Pax [REQ]

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Re: Pax [REQ]

Post by Sigil » Thu Nov 28, 2019 7:10 am


Name: Victor Baaz
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 167 lbs
Species: Human
Career: Bio-Medical Engineering and Pharmaceuticals

"The funny thing about being an entrepreneur is you can never really have it all. Even sitting where I sit at the top of the corporate ladder it's hard to say I don't constantly want something. I have this desire to push the boundaries of whats possible to further our society."
Who is the Victor Baaz

Victor Baaz is a 37 year old graduate of John Hopkins University and a the owner of Baaz Industries, a company leading the charge in Bio-Medical Engineering. He was born to Joseph and Elizabeth Baaz who both were killed during a mugging when he was 12. It is believed that the killer needed money for his insulin and was pushed to extreme actions. Victor decided to wage war the only way he knew how, make a better product at an affordable cost. From there he branched out into Bio-Medical and eventually opened up his business in his home city of Pax in order to help boost the economy.

Come on baby, don't fear the reaper
Baby take my hand, don't fear the reaper
We'll be able to fly, don't fear the reaper
Baby I'm your man

Name: The Reaper
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 167 lbs
Species: Human
Career: Drugs and weapons

"The funny thing about being rich is you can never really have it all. Even sitting where I sit at the top of the criminal underworld it's hard to say I don't constantly want something. I have this desire to push the boundaries of whats possible to further my power."
Who is the Reaper

The Reaper is the name given to the king of Pax's criminal underworld and is inspired by his wardrobe. The white suit and skull helmet are known throughout the dark streets of the city. New gangs pop up and quickly learn what territory is his and what isn't. Those that don't end up finding out why he's called The Reaper.

To get to the top you have to leave behind a trail of bodies and The Reapers rise was no different. He felt the need to unify crime under one man for the sake of the city. In order to do that he had to remove a few people from the picture. The Italians were first since they controlled the most territory, once he killed their boss he acquired an army and with that army he pushed his influence across Pax. Covering up the messy rise to power was a good portion of the police force who ended up in his pocket.

That isn't to say there isn't competition, there is, its just hard to overcome The Reaper when his true identity is unknown to the crime lords and all evidence of who he might be is systematically expunged from the record. That still hasn't stopped some (now dead) men from trying.


The Reaper's rise to power was aided by his meta-human ability. When he makes contact with the skin of another person he can take any wound they had suffered in the past and unheal it. A great example of this is when the body of a Russian man was found in an abandoned warehouse covered in burnt flesh. The only problem was the man had suffered those burns years ago and had already healed. The longer he remains in contact with a person the more damage he can bring back from minor scrapes, to broken bones, and even internal hemorrhaging. The downside to his power is that the injuries he manages to unheal always start with the ones that are the most recent which means he lacks some level of control over immediate effects.


The Reaper's resources are plentiful and powerful. Often called an upstart crime lord he operates a double life that gives him access to an almost endless supply of opiates making him one of the most profitable dealers of prescription drugs in PAX. He has used this drug trade to combat his own shareholders rapid price increases and return them to normal costs.

He also possesses a newly crafted chemical weapon known as Black Skull. This chemical causes rapid blood coagulation when inhaled and can cause death in a few seconds when exposed to large quantities. The less exposure to the chemical you have the less likely it is to prove lethal. He currently has a small supply of dispersion devices that prevent him from waging all out war against the city with his new tool. He keeps these spread out across his multiple warehouses.

The Reaper has major control over the docks, even deeming them a safe zone where villains aren't allowed to attack each other, and a small group of police officers working for his operation. His own gang consists of mainly ex Italian mobsters and Ukrainian gangsters who he assimilated into his organization.
Last edited by Sigil on Thu Jan 09, 2020 9:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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Post by Reyn » Thu Nov 28, 2019 9:14 pm




What drives you to act? For some, the answer is quite simple. Money, for example, is a pretty strong motivator- especially in a city like this. Villains and heroes alike are often powered by greed, whether they embrace it or not. Some motives are more complex, however. Anger. Hatred. Madness. Revenge, even- against an individual or the system which produced them. Starry-eyed heroes with a childish dream to rid the world of evil, never stopping in their quest to vanquish the criminal scum that plague these streets in the vain ideal of 'making a difference', and the agents of pure evil who stand in their way, excusing their acts of terroristic violence with a simple desire to hurt.

On a surface level, Solace belongs to the latter.

The human mind is a fascinating thing. It is a fascinatingly creative thing. Locked within the synapses of every single person lies the potential for artistic genius, but it seldom gets released- and that is the greatest tragedy of all. All these great artists, these eloquent wordsmiths, these poets, wandering around in the prison of their everyday lives... they are all trapped by a lack of inspiration, and the most important inspiration comes from pain.

Solace wants to unlock that potential. Inside every man is a poet, and that poet can best be found at the barrel of a gun... or the point of a knife, or the business end of a sledgehammer. Whatever works.

This 'supervillain' persona is carefully constructed, with a face-covering mask and a voice-masking cover designed to keep him anonymous, and his victims terrified. He aims to intimidate, to strike fear into the hearts of anyone who comes across him- because it is within that fear that creative greatness can be unearthed. If his presence alone isn't enough to frighten, then he employs one of several options, ranging from physical threat, to an experimental hallucinogen that brings the horrors of the subconscious into full view. Solace doesn't just kill. That would be such a waste.

A prolific and mysterious serial killer driven by artistic desire, Solace has become somewhat infamous within Pax over the past few years. Whilst he lacks many of the connections and resources of the city's other notorious criminals, the frequency and cruelty of his murders has given him an almost mythical reputation.

Perhaps his most recognisable quirk is his signature notebook, the 'Valedictionary'- a leather-bound tome where he writes the last words of his victims, and any other statements of ill-gotten wisdom they may say during the process. The Valedictionary also works as a calling card of sorts, as he often leaves short excerpts on torn-up paper at the scene of the relevant murder- which are always artistically brutal.

There are rumours that he works from an abandoned warehouse near the borders of the city, having filled it with gruesome paintings and sculptures of his own creation. With the way that this artwork has been described, it's no wonder that he murders people among them: they fit right in with the twisted aesthetic the place has going on.

