The Squib




(This is the background to my character, and in no way represents the player behind him.)

Today, as I was on my way home from work, it seems that someone siphoned the gas from my car. No big deal, I could use the excersize. It did kind of bother me though. I had just filled the tank earlier today.

As I was on my way home, a group of young punks with white face paint on (I later found out these were the skulls) came up to me, demanding money for walking through their turf.
"Your turf?" I ask, wondering how the grounds near my apartment were spontaneously theirs.

I think that's when one of them hit me in the head with a crowbar. Or at least, that's what it felt like. When I came to, my wallet was gone, and so were my keys. 'Good luck with my car' I think to myself, since I know it's out of gas.

As I stumble home to clean my wounds, I notice my apartment door is open. Not having the brain power this late in the day to realise it was the same thugs who stole my keys, and are now inside. I walk in, and there they are, taking anything of value, and breaking the rest. I sneak quickly into my bedroom, and phone the police.

They put me on hold with the message 'Due to the overwhelming volume of calls we are currently receving, you have a 45 minute wait, please stay on the line to continue your call' Must be a lot of crime going on, I think as I put the phone down.

Now, I'm the kind of guy that takes work home with me. My closet is a veritable extensive collection of robotics, and small explosive packs I was contracted to produce for a movie.
These were going to be inserted into a fake blood packet, so gunshots in the movie would look realistic. Squibs is the name they were given.

I quickly rigged several dozen of these squibs together, and flung them out into my living room. The resulting explosion scared off the thugs.

I waited untill I heard no noise, then I crept out into my living room to find it in shambles. How dare these punks come into my home ... my sanctuary and wreck the place. I know the crime is bad in this city, but when a man's home is no longer sacred, he takes action.

The police finally arrive, and estimate the damages to be well into the thousands. I took it upon myself then and there to take out these thugs, and any other punks who think they own this city.

It took me 5 more years of my life to come up with the suit I have now. It's an ingenious design, if I do say so myself. The emeralds I had are now powering the suit. The harmonics from them are set into a computer which is then put into an infinite feedback loop. This allows my suit to have it's own infinite internal power source, with minimal exhaust.

The exhaust itself gave me an idea. All that stored power tends to build up, and needs to be released. I ran a system of small pipes throught the suit into a pressurized tank in each forearm. The trigger to release the exhaust is in the palm of each hand. By giving the correct ammount of pressure to the trigger, I can release the black billowing fog onto someone.

After a few trial runs, I found out the right pressure to release was a tightly balled up fist. So not only do I get to lay in a good hit, I can also fog the person I just slugged.

Now I just needed a name. I don't consider myself a hero, but I'm going to need something to call myself.

I punch people, so maybe The Slug? Nah, that doesn't sound like me.

The fog, perhaps? Because I can release that exhaust on people. Nah, the fog doesn't really fit me either.

It was then I remembered back to those thugs that broke into my apartment, and the one thing that drove them off...

I am Richard Phoenix.
And they call me: The Squib