Rick the Brick
Rick the Brick
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| Player: @BurgerSlave(Homecoming/Everlasting Server) | ||||||||||
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| Character Build | ||||||||||
| Origin: | Technology
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| Archetype: | Tanker
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| Security Level: | 50
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| Biographical Data | ||||||||||
| Real Name: | Richard Branston
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| Known Aliases: | Rick the Brick
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| Age: | 60
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| Gender: | Male
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| Species: | Human (Mutant)
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| Ethnicity: | Caucasian (English)
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| Birthdate: | August 7, 1962
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| Birthplace: | Paragon City, RI
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| Relatives: | June Branston (grandmother, deceased), Robert Branston (father, deceased), Margaret Branston (Mother, deceased)
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| Characteristics | ||||||||||
| Height: | 6'10"
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| Weight: | 530 lbs.
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| Eyes: | Green
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| Hair: | Green
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| Complexion: | Tanned
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| Physical Build: | Beefy
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| Physical Features: | Burly build, full beard, glowing eyes
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| Status | ||||||||||
| Alignment: |
Chaotic Good | |||||||||
| Reputation: |
Memorable | |||||||||
| Identity: | Public (Registered with FBSA)
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| Years Active: | 10
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| Base of Operations: | King's Row | |||||||||
| Citizenship: | USA
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| Education: | GED
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| Occupation: | Professional Vigilante
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| Marital Status: | Single
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| Known Powers and Abilities | ||||||||||
Invulnerability/Street Justice
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| Equipment and Paraphernalia | ||||||||||
Null-Gravity harness, comlink, MediCom beacon
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| Attributes | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Strength |
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Endurance |
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| Agility |
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Speed |
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| Fighting |
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Projectiles |
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| Durability |
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Resistance |
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| Intelligence |
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Psyche |
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| Intuition |
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Charisma |
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| ReldinBox Template | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
APPEARANCE
Rick's typical fighting gear consists of a tanktop shirt, camouflage-pattern cargo pants bought from a military surplus store, combat boots from the same store, and fingerless fighting gloves. Over that, he wears his null-gravity harness, which he's embellished with metal spikes. When not in fighting kit, he favors a simple sport coat, button-down shirt, and slacks. Rick is an avid cigar smoker, and is rarely seen without a cigar tucked in the side of his mouth.
POWERS & ABILITIES
Rick retains his professional boxing skills, and practices every day to keep himself sharp and ready. He is also familiar with the workings of the Family crime syndicate, and uses this knowledge to his advantage when pursuing his own brand of brutal street justice.
PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE
EQUIPMENT
BASE OF OPERATIONS
BIOGRAPHY
Childhood
By the time Rick was seventeen, he'd been expelled from high school for putting one of his classmates in a body cast after a particularly vicious beating. He hadn't meant to hurt the kid so badly--he'd flown into a rage and hadn't been able to stop himself. His parents searched desperately for something into which Rick could channel his aggression. It was his Grandma June who provided the answer--the local YMCA. Though at first Rick balked, he had always loved his Grandma June. While he could fight and argue with his parents all night, he could never stand up to her when she set her mind to something.
It was there at the Y, deep in the heart of The Gish, that Rick discovered boxing and never looked back. Here, he could fight all he wanted, and as long as he kept control of his temper, he could wail away to his heart's content. It was love at first sight. The instructors began taking note of the teenager's natural skill and began working with him one-on-one. For the first time in his life, he had a clear goal in mind. He had something to fight for. He was going to be a professional boxer, and have his name up in lights. He was going to make his family proud, and make millions of dollars to move them to a nice house, maybe up in Overbrook or even Founder's Falls. He was going to go places. He was going to conquer the world.
The Rise and Fall of Rick the Brick
One of those people was Serge Marcone, a capo for the Family. Like so many others, Serge noticed the rising star of Rick 'The Brick' Branston. He could use talent like that. And so Serge started courting the bright young boxer. Enticing him with offer of sponsorship, Serge spun a tale of money, luxury, fame, and fortune. While stringing Rick along with breadcrumbs made of dollar bills, Serge pulled some strings behind the scenes to ensure that Rick would have no choice but to join his stable.
In 1985, Rick suffered his first defeat. For all his strength, skill, and speed, his opponent was a blur of brutal carnage. He was down for the ten-count in under two minutes. It was a crushing blow to his ego, one that brought a horrifying reality home--he could be beaten. And if he could be beaten, that meant he got no prize money. He threw himself into his training with a will, determined not to let it happen again. And yet it did happen again--three weeks later, Rick was knocked out. He couldn't explain it. What had happened? It wasn't as if he was doing anything differently.