Still, Solace remains mostly a mystery. His method is known only to those he kills, his book of morbid poetry remains unpublished, and the face behind the mask has never once been revealed. Even his gender is a point of contention- his build and voice imply that he's male, but there is evidence to show that both of those things have been obscured by what he wears.

One thing is known for certain, however: Solace is not someone you want to mess with.

Solace's costume protects both his identity and his health.

The mask obscures his face completely, leaving no trace of skin visible. His clothing does the same, covering every inch of his body and padding it out somewhat so that not even his figure is recognisable. Within the mask is a voice modulator, which layers and pitch-shifts his voice to a low, discordant, and completely anonymous tone. This feature doubles up as a silencer for his voice; the mask itself is noise-cancelling, so turning off the modulator does an excellent job at eliminating any sound that could come from his mouth.

As for the health benefits, the beak also functions as a very effective gas mask, rendering Solace effectively invulnerable to airborne substances, including his own weapon of choice. His clothes, whilst not entirely bulletproof, are thick enough to withstand quite a bit of damage, and are padded in the most important areas enough to lessen the fatality of stabbings and gunshot wounds. It's also pretty good for hiding things in.

Unfortunately, this all comes at the cost of mobility. Moving around with all those layers is never a comfortable experience, and it gets hot in there. Because of this, Solace is rarely seen in active combat, and is even more rarely seen running. Such athletic feats are likely possible for him, but they sure as hell aren't gonna be comfortable.

Solace is armed and dangerous.

His heavy coat allows him to store all manner of weapons and items on his person at all times without much risk of losing them, and there's often room for more in those pockets. Carrying around tools of inspiration is useful, for a person of his disposition. You never know when you'll come across someone who could use a little creativity.

In terms of conventional weaponry, Solace has a fairly bland arsenal. He carries around a concealed handgun for emergencies, but mostly uses an old-looking pistol which he calls 'Musemaker'. As for blades, he has quite the collection. A switchblade, a scalpel, and a verifiably antique dagger line the inside of his coat- all kept suitably sharp, of course.

On top of his ordinary arsenal, there are a few speciality weapons that Solace keeps around- and they mostly involve some sort of poison. He carries a dart gun, tipped with a fairly average tranquiliser, and the sword hidden within his cane is hollow and contains a strychnine solution which you probably don't want to be stabbed with. Due to a limited supply of the chemicals involved, both of these weapons are only used as a last resort, although the volume of poison within the cane is large enough that Solace can reliably pour some out for effective use elsewhere.

Other items Solace carries include a length of rope, a few strips of fabric, several pens, and a leather-bound notebook: the Valedictionary. He also carries a few smoke grenades containing a particular substance...

The most important part of Solace's arsenal is 'Hysteria': a chemical that induces a nightmare-like state in anyone exposed.

It is a fairly fast-acting drug, showing effects within just a few minutes after exposure, causing severe discomfort and unease relatively early on. Those affected enter a dissociative state that gradually worsens with continuous exposure, which serves to augment the substance's primary purpose: hallucinations. The sights and sounds produced by Hysteria are vivid and inescapable, and it's always a bad trip. It feels like a living nightmare, frightening and surreal, as it unearths horrifying parts of the subconscious and lays them out before your senses- and Solace will ask you to describe what you see.

Hysteria can be administered in a number of ways, but it is most commonly used as an inhalant. Solace carries a number of smoke grenades that contain this substance on him at all times, with one grenade being able to effectively cover a small room. When used like this, it takes the form of a fairly thick, white smoke that is opaque enough to act as a somewhat effective cover.

On further inspection, the chemical itself seems a little haphazard. It isn't a tightly-engineered drug that is designed down to the molecule to serve its purpose, rather, it seems to be a mixture of existing compounds that are quite easy for someone in Pax to find: hallucinogen, a stimulant, and over-the-counter allergy medication. It makes sense, in a way. Solace is an artist, not a chemist.

The only metahuman trait that Solace has is one he, arguably, doesn't need. He has a fairly unsettling presence anyway, with the mask and the pitch-shifted voice, but that can be pushed even further.

Just looking at Solace is enough to activate the fight or flight response, regardless of the situational context. He will always be perceived as a danger, as something to be feared, and he can alter how much of a threat he appears to be. This is fantastic when it comes to his victims, as he can make them pretty scared of him without having to do much, but it is a massive downside when it comes to negotiations. Being constantly perceived as an imminent threat means that, often, that threat is acted on- and flight isn't always the option people go for.

Solace can only control people's fear of him, and not how they respond to it.

Because of how difficult it is to make friends like this, Solace has so far mostly worked alone, save for a few people he had convinced (read: threatened) to accompany him in one-off events. He can't turn this ability off, so to speak. He can reduce it to a slight sense of unease, but he can never appear completely benign.

Art Credit

Astrid Hyde.
20 years old.
Student at Pax U, despite everyone telling her to go elsewhere.

Astrid's a bit of a loner, there's no denying that. She only really seems to have one friend after all her time in college, and she has refused to humour any attempts to make more. The other students tend to avoid her, from what I've gathered, which is probably contributing to her depression. Makes no attempt to be any less awkward, even during our sessions. Told me pretty early on that she has no desire to continue counselling, despite clearly needing the benefits.

Her work ethic has been faltering over the past semester, and several of her tutors have voiced their frustrations to me about her inability to meet project deadlines. The work she does produce gains undeservedly high grades at a fairly consistent rate... but, for a fine arts student, she never seems to spend much time producing any art.

I don't get paid enough to keep her around. None of us do. She is completely unwilling to accept treatment, so I won't bother trying to give it to her. If Astrid wants to play at being a 'tragic suffering artist', then she can go right ahead. I strongly urge all of her tutors to stop referring her to the student counselling system. We have more responsive students to look after.

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Post by Vengeance » Mon Dec 02, 2019 12:02 am

"Never surrender."
Personal Information
Name: Malcolm Maverick
Codename: Vendetta
Alias: Pax's Last Paragon
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 21 y/o
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Black
Height: 5'10" (1.88m.)
Weight: 175lbs. (79 kg)
Citizenship: American
Residence: Apartment Complex
Relatives: Unknown
Base of Operations: None
Alignment: Neutral Good
Affiliation: None
Identity: Secret
Orientation: Heterosexual
Marital Status: Single
Occupation: Vigilante; Odd-Jobs Worker
World's Greatest Asskicker and Nametaker
Among the various vigilantes, criminals, and monsters that permeate the city of Pax, there remains the apex atop the hierarchy. An unstoppable and irresistible force, never ceasing in its pursuit of its prey. The predator that marks the city as his territory and his alone, punishing all who defy him.

