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The heroes of yesterday are dead and gone. Division and the Mutant Control Enforcement Agency (MCEA) saw to that. This dystopia we live in is the result of one anti-mutant hate crime that sparked the third world war. The law now requires mutants to register, to spend the rest of their lives being a number on a file with a tracking device on their wrist or in their bloodstream.

For a while, the children of fallen heroes started to work in the shadows as the new X-Men. Not all that long ago, the latest incarnation of the X-Men was brought down in flames by Division's efforts. Team members captured, Agents killed, Cosmic fire everywhere... It seems as though the days of the X-Men have come and gone once again. Or have they?

For a while, the children of fallen heroes started to work in the shadows as the new X-Men. Not all that long ago, the latest incarnation of the X-Men was brought down in flames by Division's efforts. Team members captured, Agents killed, Cosmic fire everywhere... It seems as though the days of the X-Men have come and gone once again. Or have they?

Notice: Human Division employees are still much needed, even if they're depowered mutants. We would also love to see more MHA, Morlock and Purifier affiliated characters.

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 WINTER, MALACHI L., 24 | registered | dominic sherwood
MALACHI L. WINTER
 Posted: Apr 9 2018, 05:11 AM
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Drug Dealer 24 He/Him 6 POSTS
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DATABASE FILE # 04090458 MUTANT, REGISTERED
MALACHI LAËRTES WINTER
24 | REGISTERED | DOMINIC SHERWOOD
DRUG DEALER | EMOTION REMOVAL + TRANSMOGRIFICATION | APOTHECARY
" Badly is an adverb. So to say you feel badly would be saying that the mechanism which allows you to feel is broken. "
  • EMOTION REMOVAL

    Malachi is able to remove his own or another’s ability to feel key specific emotions, rendering the target (or himself) incapable of accessing the removed emotions. This removal is usually provisional, but it is not outside of Mal's abilities to remove an emotion from his target completely. Given the magnitude of emotions that the brain is capable of producing, this isn't (usually) as debilitating as the removal of a limb. The brain has a way of filling in the gaps, so other, similar emotions can make up the difference until the intended has either had time to recover, relearn, or has had adequate psychotherapy and the correct dosage of mood stabilizing medications added to their daily life.

    This removal process requires physical contact and is controlled willfully. Mal doesn't have the weakness of draining out a target without intending to do so. It is a lot easier for him to access and emotions that are currently firing within the mind of himself or his target. He can reach into any part of the mind to cherry pick what he needs or wants to harvest, but it requires protracted physical contact upward to a matter of hours. If his target is resisting, in denial about having said emotion, or if another emotion is in the foreground distracting his focus, the expenditure of exertion is very taxing.

    Pain isn't exactly an emotion, but it and a few other senses that work along the central nervous system have a way of clouding or enhancing his ability. His powers work better when the senses that are active, compliment the emotion he is trying to remove. Because of the ease of removing emotions that are within the foreground, Mal spend a good deal of his time harvesting from characteristic venues or from established clients who would rather pay for monthly treatments versus working on the underlying issues.

    TRANSMOGRIFICATION

    This power works in tandem with Malachi's emotional removal processes. The emotion that he extracts from himself or his intended target is transformed into tangible matter. When his powers first manifested, he regarded the extracted matter worthless - but desperation and curiosity revealed the product to be much, much more. Much like the urban legend which inspired teenagers to smoke banana peels, it didn't take long for Mr. Winter and his friends to realize that this byproduct had a market.

    Virtually simultaneously, while Mal is collating, the emotion gathers in the palm of his free hand. His body itself works like a complex filter to bring together the sensation and convert it into a dense ball of active constituent. Color, texture and taste varies depending on the emotion that is being processed. When the extraction the most part the spherical objects are about the size of an eight ball of cocaine [3.5 grams]. For a permanent, or long-term extraction, Mal has been able to produce a block of emotion upward to the size of a grapefruit.

