Alexander

Subject Investigations Report

Name: Alexander - Surname undisclosed.
Age: Approximately between 18 and 25.
Gender: Male.
Ethnicity: Mexican
Hometown: Los Angeles, California.
Occupation: Vagrant derelict.
Characteristics: Insane with instances of sporadic sanity.
Placement: Deranged.


Personality:

An enigma. To truly understand Alexander and the nature therein, one would have to spend countless centuries studying him and even then one would only brush upon the surface of his being. To gain even the slightest light of understanding, one would need to pay careful attention to his fits of inane ramblings that often tell of past events, current thoughts, concerns, or other such aspects of his own subconscious.
What is known of him directly is that he has great difficulty distinguishing between reality and dreams. More often his perspective on life is that he is living in an extremely vivid dream, or nightmare, world in which he is yet to awaken but is unable to on his own accord. Highly intelligent; he recognizes the possibility that this "reality," is but an amalgamation of his own past experiences and thus he tends to analyze the people whom he becomes involved with in hopes of figuring out just what part of his own subconscious they represent.
Regardless, once people, for whatever reason, decide to remain at his side, whether as friends or otherwise, he develops the personage of the protector, as though he were an older brother or a guardian over such; his insanity seems to be better held at bay when in the company of others. This, however, is overshadowed by the insanity itself that is more-so prevalent then the rare moments of stability.
When in a state of mental stability, Alexander's former and true self is portrayed as a carefree, friendly, highly flirtatious toward women, somewhat over-confident, playful joker who is capable of holding a normal conversation, be it as it may what one considers normal. He is also pious to a God whom he refers to as El Elyons, the Christian God. These moments, though rare, often shed the brightest light as to Alexander's true nature and being. Though closer observations would find that even in these rare moments, Alexander remains in a constant and never ending struggle against the darkness that haunts him. Regardless of what may be, Alexander harbors an innate "light," and would by no means commit to any evil deed though those he comes across describe a malicious air that permeates forth from his being. Likewise, others would say that Alexander emanates an aura of peace that renders an anxious heart calmed.

Appearance

The White Mask

Estimated Height: 5'5"
Estimated Weight: 150 lbs.
Body Type: Atheletic.
Eye Color: Dark Brown.
Hair Color: Black.
Typical Attire: Long shorts, high-top sneakers, black pull-over hoodie, and the White Mask.

Physical Condition: No physical health defects observed. Subject's body appears to be conditioned to peak physical shape, indicating a possible, unconfirmed, background in sports or possibly martial arts. Despite his dietary habits, the subject's performance value has met and exceeded conventional standards. What renders him more valuable are the anomalous and almost superhuman attributes associated with his being.

[li]Endurance - Speculated to have developed this skill through massive exposure to torturous conditions, the subject is capable of enduring vast extremes of pain. To make matters more complicated, prolonged periods of physical activity is met with little to no exhaustion in comparison to a human of a normal phenotype. Obviously the subject does hold limitations to his physical abilities and is by no means considered immortal, despite the subject's Endurance in correlation with his O.F.M.
[/li][li]O.F.M. - Though the exact physiological nature of the subject's accelerated rate of healing is left a mystery to the scientific world, there is reason to believe that the Enochian symbols adorning various areas of his body are attributed to this mysterious aspect. Nevertheless, the subject's body is able to recover from wounds at a rate much faster then that of a normal human being, though the recovery is not instantaneous.
[/li][li]Fear - Psionic patterns extracted via E.W.S. have indicated that the subject does indeed emit a certain measure of psychic energies above that of normal human wavelengths. Unconfirmed reports state that the subject involuntarily implants a certain summation of (what can best be described as) fear into those within range. Exactly what the length of that range is stands unknown and the degree of Fear emitted varies greatly on those affected and their own measure of conviction.
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Character Accessories:

• Slingshot - A sturdy looking slingshot made of wood and metal parts. An engraving is etched onto the handle but Alexander lets no one come close enough to see what it reads.
  
• Holy Bible - A New King James Version Bible.
  
• Metal Pipe - Just a metal pipe; an obvious weapon.
  
• Pocket Knife - A basic all-purpose pocket knife.
  
• Framed Picture - A picture containing images known only to him.
  
• The White Mask - Alexander's mask.
  

ASSOCIATIONS

• Friends: -
  
• Enemies: -
  
• Rivals: -
  
• Lover(s): -
  
• Relatives: Annalisa Rose
  

History

-----Prologue-----

"He knows our frame...."