Safe to say Vendetta is not the city's greatest defender. Not by a long shot.

Still having a way's to go before he becomes properly versed at the whole vigilante thing, Malcolm spends his time between performing various odd jobs, completing his degrees in mechanical engineering and biochemistry as well as spending any spare time for patrolling the streets.

Devoting all of his resources and will towards cultivating his alter ego, the young Maverick has his discipline and training overseen by Puma, the Treaty City's top pugilist.

Despite his reputation as a wisecracking vigilante, Malcolm drive to become Pax's greatest paragon stems from a desire to avoid past mistakes, transgressions forever haunting his soul.

Not Just A Life, But Save A Soul

The Sentinel That Always Smiles

Angels And Devils On My Shoulders

The Jovial Jabberwocky

The Man Without Fear

The Lightning Emperor

Blood & Sweat

The Bloodhound Brawler

Last edited by Vengeance on Sun Dec 15, 2019 12:45 am, edited 14 times in total.

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The Retrievers

Post by Apex_Enigma » Thu Dec 05, 2019 4:09 am

The Retrievers

Alternate Names: Sewer Rats, Pax's Pests, Drag 'n Droppers, The Go-Betweens

Species: Humans

In the gaps between Pax's elite criminal underground and the gangs that run its slums lie the Retrievers, a cobbled together group of youths from every part of Pax that enjoy a special role in the sinner's city.

Everyone in Pax, down to the last man, needs to get something somewhere, and if that something has to travel greater than the length of a city block there is a good chance it will have to cross territory that does not belong to the sender or the recipient. That is where the Retrievers come into play.

The Retrievers act as a glorified courier service. By utilizing their connections to under-bosses, capos, gangsters and middle-men, they almost ensure safe passage by reputation alone, but almost is, of course, not enough. The team of messengers and delivery artists has specialized in creative urban traversal, honing their ability to acrobatically bypass all obstacles that might come between them and their destination. By maintaining their 100% delivery rate, they have become invaluable to the seedier elements of Pax, but have also interwoven their fates with those same elements.
The Fine Five

There are more members to their motley crew, though as the founding members of the Retrievers the Fine Five act not only as the primary couriers for the group, but also as its face. Other members provide logistical support, act as go-betweens in relatively safe areas, or act as lookouts for the primary five, ensuring their safety (or at least providing a helpful heads-up) wherever the five might find themselves, but the Fine Five are the group's core. Its heart, brain, and soul.
Tom Hazard aka Double-Pane
ImageBeaten by his father and later abandoned by his parents, Tom Hazard is convinced that life spat him out to be a scrapper. He lives for the fight, relishing in every opportunity to indulge himself, but knows well enough not to pick them himself. He keeps a cool head, and is most often called upon when jobs have a tendency to go south. Of all the runners in the Retrievers, he is the best at scaling buildings and making quick vertical escapes.

Age: 19
Hobbies: Boxing, Judo, Collecting Miscellaneous Trading Cards

Jacob Freid aka Gunshow
ImageJacob Freid was the man to know on campus. As the star offensive lineman for East Pax High, he was widely adored and roundly respected, at least until injury benched him for his final season. Aimless in life, he joined his school friends in their semi-legal enterprise, serving as the teams runner for weightier goods. Of all the runners in the Retrievers, Jake is the most intimidating at a glance, and the one best capable of moving heavy loads quickly.

Age: 19
Hobbies: Lifting Weights, Running, Assembling/Disassembling Furniture

Rin Strauss aka Screenjumper
ImageRin Strauss is a girl perpetually in over her head. Smarter than her peers, she easily breezed through high school, skipping grades and loading up on elective after elective, AP class over AP class, until finally, in her senior year, she simply burned the wick out. She stopped attending school. Gave up on her hobbies. Shut herself indoors for the better part of two months. In the end, the other four members of the Fine Five were the only ones who bothered to check on the isolated teen, coaxing her out into the wider world. When she finally did graduate, her perfect 4.0 GPA taking a major hit, she had no idea what she wanted to do. She only knew that whatever it was, she wanted it to be with her friends. Of all the runners in the Retrievers, she is the best at integrating real-time surveillance reports into her route.

Age: 17
Hobbies: Cardgame Based Video Games, Reading Comics/Manga, Fencing (epee)

Angela Fuentes aka Primer
ImageAngela Fuentes is a misanthrope at heart, or so she keeps telling herself (and others). She rarely goes out to social gatherings, dislikes crowds, and occasionally feels overwhelmed even when only friends are present (though she does her best to hide it). She lives to for Pax's lonesome nights, the feel of wind rushing though her hair as she moves along the rooftops, alone and free. It is during these nighttime strolls that Angela performs her work. As the Retriever's scout, she marks dangerous areas, areas of reprieve, safehouses, patrol routes and number, and other information of note with symbols only familiar to the Retrievers themselves, priming locales for future use. Of all the Retrievers, she is the best familiar with Pax's winding streets and rooftop geography.

Age: 20
Hobbies: Drawing, Tagging, Playing the Harmonica

Mark Loesner aka Max
ImageMark Loesner has never not taken shit for the way he looks. The oddly attired, "punk-rock but not quite there yet" manner in which he conducts himself just lends itself to derision. Yet, aside from their comparisons to the villains of the Mad Max series, the other Fine Five have never given Mark any trouble, and in fact have welcomed him, and it is a lucky thing they did.
Mark Loesner is the Retriever's man for any equipment they may need, be it for traversal of the environment or more lethal purposes. With a brother who works down at the docks, he is capable of purchasing most anything shipped into the city by sea, and often does. Mark even admits that the thought of attacking the students at East Pax High with these resources had crossed his mind, but once welcomed into the fold, the potent rage of an isolated soul faded, and he found his place among friends. Of all the Retrievers, he is most proficient in the use of their gear, tools, and weapons.

