed. “Imagine you’ve got a TV with colors so bright that they’re all you can concentrate on. You know there’s a movie playing but you can’t make it out.”
“Huh. It sounds like you’re saying that you’re drinking the wet instead of the water, but,” it was Bentley’s turn to shrug, “I never thought you’d take being the Golden Boy so literally, either.”
Bolt snorted.
“Everything is in one piece, then? Nothing missing? Nothing there that shouldn’t be?”
“You’re the sacrificial lamb sent in to be slaughtered in case I woke up as a raving lunatic?”
‘They were a little more diplomatic than that,” Bentley sniffed. “That’s a real word, you know? Diplomacy.”
He ignored the jibe. “No, as far as I can tell everything is where it should be. There are a few things that are still strange, but I think they’ll settle with time.” He tapped the tips of his fingers together. He had the disconcerting sensation that he would hear a faint metallic ringing if he listened closely enough. “Or I’ll get used to it.”
“So, what’s it like in there?”
“Hey. If they got it right this is my skin. There’s no ‘in there’. And I know you’re not talking about here,” he tapped his temple, “because I know you think I’m nuts.”
“Who, me?” Bentley was all offended innocence.
“Yeah, yeah. That and a kilo of gold will get you an Oscar. Like I said,” Bolt continued, more seriously. “It’s strange. I can follow my nerves doing their thing. I can almost see them, sometimes.” At his friend’s skeptical look he turned up a palm. “Diagnostic program, maybe.”
“Oh. Yeah, that’d make a lot of sense.”
“And it feels like my brain’s been compartmentalized.”
“What does that mean?”
Bolt waved his hand about. “Sometimes I can almost feel different parts of my brain doing different things. More to the point, I can hear them.” He held up a finger to forestall his friend. “It’s as though each one has a voice, at least some of the time.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t describe it as talking, really. It’s more like they’re doing their own thing and I overhear them.”
Bentley took a deep breath. “I really hope that is part of the program.”
“At least I know I’m not crazy. All those voices are me. I recognize them. There’s no stranger in there pushing buttons he shouldn’t be, so I’m not going to wake up one morning unable to remember that I killed someone. Well, I might. With friends like you I won’t rule that out. But it won’t be because I’m hearing voices.”
“Good times,” Bentley smiled. “I suppose those are behind us, now. Bad enough that we are supposed to be respectable officers. But barhopping with a superhero? I can’t see it.”
“Whoa. How superheroic I am remains to be seen. I don’t feel like I have incredible cosmic powers running through my veins and they didn’t build some kind of innocent victim detection radar into my head.”
“IVDR. You’ll certainly need to think up a better name for it, if they ever do build one.”
“Of course. I forgot I was talking to the only man who ever joined WATT because it has the coolest acronym in the military. Yeah, yeah. I know. If you die for your country, the least your country can do for you is give you a cool tombstone.”
“Bloody right.”
“The point I was trying to make, anyway, is that I’ve never read anything about having to be a saint to be a superhero.”
“They will expect you to be the model soldier,” Bentley pointed out.
He sighed. “Yeah, since I didn’t turn into a robotic killing machine I figured some PR sessions would be unavoidable. But I don’t think that the brass has forgotten why I did this. If they did and the whole PR thing starts to get out of hand…” He shrugged. “I’ll just have to remind them. Superhero prerogative, I figure. Even if the psychs who sent you in here won’t like to hear it.”
“Hey, take it easy on an old soldier. If you know that I’m going to have to put all this in a report would you at least keep it to one psychosis at a time? I don’t want to spend all weekend on this.”
“Just tell them I’m all here. Mentally, anyway. How super I am, that I don’t know. I resisted the urge to try to figure what I could do, go figure. Well, other than being a lot prettier than you, now.”
“Didn’t I just ask you to keep it to one psychosis at a time?” Bentley whined.
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Coming Not Quite So Soon!
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With his squad mates Brick Largemeat, Butch Deadlift, Crud Bonemeal, Fist Rockbone, Hack Blowfist, Gristle McThornbody, Punch Rockgroin, Blast Hardcheese, Bold Bigflank, Crunch Buttsteak, Rip Steakface, Slab Bulkhead, Smash Lampjaw, Whip Slagcheek, Thick McRunfast, Stump Beefknob, Reef Blastbody, Roll Fizzlebeef, Punch Side-Iron, Dirk Hardpeck, and Bob Johnson!
[B]Revenge is motivation enough. At least it's honest...[/B]
Roleplayer; Esteemed Villain
[img]http://www.nodiatis.com/pub/5.jpg[/img]
Nah, that's the Meat Shield Brigade.
They gave them these nice, red shirts. I'm not sure why they bothered. Even Kirk would be jealous at how quickly those things get torn up.
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Support [url=http://cityoftitans.com/comment/52149#comment-52149]trap clowns[/url] for CoT!