"Come on, man," Cried the nervous cry of a man taking his final breaths, "Y, you gave me a beating... now you can take me to jail.. just please," His nervous words turned to weepings, "Don't kill me." Bloodied, bruised, and enduring some number of broken bones, this man, a criminal, a rapist, sat upon the cold concrete with his back against the wall of an alley that separated a bakery and a bookstore. Shivering, in tears of fear, and anticipation that near stopped his fast beating heart, this man sought escape from the wrath to come, salvation through his please that went upward, as though a prayer.

But there was no salvation.

Not for him.

"For Salvation is far from the wicked,
For they do not seek Your statutes."

Thus were the thoughts that loomed in the darkness of a place yet unseen.

Not far off sat a shivering girl of about fifteen years. Her clothing was torn thus by the hands of this man who sat in plead for his life as one stood over him with hands covered in life; blood. As her eyes looked upon this one that stood she felt what could only be described in human words as "blackness."

Quickly then did he raise it upward, that rod of steel in his hand, and it came crashing upon the skull of this man who sat upon the ground. When his wails ceased, all became, stilled in silence, as silent as the Los Angeles night could become, and the adrenaline's warmth gave yield to the cold winds of the night.

She cried out with a deafening yell as her swift steps took her afar off, to a place of greater sanctuary, perhaps home, perhaps elsewhere. Nevertheless she was safe now, though the image of death came before her as a greater shock then what had come previous; a man in desperate seek for her purity. She was gone, thus, from this place and was likely never to return again though in her confusion she thought either to thank her savior or hate him for the life he had taken without remorse.

Upward he looked at a sky with few stars, for the luminaries themselves were shrouded by the smog and only the brightest of these lights broke through the haze. It was then that he remembered a time not long past, before the blood, when the word "maniac," was far from him, and was not part of him, yet he could not remember happiness or what it felt like to smile.

"Are you... real?" Forlorn words spoken out to some entity of which only he recognized. And such an entity dwelt in his mind but it was not God yet somehow he equated it to memory. It was then, when his head guided his eyes slowly to the man laying dead in the fountain of his own blood, that he was taken aback, quickly, as though his memory of such a thing had left him and became distraught.

Anxiety,

Fear,

Blood.

Had he truly taken a life or was this all a part of his a dream that foretold a future that is yet to come? He did not know; he could not know but he remembered the blood of one whom he called his own, and another, as he knelt in the morning sunlight with such a one, and the other, in his arms with an agony in his chest that overtook him and an anger that came with it.

It and sadness.

And he called out to the High Heavens with a great wailing; the Darkness fell upon him then, when the blood of his own trickled through his hands again and the memory of a cruelty that that took the standing place of a childhood that never was. It was this Darkness that cradled him, as that of a mother unto her child, and he found solace therein, comfort in the midst of that agony, for there was no blood in that place, but there was, and when the light of the world became too strong he called upon the Darkness and the Darkness came and the Darkness protected him.

There was light then, and also after, when the men of this age overtook him with sleep, that he was taken up to a place which he did not call his own. The light abruptly cut through the darkness of the night like the glory of the morning sun and it became so that Alexander's eyes could not behold that which had come upon him. But there were voices, many voices, and they were the voices of men surrounding him, yelling at him, telling him to remain still and yield no hostility.

Memory left him, though it remained. The blood on his hands became warm and Alexander raised his eyes to these men who came upon him. They fought, as warriors fight, and he took the lives of many without remorse, for the darkness protected him until the great sleep fell upon the man, that warrior who took many lives that night, and he was taken with warmer blood on his hands still.

There was a voice in his memory, like that of an angel, though it was not.

"Whats your name?"

"How old are you?"

"Do you know where she is now?"

"How do you feel?"

Yet he could not see her face in his memories.

And there was running.

There was light.

-----Five Years Later-----

"Hmm... but consider all those lives you've taken, Alexander... do you really think there's room in Heaven for someone like you?" A man, a taller man, dressed in the attire of one who sat at the highest pinnacle of worldly success upon the thrones of the tallest towers.

"...I'm.. forgiven." Alexander, that warrior, that savior of old, sat upon his hands and knees upon a room emptied of all but dust and stagnant air as he listened to the man's words; sly, confident, conniving.

"Are you really forgiven?" That man leaned his face downward. His lips nearly pressing upon Alexander's ears as his whispers sunk deep into that boy's mind.

"...He is merciful and gracious, Slow to anger, and abounding in mercy." Distraught, confused, in agony did Alexander remain there as the lowliest of the low upon that old and age torn wooden floor.

"Hmph. If that were true, do you think you'd be here, in this miserable place with that miserable life of yours. Rotting away in this church that rots as you do?" The man stood now and walked thus to the window that remained covered by an old and unkempt drape that filtered the strong morning sun's light to a mere glow.

Alexander remained in silent contemplation.