Age: 18
Hobbies: Tinkering, Shooting, Singing Karaoke


The gear available to the Retrievers often varies by the needs of the job, but there are a few items they are sure to keep on them at all times, just in case.
Rope and Hook
Rope is an incredibly useful tool in many situations, and to go without it is to hamper oneself significantly when height is involved. The grappling hook can help one descend from height, climb, or simply suspend cargo for later retrieval.

Its purpose is well known to everyone. To open things or areas that are not meant to be opened, but it also makes for a handy weapon in a pinch.

A tool that is useful in almost any situation, be it combat, carving messages, wedging open doors, or simply removing packaging.

Lock-Pick Set
A lock-pick set that is sufficient for most locks found in Pax. Mark was quick to drill the importance of getting through doors in a pinch, so every member of the Fine Five know how to utilize this tool (though some are more proficient than others).

Glock 19
A Glock 19 with a laser and flashlight mounted to the bottom rail, carried in case of dire emergencies. No one retriever ever wishes to draw this weapon, but all are trained (to various degrees) in its use.

Steel Knuckles (Tom Hazard Only)
These steel knuckles are carried by Tom in case a fight goes south. While he prefers to never use the knuckles, in his mind they are a better alternative to any of the other tools at his disposal.

Two-Way Radios
Earpieces designed to allow constant communication between runners and those providing intelligence to them. They are relatively cheap and easy to acquire.
Last edited by Apex_Enigma on Wed Dec 11, 2019 9:03 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Harper S. Jones -- "Lonestar"

Post by Doorkickers » Mon Dec 09, 2019 2:21 am

"You leave bullshit to the bureaucrats. Me? I tend to get things done."
L O N E S T ★ R

Pax -- from Latin, meaning peace.

Now, I took Spanish in high school because it was far more useful than a dead language in my desired career path. But, from my limited knowledge in the vernacular, pax seems like an innocent word-- to those who did not live within the city that took such a term for its own name, at the very least. What is peace if not the greater innocence of the public at large, a preservation of placidity and order to ensure the success of societal change? The Pax Romana, after all, was a period of stability and peace which spurred the growth of new innovation and evolution-- and the City of Beasts, despite the triumvirate of letters which denote its formal title, could not be further from that long-forgotten ideal.

Pax is without peace.

Vigilantes harness their own internal struggles and strength to take matters into their own hands and deliver justice; gangs run rampant through the city, terrorizing the weak and killing those who are not able to defend themselves; corporations capitalize upon the violence spread thick throughout the city, infecting the government and instilling corruption to the very core of bureaucracy. In such trying times, it is a herculean effort-- if not outright impossible-- to keep the peace and provide order in a city which, at times, seems more like a frontier than any established society.

The Pax Police Department is no exception to this emerging status quo.

The former Commissioner was a weak man-- far weaker than any of his contemporaries. What he lacked in morality was more than made up for in a willingness to compromise with the underbelly of Pax, ushering in an age of corruption and filth that was unprecedented in the city's centuries-long lifespan. No more. The buck stops here-- under my position, the top of the food chain. The PPD was a disgrace to the modern definition of justice-- key word, of course, being was. The moronic, incompetent bureaucrats who played with this city like a toy-bin may have been able to get away with an egregious avoidance of consequence, but not anymore. I will not rest until this city is restored to its former glory and the festering limb of corruption is amputated from the conjoined whole.

Pax might be the City of Beasts, but I am a seasoned hunter.

Photo of Operative Jones, dated 3/25/2006.
You're not supposed to have access to this file, jackass.

NAME: Harper Sandra Jones.
ALIAS: Lonestar.

DATE OF BIRTH: July 24th, 1983. 36 years of age.
PLACE OF BIRTH: Austin, Texas.
NATIONALITY: Pure-blooded American.

HT.: 6'4.
WT.: 185.

BACKGROUND: I always looked up to my father.

Hell, it was no surprise why I did; the ATF-- especially back in the days of Escobar and coke getting funneled across every available weak-point in the border-- was as cutthroat in employment as it was lethal. Frederick Casey Jones' career in the Bureau was during the time of serial killers, moral crises, communism looming over-- or, depending on who you asked, in-- our country, and the onset of the War on Drugs. And despite all that, despite all the shit he found himself caught up in to protect the integrity of his country, he still found time to be a father above all else, and an agent second. I took after both my parents; my mother's southern belle looks at least partially rubbed off on me, and my father's association with violence and death instilled a sense of adventure and tomboyish desire that really wasn't present anywhere else in my life.

I wanted to be like him. Sure. In a way, I also wanted to make him proud-- but I also wanted to serve my country, because that was what Americans did. I wanted to stop the shit plaguing our country, and I wanted to make things right. These were idealistic goals for a young girl, of course-- naive, even. I hadn't quite gotten a grasp on the way things truly were. But I learned. Believe me, I learned.

Waco taught me real fuckin' quick.

Sometimes, when I visit my mom to catch up, I still ... envision him walking out through that door. It was early, too-- sun barely broke over the horizon, and it bathed him in this orange light that looked like fire across the skin, like something out of a damn movie. Reminded me of the old Westerns we'd watch at night, like some sort of cowboy walking off into the sunrise like the ending of a flick-- only this was real, the consequences were real, and I learned right quick that life wasn't a series of happy endings.

Things were ... odd, after his passing. Men dressed like him came to the door, all somber and such, and my mother-- well, she knew, I supposed, when she saw them through the front screen door on our porch. I didn't quite understand, yet-- I was ten at the time, see-- but I learned, Lord, I learned. Daddy ain't coming home, sweetheart. He isn't with us anymore. Of course, I had to ask why-- I'd done so much with him, I loved him, didn't he love me?

Of course he had. Loving someone, to him, meant taking a bullet for them-- and he must have adored us with all his damned heart, because they told my mother he took three. One for her, two for me, I like to think. Morbid, maybe, but that was my life. That was what I grew up with.

Naturally, I wanted to follow in his footsteps-- and while the ATF was relatively lackluster in appeal, the Bureau-- the real Bureau, the Federal one-- was a promising path I decided to devote my life to. Paid off damn well, too-- one of the first women in history to be inducted into the Hostage Rescue Team division of the FBI, and I served with pride. That was right around the time I started to lose my accent, too-- working out of Virginia meant a lot more diverse folk, which meant that I wasn't in my cloistered shell anymore. I was a Texan girl in a den of lions, and I had to fight my damnedest not to get eaten alive.