    Recreationally, transmuted yields can be consumed in a variety of mediums. Taken in its purest state, it is very strong. Taken this way is only for the hardcore or as a means of defense in weaponized aerosol. If ground fine enough, it can dissolve into a beverage. It can be smoked, snorted, cooked and injected, or even applied topically alongside some inert compounds in a topical patch for extended release. As far as Mal is concerned, its up to the user to decide his or her preferences for delivery, but his preferred means delivery is ingestion in a beverage. No one looks sideways at an iced coffee or a bottle of water.

    FANATICAL FITNESS REGIMENT

    Malachi keeps it varied. P90x, Crossfit, Kickboxing, Parkour ... if it was popular and intensive, chances are Mal has tried it. He has favorites, most of those come in the form of hand to hand combat. Mal would be the last person to claim himself an expert in anything, but that's a half truth. What he lacks in perfection of one particular combat style, he makes up with knowledge of another and the natural muscle memory that comes from learning his own physical limitations and strengths.

    Mal has a naturally high metabolism and zero motivations to turn perishable goods into middle aged sag. When all of his friends were gaining the freshman fifteen and exchanging athletics into sleeping past noon and snacking on poor life choices, Malachi was burning lean tissue. He has found working out to be a fantastic stress reliever and place to put his anger instead of punching someone out or landing himself in county for assault.

  • EMOTION REMOVAL + TRANSMOGRIFICATION

    In order to use his powers on another person, Malachi must make and maintain physical skin to skin contact with his subject. Resistance is not futile. If a target starts to fight him, or has a sudden mood shift, it becomes exponentially more difficult for him to work. For example, if he was in the process of extracting lust and his target was suddenly overcome with shame for making out in the coat room, he would have to either coax back the old emotion or stop, or swiftly shift gears to remove the shame and then try to reinitiate the first set of feelings.

    Working as a sort of living filter is not without its drawbacks. Somewhere within the distillation process that occurs within his body, Mal catches after effects from whatever emotion he is putting on the proverbial pottery wheel. Like any craftsman, he gets exposed to the medium. It doesn't present as obviously as paint on the apron, but for a while afterward, Malachi has to undergo the shit-tastic feeling of detoxification. Scientifically speaking, its it not unlike a Jarisch-Herxheimer reaction or a hangover. He has been known to try and expedite the process with Epsom salt soaks or hours in the sauna to sweat it out. Effects vary, depending on which emotion he has pulled and shaped.

    MALFUNCTIONING NEUROTRANSMITTERS

    Like many people, Malachi was born with a brain that was out of balance.

    The Inhibitory (Calming) neurotransmitters of his brain does not regulate his GABA (Gamma amino butyric acid) properly. His neurons have a hard time recovering after they fire, which has a direct impact on his anxiety, worry and fretfulness. In addition, the deficiency in Malachi's GABA makes it harder for him to regulate his and serotonin and therefore his moods.

    The Excitatory (Stimulating) neurotransmitters of his brain work almost too well. While he doesn't as often suffer from the problems associated with Dopamine and Norepinephrine deficiencies [motivation, interest, drive, hyperactivity] he has an overabundance of Epinephrine, Glutamate and Histamines in his system.

    **more detailed information here**

    BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER

    • Fear of abandonment
    • Unstable relationships
    • Unclear or unstable self-image
    • Impulsive, self-destructive behaviors
    • Self-Harm
    • Extreme emotional swings
    • Chronic feelings of emptiness
    • Explosive anger
    • Feeling suspicious or out of touch with reality

    ADDICTION

    This has manifested in a plethora of forms. While he doesn't fall into the conventional tropes with drugs and alcohol, Mal is addicted to enhancing the moment with some transmogrified emotions. Generally, he just slips about .5 ml (1/8th of a tsp) of his desired feeling into a beverage and he's good to go with a controlled experience for a few hours. While he has taken higher doses, this isn't a regular practice. Not being able to function in public doesn't really fly well with the image he's trying to sell.
    Mr. Winter is also addicted to sex, violence, fitness, mental abuse- to both self and others and healthy eating.