Silent confusion.

"You understand now, don't you? How can the Father forgive you after all you've done?" His words grew harsh.

There was conviction.

There was condemnation.

"All I've done was in righteousness... no life was taken in vain." Alexander's voice was hushed but to a mere whisper in light of this man's presence.

"And what does the sixth say, hmm? Do you know, Alexander?"

"Don't say my name." Anger filled his heart like a still-small flame burning greater as moment's went by.

"Oh? Struck a nerve, did I? My apologies, it seems I've gotten a little ahead." Arrogant and coy, the man simply stared down at Alexander with a devious smirk, as of that of one whose heart was evil continually.

"You'll never be ahead of me." Yet determination filled Alexander's voice; that righteous anger come to fruition in the face of this man's words.

"I don't follow you."

"Such bravery wasted on a fool. Cant you see that this, all this, is a result of your own actions? Yet your unwilling to open your eyes. Choosing to say, rather, 'He has me here for a reason.' Nonsense!" The boisterous sound of the man's alluring voice shook light the very dust in the room and the still standing ornaments that decored the chamber. Yet as though nothing, his voice became stilled, gentle, as that of a loving friend, "Come with me and see just how much more I can give to you."

"I offer you a greater freedom then He could ever give. Freedom to do as you wish, to live and do as you would without suffering. I can give you a live much better then the one before. Does that not appeal to you, Alexander?"

"I told you not to say my name."

Alexander stood from his place there upon the dusty floors of wood and cast his eyes upon the man who stood tall before him. That image, the figure of epitomized success well kept in the manner of the men of these days, stood with an insistent smile against the burning eyes of Alexander.

"Just think... a life without that hatred that eats at you each and everyday of your waking life... where you can be young again with her by your side."

"...Yeah... that does sounds good..." Alexander's resolve was beaten and battered by this man's words. Weakened, Alexander contemplated, for but a single moment, to simply give heed to this man's offers, for they were indeed pleasant and desirable.

"Just take my hand, Alexander, in pledge of our allegiance together, you and I, and I will make all your desires come to fruition. Just think of that life you can have; the life I can give you." The man held out his hand toward Alexander in wait for his regard. Alexander simply stared at the man's hand in thought, in contemplation, knowing that should he take this man's hand in pledge it would mean more, much more, then what his words simply stated and in that there was a greater burden to be found.

Therein Alexander saw memories of a time long passed, a time that would forever remain locked away in the past, where smiles and happiness a time which this man offered to bring forth from the past and into the present existence, yet Alexander knew the mettle of such words only equated to lies.

"I told you not to say my name!" Quickly then did Alexander press this man against that old wooden wall behind him. Eyes locked in ferocious battle against one another as this man's lips curled into smug smirk of blase fearlessness.

"Do you know who I am, boy?" Smug as he may have been, the man's voice was filled with an impatience, an anger, an irritation that stemmed from Alexander's stubborn refusal to hearken unto his requests. And Alexander, himself, was filled with a determination that consumed him; a strength from a source beyond his own, yet he knew it well and it raged hot from within him.

"Get behind me, you Lawless One!" Words consumed in that righteous anger, "He has delivered me from your power and conveyed me into the kingdom of the Son of His love, in whom I have redemption through His blood the forgiveness of all my sins, great as they may be. What more can you offer?”

And the man vanished from sight, leaving Alexander to stumble forward and recline against the wall. Breathless, he stood there in contemplation as somewhere, somehow, in the back of his mind there was the subtle voice of regret that scolded Alexander for refusing the man's offer.

And then his voice returned yet again, behind Alexander, at the doorway that lead outward, into the darkness of the old abandoned church that stood in the slums of this great city.

"Bravo, Alexander, bravo. It appears your faith is beyond measure. But fear not, I'll be back soon, real soon, and you'll not be able to hide behind that mask." His steps lead him outward, into that darkened hall way, and Alexander did not pursue him, for he was gone now and Alexander was left to rest for the time being in this sanctum.

The place of memories.

Elsewhere.

Not far off, there ran toward their comrades, two youths who bore greater news fit for their itching ears. They spoke amongst one another, as was the way of youths these days and in days passed, and their words told of one; a young man who occupied the halls of a church long abandoned in the inner city slums.

Such had been the curiosity of youths, that it lead them to explore the inner sanctums of a place once regard sacred now held as haunted. It was therein that they heard his voice, the voice of Alexander, and he spoke as though there were another there with him, but there was only one voice and no other voice, and it was that of his own.

"He remembers that we are dust."

[ADDITIONAL INFORMATION]
Additional historical information, as well as the acquisition of the White Mask, is to be revealed via story progression.

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