A decade of service brought me to where I am now, I suppose. See, Pax had a reputation for being a black hole that swallowed up any federal action thrown at it. Agents, transfers, investigations-- dead ends, all of them. Hell, operatives were killed before they could report back, sometimes. After taking my leave from the FBI-HRT-- a city-wide terrorist attack does that to a woman-- I was assigned here. To Pax. Took me a few months to read up on the city and get myself familiarized, and I can say without a doubt that it is one of the most monumental shitshows I have ever observed in my life.

My kind of shitshow, though.

"-- and get me a perimeter fast before this all burns down."
The incredibly intensive training measures taken by the FBI in molding HRT operatives has resulted in a mind that is both clear and calculating in the most lethal of situations. In body, Jones' body is at a level of durability and stamina attainable only by that of a soldier-- her physicality has been broken down, smelted within the crucible, and sculpted into a form best suited to kill with uncompromising efficiency.

Morally, she is incorruptible-- her service to country has eliminated any possibility of traitorous deals and backhanded buy-outs by those who wish for her to look the other way. Mentally, she is unbreakable-- the training of HRT operatives, identical in training to those under Delta Force, has instilled a mentality which refuses to kneel in the most trying of situations. While exhausted, she is able to work with precision; while debilitated by pain or toxin, she perseveres. Her Spartan-like determination is complimented by her high technical skill in operating machinery, photography, crime scene investigation, shooting, and close quarters combat-- all mandated and honed by her training under the Bureau.

Her leadership skills, too, are not to be underestimated; work as an FBI-HRT operative has resulted in remarkable skills as a tactician, compounded with her natural fierceness and unyielding approach to life. Her tomboyish upbringing means that she's fine with getting up close and personal with combatants, approaching situations with an outlook that often catches many of her contemporaries off-guard.

Zero bullshit. Zero tolerance.

"I'm what you might call classically trained."
She was born in rural Texas. Shooting a gun was akin to learning how to ride a bike-- and that knowledge was only expanded upon in the wake of her recruitment to the FBI. While her outfitted equipment and loadout may vary from assignment to assignment, it is expected that a Police Commissioner-- especially in a city as dangerous as Pax-- should possess the means to defend herself both on and off-duty.

As a standard-issue police firearm, Jones' Glock 22 is kept on her person at all available times. At home, a FN 509 is kept under the pillow, and a Ruger LCP is kept in the bedside drawer. A Remington 870 is stowed underneath the bed, and an AR-15 is kept in the closet. All are kept up to code, and she possesses licenses for every weapon kept within her property.

She is paranoid-- and this paranoia has kept her alive.

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Sara Winterbloom, Attorney at Law

Post by Pax City Attorney » Wed Dec 11, 2019 2:46 am

Name: Sara Winterbloom

Age: 32

Height: 5'2

Weight: 124 lbs

In a world where all sides can shoot death from their fingertips, Sara Winterbloom has two things going for her: Her head and the law. Having the law on your side doesn't mean much in a place like Pax, 'course. It's not like Bitch Phoenix was gonna pop into the station with her hands held out, confessing to ungodly counts of theft, murder, and, well, arson. Vigilantes roamed the streets with free reign, for fuck's sake, doing whatever the heck they wanted with their own flavor of justice.

Justice? Nah. Justifications. Half of them were mercs that only cared about profiting off their targets, half of them were batshit crazy superhero wannabes. It was a good thing they were getting criminals off the streets without the policy hoops the PD had to jump through, but she couldn't pretend to endorse their motives. Not that she could really do anything about it.

Enter the den of wolves, the moment you look like a snack, you're done. Out. Kaput. Lot smarter to pretend to be a wolf yourself, growl a bit, maybe kick up some dust in the pack, and come out a little less dignified but hopefully unscathed. See, in Pax, the law isn't lawful. The courts are stacked with dirty juries and the PD's got more filth in it than an unwashed Kuerig. Sara could be prim and proper, staying above it all, acting like her job description reads -

Or she could do her best to get shit done, even if it means paying a few mooks - or pulling a few teeth. Evidence is evidence, in the court of law, and nobody's gonna care where you got it from as long as you cover your tracks well enough. Can't nobody complain about a lack of warrants if an anonymous informant dropped off the smoking gun at the DA's office, can they?

As for her head, Sara's a smart girl. Not freakin' mensa, but definitely above average. Helps that she gets... hunches, about things. Feelings. Some people might call it an intuition. Sometimes, it's like she can feel what happened, in a place, sense how things and people connect. It's gotta be important, though. Strong emotions. Stuff like anger, passion, sadness, if she goes near it, she feels it too. It doesn't really hold up as evidence in the court of law, but it can definitely help pick up better leads, and it gives her an edge the criminals don't really expect. Just a little ace up her sleeve, so to speak - an ace she'd be reticent to ever give away. Can't let her reputation drop, can she?

No, sir. It's better for people to think she's just that good.

For protection, she carries around her dad's Ruger SP101. It's not standard issue in the slightest, and she technically shouldn't even be allowed to carry it on the job, but she's practically a mundie. They've got people out there that shoot death from their fingers. If they try to off her, she wants to be able to blow their fucking heads open. Capiche?

Oh, and uh - the coffee. Forgot to mention the coffee. As Pax City District's only DA, she runs a lot of cases, and runs a little time - three to four hours of sleep a night, tops. Heck, maybe that's another secret superpower.

Or maybe she's just used to feeling dead inside.
Last edited by Pax City Attorney on Thu Apr 16, 2020 4:43 pm, edited 2 times in total.