    DOUCHE CANOE

    Sardonic? Acrimonious? Wrathful? Cocky? Virulent?
    yes.
    Malachi makes an effort to not bond with people. He treats the women he sleeps with like garbage. He antagonizes people for the fun of it. And Mal has no problem with not just toeing the line but walking right past it to smack someone across the face with a dose of dominance. Does he hit the age old tropes of being a magnificent bastard? Most of the time, yes. He follows the doctrine that 'the best way to not get your heart broken is to pretend you don't have one.' - Given a lot of work on his character study (which he won't let anyone do) it's pretty evident that most of this is because he is a dog kicked too often biting back.

    GIFTED KID BURNOUT

    I.Q. testing placed him in the genius spectrum. He wasn't the next Bobby Fisher, but Malachi scored high enough that his parents pointedly refused to tell him his Mensa test outcome. Instead they just said he was gifted and he got shoved into accelerated programs. They burned him out in just over four years. The harder his parents pushed for him to apply himself, the less he was interested. Mal's dysfunctional home life had made him feel so unloved that this newfound interest in him came a little too late. As far as felt, they couldn't have cared less about him until they realized that he was something of value.
    83 days.
    That's how many he cut in his senior year just to make sure that his full ride to Cambridge went up in smoke.

  • "Children should be seen and not heard."

    My parents were prideful that I followed that idiom. This letter perfect behavior one of the more popular anecdotes. 'our little Malachi was the only child allowed to attend the adult's only Christmas party.' - 'Did you hear? Our son sat all on his own reading quietly to himself, bothering no one.' - 'Can you believe it, he asked to take a nap and put himself into bed!'

    God I hate them.

    I worked out when it all went to shit. As soon as I was able to start forming real opinions their perfect little boy was all but vanished. To be honest I think they would have been happier just buying another Massoud, one-of-a-kind settee. I am fully confident that I was an accidental pregnancy, but they threw some spin on it. My mother has her obsession with the house and the items within it looking like a continual magazine foldout. It made the whole place feel like a sterile room designed to build microchips. She doesn't do hugs. They wrinkle the press on her clothing. Physical contact isn't entirely nil. I can remember having to hold her hand when we crossed the street or being given a light kiss on the cheek when I did something that made her effusive.

    Dad was mostly shaped like a newspaper during his limited time in the domestic scene. To be quite honest, I think that his detachment had a lot to do with being deliberately prideful of his German heritage. He didn't, and doesn't mince words. yes means yes, no means no. It's as simple as that. Rules, organization and structure are his meat and bones. I'm not saying that he labeled every drawer in the house, that would be insane. He instructed my mother to do it. And forget it if you're late for anything. On time means fifteen minutes early. Five minutes after? Hope you're wearing comfortable shoes, the walk from Glenbrook North High School back to Highland Park is almost 10 miles.

    I can recall that the largest piece of drama ever witnessed as a youth was when my parents made the decision to blacklist the Briarwood Country Club in favor of Northmoor. I mean, can you imagine? The nerve of my father. How they (the 1%ers) talked! Needless to say, when I started to fall off the track it was something of an unforgivable contravention of standard. Forget about the embarrassment that I tried (and succeeded) to keep from them when I discovered I was a mutant. Blowing that full ride to Cambridge, that one they'll never let go.

    I found out I was different once I started mixing with girls and my sports interest added soccer to the recreational curriculum. It was tough at first, to balance out being on diving/swim team and make all of the practices for soccer, but I made it work. Back then I was determined to letter in both, make dad proud that I'd picked up his passion for 'football'. Looking back, I don't even know if he gave a shit. Academics was just about the only thing that got his pulse rate above sixty. For me it was Mia Landon. God I was crazy about her, and with a face like mine it wasn't terribly difficult to get traction.

    The bad news is I have a way of wearing people out. A lot of it has to do with learned behavior. Independence and savoir-faire I have in spades, I just don't always listen to the voice of reason in my head. My parents didn't pay much attention to me unless I was being defiant or once the education system discovered I was gifted. Given the choice between exploitation or discipline, the masochist in me that needed to feel something, chose the discipline. It was about as close to putting cigarettes out on my arm to remind myself that I still had the ability.

    This carried over to other relationships. If Mia and I got into a fight, it wasn't just any old fight, it was volcanic, dramatic. Things got broken. Make up sex was usually the way we tried to patch it up. I can remember the first time it happened. She'd fallen asleep against my shoulder. I was drifting off myself, but lightly tracing the curvature of her back. It was giving me a sense of contentment, that indescribable afterglow of intimacy. It made me drift off. When I woke, Mia was gone. No note, no explanation. It was so unlike her to get up in the middle of the night and go.

