#(sobbing noises become increasingly crazed)

[rayvenden]

Finale? What finale? I live in Mobius and Loki riding a tandem bike together

[sonderrow-moved]

IC            IS            VOICE            BODY            MEMORY            PLOTTING

★ I.D

FULL NAME: Jael Roy Singerman BIRTH: March 19th, 39 y.o. SEX & GENDER: Male SPECIE: Human..? ETHNICITY: Caucasian (?) LANGUAGE: English and French OCCUPATION: Counter terrorist defender RELIGION: Atheist SEXUALITY: Heteroflexible ★ ANATOMY 

HAIR:  Very short, tangled mix of charcoal and black with a front bang EYES: Chocolate brown FACE: A jagged jaw with large, half crazed looking eyes, Jael’s previously, one might say, stereotypically beauteous features are now wasted by dark, deep scars and wrinkles COMPLEXION: Warm olive SCAR: Multiple deep scars run over Jael’s body. Although numerous, they do not cover the majority of it, only at key points from what seems like slashes and gun wounds TATTOOS: One… HEIGHT: 195 cm BUILD: Lean rectangle shaped, toned by regular training VOICE: Rough and warm ★ PERSONA LIKES: Camaraderie, sex, beer DISLIKES: Weak-willed people, party poopers, social politics MBTI: ESFP “The Entertainer” ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Neutral POLITICAL STANCE: Middle Liberal EDUCATION LEVEL: Military college DRUGS: ??? PHOBIAS: ??? DISORDER: None diagnosed ★ “ARGO FUCK YOURSELF.” Jael was born on a dairy farm in the middle of Canada, on a road right between the city and the countryside, surrounded by six other siblings and two hardboiled parents. Being the kid in the middle, Jael never especially put much thought in his position compared to his brother and sister. Actually, he never put much thought into anything, and just went on with life as it went, following what everyone told him was normal. An average kid, Jael was popular with his peers as he had the look of, well, the average “not bad looking at all” north american kid, had an early growth spurt and was doing pretty well at sports. Quickly, however, Jael found himself hanging out with friends who didn’t think too much like himself, falling in group into every fad as they grew up. At home, no dark tale of abuse with his family, no real life-scarring drama. Just the technical, material support and teachings of parents. With nearly no warmth nor bonding, which only made Jael bond with his gang full of mischief. Drugs, smoking, sex, they all shared everything, with depending degrees. And the boy’s lifestyle was soon far from what his family expected it to be. He still finished his chores at the farm, but his increasingly sloppy ways, too eager to finish to go elsewhere, brought some judging comments. Still, family is family, and Jael would say he was plenty content with it. While he wasted his time away during his secondary school years, Jael was barely able to graduate; his part-time work in a fast food chain was, to him, even bigger of a highlight than the time he’d spend in class. In the end, Jael only needed the simple suggestion of his father to enroll in the military. And although one could tell this would be the opposite of how he currently lived, his simple mind were satisfied of the pros, and so easily the sheep decided to step into this path. ★ “HISTORY STARTS OUT AS FARCE AND ENDS UP AS TRAGEDY.” At first given dubious looks by his entourage, Jael actually didn’t have much difficulty letting go of his bad consumption, as he found that those time killers were only replaced by others. In the beginning hard on his body, training became like second nature, waking up so tired and lazy, but immediately finding an inexplicable relief in releasing tension out of his system, and be able to go farther and farther, a newly degree of competitiveness rising into Jael. Was it this to be alive? Colour sparked in his previously apathetic eyes, energy ran through his frame. Even in his harshest moments he’d have something, someone, although emotionally clumsy, to have his back. Thing is, he’d never realise he was alive. Because he was only living through it. And soon enough, Jael felt like he just blinked as everything went so fast. He was given whatever medals, standing on whatever private stage and, at some point, he was instated in special ops. Surrounded by people who spoke big words, wore big suits and had big names. He listened and memorised the field, followed orders, took a deep breath and banked his paycheck. As he closes his eyes now, it starts to fade. Where which event had been. Which people were there. Jael looks at his friends, who remember exactly everything despite the years. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn’t. Then, one mission felt dubious. Everyone could feel it in their spine. “higher ups asked for this” sounds like such a cliche, but when it is told to you by someone you trust, someone you spent years and years with, someone who saved your life more than you can count, when it is also your job, your friends need you and you’ve only known this since forever. There was nowhere else to go, no space to fight against what those small guys in their small suits told. And it went wrong, so wrong. It’d leave him disfigured forever. ★ “THIS IS THE BEST BAD IDEA WE HAVE SIR…” You’re being shown people going under, switching identities, running away like only something from another world, until you realise it is happening to you too. At first, you think you can survive for your comrades, until things turn out for the better. Then, one by one, gone. All gone. Hunted down? No. MUCH WORST. Gone in a way buried at the back of the mind, hidden in the dark; the thought of it enough to make him sob, shiver. And there was only one left; the most idiotic of them. The one who probably didn’t deserve to survive. Jael wasn’t the brightest bulb, and before he knew it he was in jail, under his fake name, waiting for his face, under his hair, beard and scars, to be recognised. But it never did. And he never understood how he managed to