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Mr. Null
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Re: Pax [REQ]

Post by Mr. Null » Sat Dec 21, 2019 10:20 pm

➢Name: Joshua Ward
➢Age: 42 years old
➢Height: 6'5"
➢Weight: 212.5 lbs
➢Hair color: Sienna
➢Eye color: Light gray
➢D.o.B.: 8/29/1977
➢P.o.B.: Pax - U.S.
➢Alias(es): Mr. Null, Null
➢Identity: Secret
➢Occupation: Ex-cop, current accounts payable accountant
➢Equipment: Grappling hook (stolen from the precint back in the day), Smith & Wesson M&P 9
"Guess you never had anything special. Just one more sell-out."
The city of Pax certainly has it's fair share of superpowered misfits, and aside from those, it also has the extremely skilled individuals who dedicated their entire lives to perfecting a certain concept. Be it martial arts or talented geniuses, this place has them all, to an extent the only true way to have the upper-hand is by not having your whole gig discovered by the opposing side before you discover theirs. With that in mind, and acknowledging the corruption of the system itself, Joshua Ward never really gave away his abilities to anyone. Of course, standard police training and a few hours of spare time dumped on the honing of certain skills rendered the man more than capable of handling himself in a bar brawl and a shootout, and his intellect is not impaired in any way, yet those are quite easy pieces of information to acquire, even moreso to any observant eye.

Instead, Ward never really gave up his true hidden ability, a trump card amongst trump cards: a superpower of his own. Truth be told, it is no special feat being born with an inhuman ability, let alone one seemingly useless such as his was during his whole lifetime. If it weren't for an incident where he got himself in a fight during his school days, he might as well have had no knowledge of it at all. Just as his self-given moniker, Mr. Null's ability does not work by granting him some form of manipulation or superhuman trait, much on the contrary, it works by completely nullifying those. Having him as the very center of the area, if he so desires, his powers can activate and completely erase any power detected in a radius of up to 30 feet. This does not only apply to individuals, but also to objects/people under the effect of a certain ability (for instance, a fireball is no longer affected by a power, however a mind-controlled individual or a floating object through telekinesis require an active use of the powers to keep them that way).

It is his ace under his sleeves, the one form of playing a somewhat even game.
"So... You gave up, huh? Just gonna leave the city to rot?"
"And to think I trusted you..."
What brings a man into retirement? It can be plenty of reasons. Money, fatigue, unhappiness... List goes on and on. But none of those seemed to apply to Joshua Ward, an upcoming police detective with a knack to solving any manner of crime. Pax tended to do so with their most optimistic individuals, turn their smile upside down, slam their hopes into the dirt. It could be many a motive, but to him it was simply one: it was useless. The police department seemed more inclined to give a pass to criminals controlling the routine of people rather than simply endangering them as small fry tended to, and no matter how many ounces of lead on a corpse were linked directly to the commanding finger of a big shot, they always came out clean as a whistle. Always some sad story. Not enough evidence, evidence destroyed prior to examination, the crime actually reflecting on a cop that barely had anything to do with the scene.

Soon Joshua believed the rumors to be true, that this city could know no better, be no better.

The final straw came in a very harmful way, when one of his partners bit the bullet for meddling too much somewhere he wasn't supposed to. Truth be told, it was partially Ward's fault for even suggesting the man to look into the crime scene, especially considering it was Joshua himself who told the man his own conclusions. Broken, mourning and defeated. Joshua wanted to punch the teeth out of the dirty grin on his chief's face as he gave up the badge altogether. It was a happy day for the precint, a few honest frowns aside. Seeing such a young, promising man giving up his future was sad, but a few persisted on attempting to get him back, give him a novel spark of hope in the city.

Barely did they know, the monotony on his tone and the permanent bags under his eyes were no sign of melancholy nor acceptance. They were but a few glimpses of unadulterated revenge, scorching underneath the emotionless, constantly tired mascarade he put on everyday on his job. Police was flawed, unable to properly execute their task, given too little tools and too little protection from the darkness encompassing the city's heart. More than anyone, Joshua desired a crime-ridden Pax rather than a crime-infested one. And the secret he had kept from the department so long, together with the secret forged on that fatidic day ultimately conceived the one form he knew would effectively fight back. Not the uneffective vigilantes that randomly scattered half a dozen beatings and called it a night, but precise strikes and a much more in-depth investigation.

Wounds do not the answer the questions, but evidence does.

That is the way of the faceless detective, that is the way of...
ᗰᖇ. ᑎᑌᒪᒪ!!!

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Re: Pax [REQ]

Post by Peacekeeper » Tue Dec 24, 2019 12:45 am


Absolute, unflinching resolve.

Heroes in the City of Beasts come and go. Mostly go. Pax isn't a forgiving sort of place. Just putting on a costume isn't enough to keep you alive. You'll get shot by the cops, gassed by a supervillain, stabbed by an assassin, or burned alive in your sleep by the mob. Other parts of the country play by a set of unwritten rules. 'Secret identities are off-limits.' 'Civilians aren't fair game.' The Treaty City doesn't abide by any such implicit agreements.

Given that, it should be little surprise that the longest-lasting hero in the city doesn't even wear spandex. To survive the amount of punishment he takes on a daily basis, Pax's protector puts on a suit of advanced combat armor, grabs a rifle, and takes no prisoners. In other cities, mercy is a virtue. In the City of Beasts, each enemy you spare is a dozen dead innocents. Simple math.

His name is Peacekeeper. The streets belong to him.


"Don't ask how he drinks through the mask."

Psychologically, the Peacekeeper is something of an enigma. He isn't a silent protector, but what words he does utter often provide little clue towards his motivations. Evidently, he feels protective towards the city of Pax, to the point of possessiveness. However, little indication has ever been given as to why. He fights to save innocents, but mercilessly executes his opponents, all according to some inscrutable moral code.

Bizarrely, he's even made attempts to 'reach out' to the community. Grateful citizens are happy enough to host him in diners or scrub the blood off of his armor. Despite their hospitality, the Peacekeeper is generally somewhat standoffish, giving one-word answers to most questions. Whether this is born of paranoia, misanthropy, or post-traumatic stress, few understand.

Whatever other questions Pax may have about their protector, there is no doubt that he's tenacious. He's patrolled the Treaty City every night, for years. Thousands of attempts on his life have been made, none successful. The police department runs a betting pool on what will kill him first- the criminals he hunts, or heart failure.


I am a walking tank. My arsenal, endless. The result of my ire, devastation.

Even bereft of his signature armor, the Peacekeeper is a physically formidable foe. His workout regimen is similar to that of an Olympic powerlifter, though more robust, designed to maintain his body's peak for as long as possible, rather than aiming for optimal performance in the short-term.

