Post by Deleted on May 11, 2014 6:22:31 GMT
[PTabbedContent][PTab=GENERAL INFORMATION] CHARACTER INFO: NAME: James Buchanan Barnes ALIAS: Bucky. The Winter Soldier AGE: 97 OCCUPATION: Assassin MEMBER GROUP: Villains POWERS AND ABILITIES: Due to the Red Room experiments on him, James was given the same sort of Super Serum that Captain America and the Black Widow received. With the enhancement, he gained the following characteristics: Enhanced Strength: After becoming The Winter Soldier, the Serum enhanced his strength to the peak of human capabilities, which makes him stronger than any other normal human and with strength equal to Steve Rogers himself. Enhanced Durability: The serum also enhanced Bucky’s muscles, making them reach the most of their potential, meaning that he is able to take more hits without injuries and survive high falls. Enhanced Stamina: His muscles produce less fatigue toxins, making it so that Bucky can engage in physical activities for much longer than a normal human would. Enhanced Speed: His body was enhanced to reach the peak of human capability, which makes him as fast as Captain America himself, and faster than any ordinary human. Enhanced Reflexes and agility: He’s capable of moving and acting faster than a normal human, managing to catch small movements and details and have a faster reaction time than a normal human would. Enhanced healing: When injured, he can heal faster than normal humans would. That also makes it hard for him to get intoxicated by poison, alcohol or drugs, or even get sick with human viruses or diseases. Cybernetic metal arm: One of the Winter Soldier’s most obvious enhancements are his left arm. After having lost it in the accident that had apparently claimed his life, it was replaced by a cybernetic metal arm by the Russian Red Room project. The cybernetic arm gives him super strength of at least 1 ton with that arm alone. Also, it has an in-built sensory system that allows Bucky to bypass metal security or alert him of any electronic devices in the area. It also has the ability of discharging pulses of electric energy from its palm, and sending EMP pulses to disable electronic devices. Apart from his physical enhancement, he was also trained to be an extremely skilled trained soldier and assassin, excelling on hand-to-hand combat, including several different types of fighting techniques that involve eastern and western martial arts and different other types of physical combat. He’s an expert marksman with an uncanny aim and precision, and also proficient in several different types of weapons, including firearms, daggers, swords, bows and crossbows. He was trained to be the world’s most successful assassin, and he shows why. He has techniques that allow him to be precise and deadly and cover his tracks, all of it acquired during his training with the Red Room. He is capable of quickly assessing his environment in order to figure out possible exits and vulnerable spots, he knows how to quickly assess his opponent in order to figure out weaknesses. He is one of the world’s most dangerous men and those that have encountered him in action know as much. This doesn’t come without weaknesses. He is, despite all his enhancements, human and can be killed as such, even though all things considered, it would be slightly harder to achieve. Due to the mind-wipe and the constant cryostasis state that the Red Room had put him through, his mind is confused, jumbled and fragile. He has moments of memories and then the programming kicks back in, which can leave him disoriented at times, especially when confronted with things from the past, which leaves him on a rather confused, fragile mental state. PLAYBY: Sebastian Stan OOC INFO: PLAYER NAME: Betsy AGE: Over 30 GENDER: Female TIMEZONE: GMT-3 OTHER CHARACTERS:None! [/PTab][PTab=PERSONNEL ASSESSMENT] "The frail and the strong" He didn’t remember any of that anymore. His past was irrelevant. Not important. He didn’t remember being born in Indiana, in 1917, to parents that wouldn’t last that long. He didn’t remember how he lost his mother early on when he was nothing but a child, and then, how his father moved to New York City to try and start his life. Brooklyn was the choice, but he didn’t remember that either. He didn’t remember he had a sister, who was now long dead. He didn’t remember how he would do anything to protect her, because deep down, he had that sort of thing built within him. Protecting those that couldn’t protect themselves, that was something that came natural to him. He didn’t remember how this exact situation led him to meet his best friend, the frail little boy that was twelve but looked to be around eight or something. How he, stronger than him back in the day, had stepped forward to help the kid. He couldn’t defend himself, yet there was a fire to that kid that called to him. And when he stepped in to actually physically do what the kid could not, they had forged a bond, a strong bond that made the two of them best friends. And then the frail boy had dreams that had been too big, dreams of being useful and serving his country when no one else believed he could. They looked at him and saw nothing but a frail little boy who was dreaming too big. But he knew better. He knew that deep down he was stronger than any of those that came and went. And when the frail boy managed to find one particular man who believed in him, a certain Abraham Erskine, he had long enlisted in the Army and due to his strength and overall good physical shape, he was in. And so was his best friend. Yet he did not remember that. "The frail becomes strong. The strong becomes the sidekick." He didn’t remember how the training had been strong enough that his friend couldn’t physically handle it, but how he stood tall and refused to back down. He didn’t remember how much he admired his spirit and his drive, when all the others had none of that. The others had enough of physical prowess and could run laps and miles without trouble, while he stumbled and tired and yet kept on going. He refused to allow his spirit to be beaten. But he didn’t remember any of that. He didn’t remember how proud he was of him. He didn’t remember how much he wished he had told him that back in the day. Then all of a sudden, he could not find him anymore. All of a sudden, he didn’t realize that he had seen the last of the frail young man. The next time he saw him, he was different. Bigger, stronger, no longer frail. The change had been uncanny but he took it nicely, even joked that he was no longer the strongest one anymore. And during the war, it had been so easy to see all that the formerly frail boy was capable of. All that he needed was the physical push to allow him to do all that he had to do, because the strength of spirit had always been there. And he had gladly stepped aside to allow his friend to shine, because he figured that he had all that it took to become the leader he was meant to become. And he fought by his side, because he wouldn’t have wanted anything else. He had once stepped in to protect him, he had often taken