Max Lang

----Subject Investigations Report-----

Name: Maximilian Lang
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Ethnicity: Korean-Caucasian
Hometown: Charlevoix, Michigan
Occupation: Drifter, picks up odd jobs in order to survive. Currently a temporary night security worker at a fairground.
Characteristics: Paranoid Schizophrenic/Avoidant Personality Disorder coupled with severe insomnia
Placement: Deranged


Personality:

He is silent. Not mute, simply silent. There has never been a need to speak unnecessarily; his eyes often tell the whole story of why you are being judged or weighed. Sometimes there is a latent gentleness in those cold gray eyes, but if you see it and live, then there is much to be thankful for.

Max prefers to be left alone. His actions are usually very careful and accurate, slow in a thoughtful way. He often comes across as stoic and emotionless at first meeting, but if you manage to work your way under his skin, he'll more likely than not open up to you. His loyalty is fierce, but only if you get that far into his heart. That isn’t exactly an easy task, especially not these days. It works much better to get inside his heart if you’re already invisible, or seem immune to his dysfunctions.

He is obsessive-compulsive, though not to the point of it being a handicap, and suffers from acute paranoia. While he displays some
schizophrenic symptoms, he doesn't cleanly fall into that category. What is of serious concern, however, is his infatuation with judgment that he couples with a fearful, but almost worshipful, obsession with the Pyramid Head character from the Silent Hill videogames. Perhaps his obsessions fuel his nightmares, or perhaps not. The dreams of the crow with a wolf’s teeth and the hissing laughter of a bony redheaded girl have haunted him since he was a child, but in either case they both dared him to act in reaction to what was done to him, and they sometimes still do. He craves a sense of real justice to the world, and sometimes believes that he’s been given all he needs to be the hunter who finds and destroys the already damned- no matter how small their sins may seem.

The number 26 plays hugely into his life, and he is always looking for multiples and factors of it in his daily activities. You can usually see him silently counting or tapping the numbers out with his fingers. He has had a phobia of mirrors, which results in every reflective surface in his home being either covered, removed, or destroyed. He still fears the deceptive nature of deep shadows, despite being drawn to them and more often than not hiding in the dark when on the hunt, and will not enter his home at five 'o clock pm, ever.

He is a painter. Not that it is publicized, but the innards of his sketchbooks are home to lurid depictions of what he’s done and wants to do, of the things that plague him and a desperate request for some sleep. The walls of his home occasionally undergo repainting with murals, but a fresh coat of paint is always handy to cover them up again. It all must stay inside.

Appearance


6 ft, 4 in
198 lbs
Lithe, athletic frame that is surprisingly tough to the touch.

Physical Condition:

• [SUB-CAT 1] Agility-
  For such a tall man, one would not expect him to be able to wind himself around and over things in such a snakelike manner, nor tuck himself into the tiny openings he needs to get through in order to access some of the more difficult of his hunting locations.
  
  
• [SUB-CAT 2] Patience-
  When you’re the hunter, the chase is only the small part of the overall game. The patience it takes to wait and wait and wait is hard enough to accomplish in a normal setting, but when you’ve had to follow and observe your prey for days on end to find the perfect opportunity to move in, you learn to sit back and let time flow by until just the right moment. Then it all pays off.
  
  
• [SUB-CAT 3] Observational skills-
  Perhaps the most heightened of his abilities, Max is uncannily good at reading into people’s lives by watching the way they speak, dress, and sometimes by how they move. The real jackpot is when he’s able to infiltrate the house and go through their belongings. It’s amazing what a little thing like the last channel they were watching or the way they organize a drawer can tell about someone. He’s learned to notice the tiny things, the placements of items and the places people hide things they don’t want to be found.
  

Character Accessories:

• Glock 19 plus ammunition
  
• Skinning knife
  
• Forest green ‘99 Chevy pickup truck with a black plastic bed cover.

ASSOCIATIONS

• Friends:
  
• Enemies:
  
• Rivals:
  
• Lover(s):
  
• Relatives:
  

History

What a child goes through shapes what they are, and in Max’s case, his environment nurtured a monster. After a long history of horrific abuse at the hands of his father, Max put an end to it, partially due to the bloody urges he’d been suppressing to act out on and the hissing laughter that oozed from the walls and called him weak, weak, weak for letting anyone touch him and use him like that. Max took an ax and hacked the man's face apart while he slept. The boy was eighteen at the time and had snuck home from college, unnoticed by a soul, and committed the crime. He was never found guilty in court thanks to some shitty proceedings and an alibi that checked out. The trauma of his father’s death was the perfect reason for him to drop out of school and disappear from the area forever.