As a combatant, the Peacekeeper is a force to be reckoned with. His style of fighting is designed to accommodate the weight of his suit, prioritizing powerful blows that can decisively end a fight, rather than getting multiple weaker hits in. He's also far from above using weapons in combat, and often uses guns to finish off a weakened opponent. Compared to an Adept of the Order, Pax's guardian is not nearly as capable in CQC. However, specialization is a cancer that kills more combatants that bullets.

Perhaps originating from a military background, the Peacekeeper is exceptionally skilled with the use of firearms. Thanks to the encumbrance of his armor, he isn't an incredibly accurate shot- instead, the armored vigilante prefers to send his foes to bullet hell, opening fire with automatic weapons rather than taking careful aim. This method is also useful for mowing down crowds, which is often necessary against the legions thrown against him.

Of particular note is the Peacekeeper's stamina. Thanks to many long nights of putting out sometimes-literal fires across his city, he's whittled down his need for sleep and rest, allowing him to keep fighting for as long as necessary. Stimulant doses and liberal applications of caffeine help.


Skill can be countered. Courage can waver. And firepower is a finite necessity that must be replenished. But, what if firepower could be made infinite?

Unlike other vigilantes, the Peacekeeper has no qualms with arming himself in the manner of his enemies. To limit oneself to archaic weapons is tying one hand behind your back. None of the individuals who the Peacekeeper hunts would hesitate to kill him. Why should he offer any quarter either?

Over the years, the Peacekeeper's arsenal has shifted somewhat. Military-issue guns, reappropriated arms taken from gun-runners, even ArmaGear weapons, though there exists no record of a legal purchase. At least, not under the name Peacekeeper.

The Gram shotgun is a compact powerhouse. With an appended ammunition drum, the gun can hold enough ammunition to put almost anything down. If the Peacekeeper needs to reload, it's a good sign that bullets alone won't be enough to stop whatever he's fighting. In most cases, standard pellets or incendiary 'Dragon's Breath' rounds are sufficient.

A Greyhound assault rifle provides sustained medium-range fire. While larger weapons might seem more appropriate, the compact Greyhound is more practical for the Peacekeeper, who doesn't have the space to carry a huge rifle around for hours at a time.

Two standard Zenith handguns function as holdout weapons, should the Peacekeeper's vast ammunition reserves get exhausted in a drawn-out engagement. They're not the most precise, but dual-firing the guns provides enough spread that it hardly matters.

The Pilgrim sword is a close-combat weapon sharp enough to tear through unarmored opponents with ease. Impractical compared to ranged weapons, it's nevertheless been a valuable tool to have on-hand in plenty of situations. The fact that it requires no ammunition helps.

Peacekeeper also carries various ArmaGear explosives, for engagements when utterly destroying an enemy is more important than avoiding egregious collateral damage.

Setting Pax's Protector apart from the average man with military-grade hardware is a device built into his armor- the munitions fabricator. While the actual mechanics are somewhat more complicated, the best way to describe the fabricator is an advanced 3D printer. It generates fresh magazines for his guns, as well as grenades and other munitions.


Designed for the swift delivery of justice in an unjust world.

The Peacekeeper's armor is hardly bulletproof. While durable enough to tank small-arms fire, a sufficiently powerful weapon will penetrate its carapace. However, few but the most dangerous armor-piercing rounds will go any deeper. Some question whether the tally marks that dot the armor are a kill-count, or the number of times Pax's hero has been shot.

Aside from providing a powerful defense, the suit also has a number of other functionalities. Shock-absorbing pads effectively negate most impacts, making it nearly impossible to knock the Peacekeeper over, or even slow him down. The legs feature an experimental brace that makes it possible for the vigilante to survive long falls, so long as he bends his knees as he lands.

While the glass surface of the helmet might make it seem vulnerable, it's no more breakable than any other part of the armor. On the inside, a HUD highlights designated targets, automatically provides night vision, thermals, infrared, et cetera. A voice modulator makes it impossible to identify the Peacekeeper, keeping his identity a secret. The helmet itself is hermetically sealed, and cannot be removed by a hand other than the vigilante's own.


'Needs must, when the devil drives.'

For years now, one man has kept Pax safe. His patrols are wide-ranging, such that no criminal feels completely sure that they'll be safe from his wrath when they choose to break the law. Sometimes, it's the sound of his heavy boots against the pavement that herald the Peacekeeper's approach. Other nights, it's the telltale rev of his motorcycle's engine.

The Meteor isn't the sort of vehicle you can buy commercially. It's a custom design, originating from the same foundry where the Walking Weapon's imposing armor was built. If the designer yet lives, the Peacekeeper does not speak of them. The genius in their work is self-evident, as the Meteor is both fully autonomous, able to respond to remote commands from the Peacekeeper's suit, but capable of transporting the fully-armored vigilante across the urban sprawl of the Treaty City without delay.

Other than its speed and autopiloting, the Meteor has no special tricks. Its chassis does not hide mounted miniguns, or an ejector seat. It's simply a fast, reliable vehicle, one that's yet to let the Peacekeeper down. If he is Pax's Last Knight, this is his steed, and simply seeing it idling in the street is often enough to send a would-be thief running for the hills.

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Re: Pax [REQ]

Post by Azra » Thu Feb 13, 2020 8:21 pm

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Crimson Lotus

Name: Sukaretto often called Kare for short

Age: ?? She appears mid twenties but stories of the Crimson Lotus go back much longer.

Height: 5'11

Weight: 134

Eye color: green

Hair Color: black

Status: Known in circles but up and coming

~Kare is incredibly gifted in stealth, thievery, and general realms of espionage and subversion.
~Weapons and Martial Arts Master
~Fluent in most languages
~Confident in most business
~Skilled in the methods of the Lotus clan
~Visual Distortions~ Kare has the unique ability to be difficult at times to perceive. Her image a blurred haze which has a complex amount of uses. Predominantly it's known for making her almost impossible to pick up on devices, aside from things like IDs she's almost never been found in photos or recordings. While she can use a phone she's almost never picked up in the background. She is never seen in reflective surfaces as well. In addition to this upon her choosing the human eye struggles to see her. While not usable in combat she also can usually meditate before a mirror and in doing so reverse her ailments and scars as if the image of herself rebukes such disfigurement.
~Blurred Speed~If her distorted image wasn't enough the assassin is also dizzyingly swift in motion. Often able to catch up to cars trying to escape, or evade gunfire. She's by no means going to run to the other end of the world but might be able to briefly sprint over water or chase down a fleeing vehicle. What matters most though is usually just how hard she can be to follow in close corner combat.