It was turning out to be a dismal Christmas season in the Branston household. Rick's parents could never afford their apartment without Rick's prize money, and Grandma June was living on Social Security. That was when Serge made his move. Inviting Rick to his lavish penthouse apartment, he got the boxer good and liquored up. Rick poured his heart and soul out, admitting his fear of inadequacy. Maybe he wasn't as good as everyone said. Maybe he wasn't cut out for pro boxing. But Serge only smiled and told him that he needed an edge. One Serge could provide. It came in the form of a little black capsule, and would give Rick all the power he needed to be truly unbeatable. All he had to do in return was perform a favor now and again whenever Serge needed it.
And so Rick had his first taste of Superadine. It was unlike anything he'd ever tried before. More to the point, it made him a juggernaut in the ring. Once again, he was riding high, gaining victory after victory. His performance had never been better, and it wasn't long before he was going to the big leagues. Had he done a little digging, he might have realized that those opponents that had beaten him so easily had been on Serge's payroll, and long-time Dyne users to boot. But he'd never thought to doubt his good friend, who had helped make all his dreams come true.
But it didn't take long for the side-effects to start showing. Rick started to lose focus. His temper, long since restrained and disciplined, began flaring up worse than ever before. Six months later, he began noticing the roots of his hair changing color. He was scared to death--but how could he give it up? Without the Dyne, he could be beaten, and that was a fate worse than death.
Unfortunately, the decision was taken out of his hands. In 1986, the Regulators put an end to the Superadine trade in Paragon city. Serge Marcone was implicated in match fixing and Dyne running, and sentenced to thirty years in prison. The boxing commission's investigation led to Rick's Dyne addiction being discovered and his subsequent expulsion from the pro boxing circuit. In one fell swoop, his world came crashing down around him.
Disgusted, his parents turned their backs on him, and his friends refused to have anything to do with him. Of them all, only Grandma June remained in contact. She realized that he had made a mistake, that he had only wanted to become the best boxer he could be. After all, she would remind him, even superheroes could make mistakes, terrible ones that they would regret the rest of their lives. Rick would come to rely on his Grandma's generosity and kindness over the years. But his dreams were gone forever.
Requiem For A Dream
What was a washed-up former pro-boxer hopeful to do? Rick had no skills other than fighting, and he didn't have the smarts to learn a new trade. He began working odd jobs here and there--mostly as a bouncer in the bars he took to frequenting to drown his misery, though he also tried his hand as a construction worker, security officer, and professional bodyguard. He'd manage to hold down a job for a few months, maybe a year. Inevitably, he'd forget to take his meds, or something would go horribly wrong, and he'd snap, with the predictable results.
If not for Grandma June, Rick might have given up completely. But once a week, she'd invite him over for dinner, would listen to his latest string of woes, and let him cry on her shoulder for awhile. Then she'd pick him up, dust him off, and tell him that she loved him no matter what, and that he was a good boy no matter what anybody said, and that some day, he'd have a chance to make a difference. Those pep talks were just enough to keep Rick going for another week. For the rest of the week, he had his buddies Zoloft and Jack Daniels to keep him company.
All the while, time marched on. Y2K came and went, bringing a new millenium. In 2002, Paragon City changed when the Rikti invaded. Rick was lucky--he and Grandma June had been out of town when the aliens attacked. Rick's parents weren't so lucky. Both were killed when an attack drone crashed into their apartment building after being shot down by superheroes. Grandma June was devastated by news of her own son's death. But Rick was numb. In over fifteen years, he'd seen his parents all of twice. Even so... they were his parents, and they were gone.
After the sacrifice of Hero-1 and the end of the First Rikti War, Paragon City began the process of rebuilding. Rick managed to find employment working on the war walls, then later helping rebuild various parts of the city. He tried his very best. He made damn sure to take his meds on time, and he quit drinking. He started attending AA meetings, and even started volunteering at the Y. It wasn't the life he wanted. But it was a good life. A better life. He was finally turning things around.
In the winter of 2010, Grandma June fell and broke her hip. She was a tough old bird, and the doctors at Crowne Memorial were able to patch her up without any problem. But the event terrified Rick. He insisted that she look into assisted living. Nearing ninety, and thinking it might be nice to have people around to help her get around, Grandma June relented. Eventually, she found a lovely retirement community in Galaxy City where she could be happy. Once she got settled, Rick was able to breathe a sigh of relief. He knew she was in good hands, and she'd be well taken care of when he couldn't be there to help her out.
That peace of mind lasted exactly ten months.
A New Beginning
The shortcut through Perez Park saved him precious minutes, but already the fires were painting the sky a lurid red. The sound of superpowered conflict mingled with the inhuman sounds of... something. Rick didn't slow down. He barrelled through the hazard gate separating Perez Park from Galaxy City and turned up Constellation Row. He didn't stop until he reached the retirement home. There was nothing left but a smoking crater.
