Post by BLACK MANTA on Jan 3, 2013 1:24:45 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=valign, top][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, border: 10px solid #f1e3b4; width: 450px; background-color: #f6f7f1;] PERSONAL FILE HIGHLY CLASSIFIED AND CONFIDENTIAL GENERAL INFORMATION NAME: David (last name unknown) ALIAS: BLACK MANTA GENDER: MALE AGE: THIRTY-FOUR OCCUPATION: CURRENTLY SUPER CRIMINAL ALIGNMENT: BAD AFFILIATION(S): NONE PHYSICAL PROFILE HEIGHT: 6'0" WEIGHT: 179 lbs EYES: Brown HAIR: Black CLASSFICATION: HUMAN UNUSUAL FEATURES: Three large scars across his face, trailing diagonally across his features. BEHAVIOR PROFILE Sick and demented is a horrific understatement when describing Black Manta. He is nothing but a hardened, cold-hearted beast. Black Manta is a hunter. His entire mind has been honed to that of a beast, a stone cold killer, willing to do anything to achieve his overall twisted goal. Which, primarily is the murder of Auquaman and everyone he loves, although over the years, his view has warped, and he has plans to murder every hero. His mind is constantly changing within itself, spiralling farther and farther into the pit of insanity. Manta's mind, as currently stated, is that of a hunter's. He trained his mind to achieve goals in which he creates, his mind will not let him stop once he has these goals in his head. He will go through any pain or hardship necessary to succeed, nay, excel. He will starve himself, mutilate himself if the situation calls for it, making him a deadly opponent. No-one wants to go up against something that is afraid of nothing. Manta also, despite having a brilliant intelligent mind, both strategically and academically, is impaired, so to speak. He truly is suicidial, although he has to much honor to kill himself. He wants to be killed in every battle he is caught in, although his body often won't let him. And, if he does suffer defeat, he so desperately wants his opponent to kill him, as has been demonstrated at one point. He is also what some would call a 'sadomasachist'. He seems to enjoy pain, especially in battle, it gives him a twisted sense of honor and integrity. All in all, you can probably tell that he's a little bit screwy, as well as a cold-hearted mamma jamma. DOCUMENTED HISTORY INPUT CHARACTER'S ORIGINS HERE (MIN THREE PARAGRAPHS) EXPLAIN HOW CHARACTER RECEIVED POWERS OR HOW HE/SHE BECAME A HERO/VILLAIN. CONCLUDE WITH THEIR CURRENT ACTIVITY. POWERS AND ABILITIES KNOWN POWERS:INPUT POWERS HERE KNOWN ABILITIES: INPUT ABILITIES HERE
STRENGTH LEVEL: Manta is at peak human condition, if not stronger. He hunts Atlanteans, some of the most ferocious and powerful species on the planet for sport. To collect trophies and to train. WEAKNESSES: Can't supply power-grid. Sorry. :/ PARAPHERNALIA EQUIPMENT:
TRANSPORTATION: WEAPONS: EXAMINATION RECORD The blade slid through the skull, a single weak spot in the cranium before piercing the brain and it's connecting assorted organelles and such. Crimson Red blood sprayed out of the wound and onto a nearby Oak tree, as well as onto the jet black suit. The victim? An Atlantean male. Young, strong, with a warrior's spirit. It was nothing to Manta. Faced with a true threat this young soldier was nothing but a child. Sure, he squirmed, but he was an easy take-down. Much like the others. "Eight down...One to go." Manta uttered coldly, standing over the limp Atlantean, blood dripping from both of his short-swords. Silver, gleaming beneath the body juices. Manta merely stared coldly at the dead body, blood spilling from it's skull. It only reminded him of Arthur. He shut his eyes, the three large scars that trailed down his face were still fresh within his mind. Every waking moment he felt the searing pain of the old rusty blades sliding across his flesh, ripping it open, before the young man left him to die. Just as he had done his father. He turned abruptly and sprinted into the undebrush of the thick jungle-like terrain. He was not wearing his mask, no, this was only training. Hunting for sport. He didn't need it weighing him down. Not that he couldn't take it, he just felt...Free. He continued to run, his breath one of the only accompanying sounds other than the dirt slipping and sliding beneath his boots. He could hear the young woman. This one, was a true warrior, yes she was, and he would take her down like a dog. Clean her, like a trout, and hold up her gut-sack as a symbol of his dominance. It was savage, yes, but it was necessary. Manta leaped from a large banana tree leaf, blocking his path, and he suddenly found himself on the sandy beach of the island. The Atlantean woman, dagger in her hand, only five feet from the ocean, it would take her 2.3 seconds to be fully submerged in the water. More than enough time. "Running is pointless..." He whispered before pulling a dagger from the waist of his suit, silver, a black handle, the blade lined with marking, all tribal markings. Atlantean tribal markings. Mockery, it was called. He mocked their disgusting kind by killing them with their own ancient literature. It was fun, it was tormenting. It was riveting. By time the dagger left his hand, she was descending into a dive, before half of her body was submerged. The dagger lodged into her right calve, a vital muscle used for swimming. "And then there was blood in the water...." Manta muttered, a smirk sliding across his deformed features as he leaped into the water. She hadn't gotten far, in fact, she had hardly gotten twenty feet. Blood was seeping from her wound as she looked back, to see her hunter, swimming towards her at immense speeds. Before she could pump her wounded leg once more in an attempt to flee, a short-sword wasplunged through her chest from behind. Although she wasn't dead, oh no, she was far from dead. He swam back to shore, the sword in hand and pulled her from the water, throwing her done on the ground, to lay in the sand, let it seep into her wound. "If only!" He proclaimed aloud, jamming his second sword into the sand and kneeling down, so that he was at eye level with the injured woman, staring up at him through tired eyes, blood seeping from her body onto the sand. He smiled. The bastard smiled. "If only you were Mera...." He whispered to her, planting a light kiss on her lips before plunging his fist deep within her skull. A killing strike. He then stood. and pulled the blade from her body, before placing a finger to his ear. "I'm done on the killing floor...I'm going to need an airlift out, and send a clean up crew. I don't want all these carcasses here when the next batch get here....Actually....String them up from the trees, hang them from harpoons through the heads....Chests, for the ones who don't have heads." He grinned. It was almost time for Arthur. Almost time. subject examined by Doctor Cyber | [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0,true][atrb=valign,top][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=style, width: 40px;] A L I A S H E R E |
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