    Thinking back, I remember brushing off the sheets and being perplexed at the indefinable debris that was in the bedding. She didn't pick up her phone or answer any of my texts that weekend. When I went over to her place and asked to see her, I got an earful of hostility from her sister and some bullshit that Mia was under the weather. I probably should have left it alone. Like an asshole, I didn't. Pushing past Mia's kid sister, I barged into the house and straight up into her room. I don't remember a lot of what we shouted at each other in the heat of the moment, but it was enough to earn a punch to the face from her dad along with getting tossed out of the house.

    After that I didn't look for anything beyond disposable relationships. I earned a dubious reputation, and that attracted the sort of girls who didn't care that I was impossible to nail down, or the naive who wanted to fix me. I spent this time experimenting with my newly discovered mutation. At first it was just with the positive emotions like lust or curiosity; things I could use to exploit or attract the next target. But after a while I found that it worked wonders to diffuse an argument or make someone see me in an more positive way. I'd just put a hand out to make contact and simultaneously, rip the hate or anger out of someone. It was not without its costs, but it did wonders to fix my reputation with former adversaries.

    I didn't factor in, the permanent pulls.

    If I knew how to give it back, I would have. Losing the bonds that I had with my parents, even though they weren't bright and shiny, it was at least something. Apathy is a lot worse than enmity. Anyone who ever said that it was impossible to die from ennui is wrong. I tried to slip doses of love or interest into their food when I realised that the byproduct I pulled out of people had a practical application; but the effects were temporary and barmecidal. I spent the better part of a year trying to repair the damage I'd done, but in the end, it was just better for me to stop lying to myself. There was only so many times I could watch my mother struggle with emotions that were falsely implanted.

    I moved out after the summer of my senior year. It was too painful to stay in their house after I deliberately set my academic career on fire. Things are strained now, and we more do the fabrication of family because my parents will carry out just about anything to keep the facade intact.. We have the obligatory dinners on holidays. Occasionally I stop over at the country club or the house to fill the role of social lubricant. Sometimes they need to deflect or dazzle a client or a member of one of my mother's philanthropic social groups. They don't need to know that half the time I'm using my powers on their friends or colleagues to make things go smoother.

    I can admit that for a few years, I had hope for reconciliation. But I gave that up when I overheard a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear. It was between my grandmother and father. I didn't get all of the details of the best kept secret of my family, but I got enough to start asking question of the right parties. People who knew my parents for more than twenty years. Investigations revealed that I had a sibling. He was dead and buried two years before I came into the world. All trace of him had been wiped from the house where I might stumble onto it and ask questions. From what I gathered, he died in 2013, just before the war. As for specifics, I have yet to nail anything down.

    I have a regular job, just to stay on the right side of law. I teach a variety of classes at my school, Historical European martial arts has been picking up speed, but my gym is fairly varied. We've got everything from Hot Yoga to Jeet Kun Do. Right now I'm subbing in to teach the mixed martial arts class because my regular instructor dislocated his shoulder, and I'm looking for a full time swim coach to take my life guarding class.

    Off the books, I deal drugs. Not cocaine or anything like that. I jut peddle the transmogrified emotions that I draw from either established clients or unsuspecting people who are in need of a personality adjustment. Regrettably, about a year back I got myself pinched by a mutant control enforcement agent. I didn't have to do any time for the infraction, but I did have to go through the process of registration. In exchange for no jail time, I can and have been asked to provide product for Division when the need arises. I don't much like being used, but for now, its keeping my under the table income purely profit.

NERYS | ... | PM, DISCORD, TRILLIAN
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MALACHI L. WINTER
 Posted: Apr 18 2018, 12:53 AM
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CYCLOPS
 Posted: Apr 18 2018, 02:22 AM
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ACCEPTED!

Ahhh, just what we need. Our very own beautiful, clinical, wildly unstable emotion snatching drug dealer. Stan Lee have mercy on us all.

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