Immediately, he started tearing through the rubble, slinging aside five-hundred pound chunks of concrete and rebar like it was nothing. It seemed to take forever. His voice went hoarse from crying Grandma June's name. Eventually, he found her--half of her. A slab had come down on her legs, crushing them to pulp. And yet, she clung to life, her hand gripping his tightly as he gathered her in his arms.
"I knew you'd come," she wheezed. Rick forced himself to keep his eyes on her face. Don't look down. Don't look at her legs. Numbly, he registered the sound of a sonic boom, and the thunder of a building collapsing in the distance. The unmistakeable sound of Lord Recluse's laughter cut over the sound of madness that threatened to pull Rick under. None of it meant a damn thing. He remembered that the war walls would stop the mediport system from working. He had to get his Grandma June to the hospital.
But as he tried to lift her, she put a hand on his chest. "Ricky. Those children." Rick looked where Grandma June was pointing. A school bus had turned over and crashed. The driver was slumped over the wheel, and the children inside were trapped. Four inhuman things were slowly lumbering towards them, extending pseudopods towards the wrecked vehicle.
Rick shook his head. "The supers can help them," he said. "I have to get you to the hospital."
Grandma June only smiled. "Ricky. The supers can't help them." She put her hand to his cheek. "Listen to me. They can't save them. But you can." Her eyes drifted closed as her life ebbed. "You're... a good boy, Ricky. Always... a good boy..."
Rick turned his stricken gaze up. There had to be a hero somewhere. Anywhere. There, he saw Sister Psyche turning her will against three of the monsters. There, Back Alley Brawler was going toe to toe with two more. And there, Statesman was picking himself up from what used to be a building to square off with Lord Recluse. Everywhere, heroes were fighting. But none of them were near the bus. None were as close as he was. Looking back down, Rick said good-bye to the one person who had never abandoned him all his life. Then, he rose and advanced on the Shivan. Six of them had begun to twine their pseudopodia together as they advanced on the bus, swarming it with their protoplasmic forms.
For the first time in years, Rick let the discipline drop. The crippling despair of Grandma June's death was consumed like tissue paper in the blast furnace of his rage. He let it drive him forward, legs pumping like a piston. He was no longer a washed-up failure. He wasn't a middle-aged nobody. He was a young man. He was Rick the Brick. He was unbeatable. He was born again.
His fist whistled through the air, his scream tearing the skin from the back of his throat. One-two-three, and one of the Shivan dropped with an inhuman, burbling moan. He waded into their midst, slamming his fists into their mass with bone-pulping force. Every strike built the rage higher and higher. It burned through him with sexual intensity, and he couldn't get enough. It was almost like being on Dyne again, only better. He barely felt the Shivan as they struck him back. He continued to pummel them, over and over, until the last one dropped and he was left standing in a slowly melting pile of blood-red gel.
Some tiny corner of his mind perceived the sound of voices crying out, of hands drumming on glass. Turning on his heel, Rick stalked to the rear of the bus. Taking hold of the emergency exit, he hauled with all his might. Slowly, the jammed door gave way with a squeal of tearing metal. The kids within poured out, surrounding him. Their hugs and their cheers spread cooling balm on the rage. Slowly, reason returned. Gathering the kids together, he began herding them down the shattered wreck of the street. There had to be somewhere safe they could go.
The sound of jet engines overhead drew Rick's gaze skyward. Vanguard fighters were streaking in, loosing their payload at the Shivan below. Mere blocks away, red-and-white uniformed Longbow agents were busy getting survivors together and slapping teleportation beacons on them. Rick urged the kids towards them, stepping in to engage a couple of stray Shivan that ventured too close. It seemed to take forever. But then, the kids started vanishing in flashes of blue. As he put down another Shivan monstrosity, Rick saw a Longbow agent approaching. He stiffened, struggling to reassert his control over the rage. Then, the agent clapped him on the shoulder, and the world vanished in blue light.
When his vision cleared, he saw the kids he'd rescued being loaded into a helicopter. Several choppers were already lifting survivors out of the ruin that was once Galaxy City. The etheral form of Numina drifted towards him. "You're all right now. You're safe," she was saying, urging him to a bit of broken rubble. Numbly, Rick let himself be guided by Longbow medics. He just managed to sit down before he dissolved into helpless sobs.
Aftermath
Rick has come a long ways from the time when he dreamed of being a professional boxer. But now, he has an even higher, loftier goal to shoot for. Now, he has a chance to become a true hero and join the ranks of icons like the Freedom Phalanx. It isn't a life he would have ever considered. But it's a good life. A better life. Now, on the streets of Paragon City, he's starting to turn things around. Though his methods are a bit more brutal than most would expect, none can deny that his particular brand of street justice is anything but effective.
AFFILIATES