Usual Weapons/gear: grappling hook, lock picks, kunai/ninja stars are to be expected at almost any time. These are usually hidden within clothes and fabric making it difficult to know just how many she has at a given time.
In addition to this she is known for using two reinforced sai and two reinforced katanas. They're not indestructible or some supernatural sharpness but they'll at least carve through vehicles. These will usually if not immediately on her be hidden in a black briefcase she can carry or wear on her back.

Additional Resources: While the Crimson flower favors up close combat that by no means is to say she's against firearms. Often a pistol or smg will be with her and she's familiar to explosives and rifles.
That being said she has a number of warehouses and hideouts as well as a penthouse. Within these is a surplus of vehicles and weapons for her to use at her leisure. She has enough funds to likely get by at any time.

For all she has though and a title known to criminal rings, Sukaretto was given power by the Lotus faction and then saw what that meant. Asuka was going to go off into the more bold and open activities of larger criminal empires. Kare a believer in assassination and stealth could never get behind such brazen actions. As such she has sworn off the faction and left to become an individual once more. Given what she was born to and served under for years she's incredibly familiar and intuitive of criminal business.

She would just rather stick to shadows then have a status that has the whole world knocking. For her betrayal of the clan she has to rise now on her own, and some might think her untrustworthy. However who better to hire than the woman who can make the world struggle to see her?

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Re: Pax [REQ]

Post by Deus Mortis » Sun Mar 22, 2020 4:25 pm

When I was young, my ma always used to tell me that if there's one thing in this world I shouldn't do. Don't ever do something for the wrong reasons. If she knew about the shit I'm involved with today, I'm pretty sure she'd be throwing herself over an altar asking God where she went wrong. It isn't her fault I'm who I am today.

I've hurt people before. I still do, usually. I don't enjoy it, I'm not some sadist, but it's one of those things I'm just used to doing by now. I'm good at it. Been doing it all my life. In all those years of hurtin', I've learned you can hurt someone a million different ways. You punch someone, you're obviously hurting their fucking face. You rob someone, you're hurting their wallet. You go after their business, you're hurting their livelihood. You go after someone they love...then you're really hurting them. Not a lot hurts worse in this world than when your heart's the one put under a cross hair.

Would I want out of it? No shit. Most of us want out of it, but it's all we know how to do. By the time we wisen up, when Time's caught up to teach us a lesson, it's usually too late. Not much out there for people like me to do. This life's all we know, as much as we want to believe otherwise. It's all we're used to.

It's all we're good for.

NAME: Emilio Greene

DATE OF BIRTH: January 2nd, 1991


PLACE OF BIRTH: Houston, Texas

"Troublemaker with a surprisingly clean rap sheet. Either this [Expletive] is just plain lucky or a whole lot smarter than he looks."
-Sgt. Richmond, NYPD Officer

"Sarcastic asshole, but he does good by the people he calls friends. Tell that cocksucker he still owes me forty for that bottle of scotch."
-Little Man Pops

"No es un profesional puro, pero tiene suficiente experiencia. Si lo que necesita es confiabilidad, lealtad y alguien más terco que un toro, él es su hombre."
-Don Matthew
Growing up within a firearm fanatic family, Emilio's had plenty of time to get acquainted with a whole line of different firearms. He grew up shooting pistols and .22s, mainly to kill pests and small game around the house. Over time, he began using rifles and shotguns, then snipers on his off time. His initial military training served to train and make sure he was competent with a number of different weapon systems, the ultimate tests of his skills taking the forms of the various firefights he's been in.

School of Hard Knocks:
If your life revolved running with hoodlums and thugs for most of your childhood, it was basically inevitable that you'd get into your first fight. Emilio got into a shit ton of them.

Street fighting wasn't something he loved doing but there was some satisfaction to knocking some loud-mouthed cocksucker right the fuck out. After fighting (read: getting his ass whooped by) some guys who actually knew how to fight when he was younger, Emilio enrolled into a kickboxing class. Throughout the months, he saw more and more progress with how his fights went which only pushed him to get deeper into martial arts. When he moved, he started doing MMA and made it a point to keep up with it to this day, even after moving to Pax.

Emilio enlisted with the Navy when he was able to. As one would expect from reading a sub-topic named "Medic", Emilio became just that, a Combat Medic, or more specifically, a Corpsman. Attached to a Marine Infantry unit, Emilio saw a copious amount of combat during his time in the Middle East. He's become quite experienced in being able to patch people up, whether that be after a gunfight or during it.

He's taken a liking to medicine, furthering his knowledge by reading up on books and working alongside some completely legit doctors south of the Border. He won't be performing any brain surgery though. None that wouldn't end up with the patient dead or mentally challenged for the rest of their life. He's not that good.

Not yet, anyways.

Lock picking, hot wiring, driving with a broken tail light, there's a lot that Emilio's picked up on over the years and has become quite good at. He's helped out and done just about most things, becoming a bit of a human multi tool with things that aren't exactly "judicially friendly". Though he tries to avoid it, when he finds himself stuck on something or forgetting a step in a more mundane skill, he'll probably just open up an incognito tab and search it up online. God bless the internet.

The Goon Without Fear:
Emilio was born with what we'll very generously call a set of steel balls. He shows zero hesitation when in situations that would make most freeze up like a deer caught in headlights. That sort of pussy footing around ain't his cup of tea.

His determination rivals that of a raging animal, his body sturdier than an oak. He will not stop moving forward to reach his goal until he's dead or someone's shot out his knee caps and even then you'd probably have to cut off his arms to make sure he can't crawl. Man's tough, sometimes appearing almost supernaturally tough. He ain't no meta as far he knows and he's okay with that fact.
Last edited by Deus Mortis on Mon Mar 23, 2020 3:26 pm, edited 1 time in total.

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