beatings for his sake, growing up and later on in life. But not anymore. Now, he was happy to follow. Only because it had been him, the formerly frail boy who had the strength of a giant. War was uncannily evil. There was plenty of horrors that his eyes had seen, but he stood strong, often threatening to break, only to be pulled up by his friend. He didn’t realize how much he would have seen when he first decided to come to war. All of a sudden, he missed the old life. Girls and parties and watching Howard Stark’s fabulous inventions. He missed the good old dance parties and the two-step and pretty dresses. There were times at night when he closed his eyes and thought he was still in Brooklyn. He tried to ignore the sounds of death that came from outside, but it was his friend that gave him the courage and the strength. When he felt he was going to falter, there he was, telling him the words he needed to hear and ushering him back to strength. And he stood up, and fought, and was led by him. And he was proud. Until the day that he held onto his life with what were only human fingers. He didn’t have his friend’s strength, or dexterity, or resilience. He was nothing but a man, a human man who had been following someone that was much bigger than he was. And then, when his very human fingers could no longer hold, when his very human arm could no longer contain the weight of gravity pulling him down, he fell to his death. But he didn’t remember that. "The strong becomes a hero. The sidekick becomes a weapon" He didn’t remember how he didn’t die. How the Russians found him and took him, still alive, to their lab. How they wiped his memories and made sure he didn’t remember anything. The arm lost in his near-death was replaced by a cybernetic one, fully capable of the same things that a normal arm would, just stronger and with extra abilities. And then, he woke up. No memory of who he was or who he had been. No memory of his past, no memory of the days spent in his home country. No memory of his friend. All that he knew was what he was told, all that he was taught was on how to be as deadly as he could be. There was much that he had to learn as he awoke from what he believed had been his death. They gave him all the training that they felt he needed: from fighting to weapons to firearms to spy techniques to languages. Russian was the language of choice – the language of those that now owned him. Yes, because he was no longer a human. He was a weapon, one forged to be the most deadly of them all. They called him The Winter Soldier, gave him a resilient armor, a mask to cover his face, and painted a red star on his metal arm, the red that reminded him of the motherland. He didn’t have any attachments to anyone. He received his missions, and he executed them flawlessly. Then, he returned to the Red Room, to the cryostasis that they kept on putting him on so he wouldn’t run away from them. But why would he, when he had no will of his own? And then, he met her. The young red-haired Russian that he had been tasked with training. She was nothing but a young woman back then, but she already had a fire that warmed even the stone-cold heart of the Winter Soldier. At first, he was firm and resilient in his training. She was to become the best she could be, and he would make it so. But slowly the chinks in his mental armor began to show, and he felt something that he didn’t know how to deal with. She was warmth when he had none. She was emotions when he had forgotten what it was like. She was his humanity, and soon enough he found himself sneaking to see her even when they weren’t meant to meet. She was the one that reminded him, even if just slightly, of all that he could have been. All of a sudden he wanted to take her out of there. Open the doors and tell her to run. Make sure she would be safe and not falling into the old patterns that they wanted her to. And when he was planning, after one of those times he cherished so much, the times that he spent next to her, they figured it out. They got him again, wiped his mind again, put him on cryo again, and that was the end of what he could have claimed to be the sliver of humanity in a life of coldness. She went away from him, sent away from him, and he would stare at the red hair and wonder why he felt empty all of a sudden. He didn’t remember the nights spent at her side, he didn’t remember how he grabbed onto that chance to find the humanity within him, he didn’t remember that he had loved. But he remembered a tear falling from his eyes when he saw the shade of red of her hair no longer within his sight. And he didn’t know why, but it hurt him to see her leave. And that, he did remember. It was a repetition pattern, over and over again. Whenever they felt he was drifting away from his mission, they took him in, wiped him all over again, put him in cryo, released him when he was ready for his next mission. Until the mission made him see her again. And there was anger, perhaps more anger there than there should have been. Because she had his target, and he never missed his target. She was there, protecting the one he had to kill. He did not hesitate, though. A shot was fired, a deadly shot, a shot that did not miss its target, because it went through her womb and found its destination. He never missed his target, after all. And there was anger, a sliver of anger in his eyes as he shot, because he remembered the red hair. He remembered her face even though his conscious mind did not tell him why. All that he knew was that he remembered. Something. Anything. And then, once the man she was protecting was dead and she was wounded, he turned back and left, being nothing but a shadow, a myth in many minds. He clearly remembered. "Old past. New Mission." He didn’t know what the old frail boy he once knew had become. It didn’t matter. Because he was no longer the man he had been. Now, he was The Winter Soldier. It was all that he knew, all that he remembered. And he had a mission. One that he would come to finish, one that took him back to the land that had been his for so long, to a city that he once knew, streets that once felt the weight of his feet. Corners where he had protected a man that had become his best friend. Places that his eyes would remember if only his mind had not been tampered with so much. The amount of times that he had been programmed to forget, there was always a chink there, ready to be exploited. But not this time. This time, he had a mission. There was one man that had been rising above others. One man that had to die. Steve Rogers was his mission. Steve Rogers would die. Because the Winter Soldier never missed his mark. Because The Winter Soldier was deadly and precise. But then, once his eyes locked upon his new mark, would he know? Would he find the truth about himself? Or would he simply be the weapon he was forged to be? All that he knew how to be. Perhaps, for the first time, he would remember. And it scared him more than he would ever admit. [/PTab][PTab=IMAGE][/PTab][/PTabbedContent={width:485px;border:0px;margin-left:-2px;}] |