His mother was long gone from the picture. She lives still, denying that Max was ever her son or that Mr. Lang was her husband. She knew of the abuse when Max was a child, but the woman was emotionally defunct and didn't want to deal with a child after it had outgrown its adorable pet stages. She divorced Max's father when the boy was eleven years old. Her son never acknowledged her, or any other women, in any way for most of his adult life. That is until a drug-addled teen named Kinni broke in during his 24th year alive and ate his food and slept on his couch and turned his quiet double life inside out and upside down.

A very long story turned very short shows that after Max let her stay with him for about a year, they formed a sort of friendship. She was wild; he was stoic. She never said how she got money; he was working at a butcher shop. She was avoiding foster care or the women's shelter; he was hiding a “hobby” as a budding serial killer. She eventually found out but never said a thing, as Max's targets were the kind of men she wouldn't mind killing herself. She saw his deeds as a service to the community; Max just saw them as a thrill. Why hunt down the weak girls or little children when he could take down the predators would fight harder and be more satisfying to choke, stab, or gut the lives out of? While his quirks and OCD tendencies got annoying, overall she didn't mind.

All good things have to come to an end at some point, however, and this period of stability and growing in the both of their lives had to stop. Kinni went to the wrong party and came back bloodied and broken. Max was reasonably upset. He found the names of the people who'd hurt her, but it wasn't until she died of an infection she wouldn't let him treat that he took revenge.

When police found the five mangled corpses of her attackers in the woods, Max had long since covered his tracks and Kinni was buried respectfully in a different forest. He lost himself in a silent depression for about a year, but worked his way through it by throwing himself into a car and assuming different names and different jobs until he found a place where he felt he could stay and snatch a little peace for himself. Perhaps the ghosts of the people he’d judged along the way would leave him alone, but there were always more to take.

[ADDITIONAL INFORMATION]

It is unclear whether or not the girl he calls Kinni really existed or not, as there has been no trace of her life or passing, despite his belief that he buried her in a New Hampshire forest. Nobody recalls seeing her, alive or dead, and a wild, red-headed bony girl with a face full of piercings and personality as crazed as her fiery untamed hair and keen green eyes would be hard to forget.

Role Play Sample

The fading carousel whirled around ceaselessly inside his tired skull, the painted red gashes of the horses' mouths gasping back at him with their bleach-white teeth and haunted glass eyes, standing still while the rest of the orange lights smeared by with a dizzying speed. They never said anything, those horses did, but their fake eyes continued to haunt his subconscious night after night, especially once the lights were out and the park was still. With only the darting reflections to light up the carousel, their eyes glittered in those passing moments and left a lingering feeling of being watched as he passed by. It happened every night without fail- those bloodied red mouths open and those eyes wild with a frantic, silent panic that could never be spoken aloud would watch him make his rounds, straining against the plastic and lacquer muzzles to tell him that they knew all about him and this town, that they knew everything. The stupid horses had yet to fail to send cold shivers down his spine, despite it being almost two years since he had landed the job here.

Max shook his head to clear the visions and dark thoughts as her exhaled smoke, his six-foot frame curling downward so he could stub out the remains of his cigarette on the sidewalk before the hot end could burn his fingers. He had finished tonight's shift and desperately wanted to go to bed, but insomnia was laughing in the face of that dream yet again. His muscles ached and he had no energy to go run, but every time he closed his eyes he was greeted by the glaring red mouths and muffled whinnies and snorts. He figured that he would at least try to wait out the sunrise before going back into his apartment for a few hours of attempted rest or cleaning, to see if maybe the horrors his brain conjured would lessen once the happy sunshine was probing its fingers in through his shades again.

With a small sigh and a tired fumbling in his pocket, Max fished out his lighter and another cigarette. He steadied the cig between his teeth and let it start burning, then took a drag and watched as the orange circle at the end slowly swelled and settled. The sky above was turning a similar shade of red to the cigarette's burning end, with the painted sky poking through gaps and bands in the cloudbanks in the distance. It wasn't the most dramatic of sunrises that he'd seen, but Max had to admit that it had it's own beauty.

He exhaled a puff of smoke and watched it dissipate into the air, blinking wearily as he grimaced at the thought of the day ahead. Chores and the usual grind were in store, but he wasn't sure if that was all... He thought he had a meeting with someone today, but he didn't have his planner with him and had no way to check. Oh well, he had time to look it up later. For now, however, he was content to continue taking slow drags from his cig and lazily tap the ashes onto the ground as he waited for the sunrise to finish with it's grand entrance and chase away the night's remaining cobwebs. He didn't expect anyone to come by who'd be wanting to talk at this early hour, but he did usually find some amusement in watching the motivated runners as they did their rounds.

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Interesting character concept.
We look forward to seeing his story play out.