survive. Just going with the flow, fucking with every crack in the system he could see, because that is only what he did. And he did like he always did; he adapted to his environment. Build partnerships, found a group to hang around with. What changed? There were no rules anymore. It didn’t exist; the lingering familiarity of earlier years stroke his scalp. Only now he was much bigger, stronger… As his cellmate, Jael met a man, a man who was the exact type he despised. The same type of man who put him in this situation, and destroyed everything his heart held and could hold dear. The reason for the disappearance of his brothers in arm, the unknown state of his family; men who used others they deemed expandable to do their dirty work. A man seeing himself so high above the others, acting as he didn’t understand his situation at all. The white collar didn’t have to brag, it always showed in his eyes; how he saw those around him as ants and tools to be used. Jael would be unable to take it anymore at some point, and maybe, for the first time in his life, his eyes showed a another kind of spark. Was it rage? Passion? Anger? He didn’t know, he could only hear the pounding in his chest, grabbing this guy by his obnoxiously silky hair and bashing his head against the table, wasting away precious powder. Unlike what he felt in the past, this one never seemed to satiate. He had done nothing wrong; yet life decided to betray him. Jael was never much of a man of vengeance, although he believed in justice. However, in this moment, he could only cry out what he had lost and take it out on the person he suddenly decided to hold responsible. A smaller body than his could do nothing against his training, and the laugh and cheer of his mates only made the blood in his veins boil stronger. The hatred shoved up his guts at every striking snarks, and his victim’s razor sharp look while being held down, not wavering, only encouraged him further to relieve his needs of violence. Dump all dopamine in that motherfucker’s ass as a sign of dominance. Nevertheless, at some point, never did Jael knew this kind of release would happen more than once, with less eyes and noise. In bathed breath and confusion. In the midst of nothing being right, any progress being reset over and over in some pool of nonsense, there was only this. The sweet, sweet (or was it, really? No. It wasn’t, but he believed so.) sensation of biting and nailing against his body, hands wrapped against another’s throat like relieving some good memories of mission fatalities. Have his usual focus on the present enhanced by a thousand, and his desires suppressing any part of this pawn he didn’t want to look at, only the ones he could take a single drop of pleasure from; those white collar, soft and pale hands, those silky long hair, sultry shaped eyes and thoroughly moisturised skin. And, although he somehow dismissed it as a game, Jael felt a sense of satisfying ownership take over him while his shivs would run over the other, being his territory just like everything in this cell. It’d become some sort of a habit, yet not so often as to not arise suspicions; if anything others believed they were mostly at each others’ throats, with the guards not against that bastard being roughed up.. and they were right, because this wasn’t some cute lovemaking; a good half of it was attempted murder. Another crowd was even worst; they believed them to be rivals, friends in disguise. A crazed, vicious schedule settled in while Jael’s head slowly, but surely, forgot. Forgot everything. Outside this place. Like at the farm, where all day would be the same, and he’d stop counting the day and feel the seasons. His body had always been a tool to a mean, and his character darkened in pure survival and simple, basic needs. His mind cracked atop his personal dummy, violence taping as to not let it break. What shook him ever so slightly, was how his cellmate changed. Jael frowned while observing. It was so subtle, yet gradual. Even his dumb mind could pick up if the person he saw extensively everyday was shifting. The speech would switch, and they’d end up exchanging nearly amusing banter while he strangled the man until he passed out, spurting jokes while blood smeared alongside his arms and thighs. Jael’d never tell whatever he thought of his dear cellmate. It grew into something. Something he felt like had no word, no description. And before long he dared do something he didn’t do for real in so long; share. Share not facts which would only raise some points with inmates, but simple yet meaningful ones that reached the edges of his heart. Like generic childhood memories, hobbies, “i met a guy like that once”… There was nothing good about that relationship. Nothing he could ever share because no normal person could understand. It felt as close as it could be with a comrade… but in a twisted, perverse, way. Still, it was the one thing that seemed, at the very least, real. Where Jael could find an identity, and not only be driven by pure instinct, not acting like a simple sheep. The thing was, not once did he ever wonder what his cellmate was thinking, feeling. From the two of them, he was the most selfish now. Just acting impulsively, with no second thought on the consequences of his actions. He was never able to evolve more from there, because finally karma stroke. Whatever had been done in the shadows, it was performed nearly, he could say, admirably. Everything well put in place, inmates stealthily moving towards the exit as other stayed. The sense of eariness drowning in the air while he was sweeping the floor. Crashed furniture and thrown buckets of water, only had the time to fight off one person that a shiv was already piercing through Jael’s flesh, pain stunning his body long enough for another to go through his stomach. He was swept off his feet, back hitting the wet and soapy concrete floor, stained by his own blood. That is when John Smith was officially dead.