[ ✁ 000 ; info ]
MUN
Name/Nickname: Miru (sup :|)
Journal: databomb
Email: miruvix[@]gmail.com
IMs (AIM/MSN/YIM): AIM | dash chromatique
Timezone: EST
CHARACTER:
Name: Kazama Souji [風間 総司]
Age: 20
Series: Battle Royale II (movie & novelization)
Species: Human (with acquired powers courtesy of Belial)
Gender: M
Occupation: Mafia sniper & third-in-command.
Point of canon to be drawn in: Post-death.
Preferred level: Elysium.
Appearance:
At 6'0", with a sinewy build that's all lean muscle and spidery limbs, it's easy to tell that he's in good shape, or at least good enough to fend for himself in any situation. That, combined with the shock of black hair that barely avoids obscuring his face -- black eyes always narrowed in a cautious gaze and an expression trained into a careful blank -- he certainly lives up to the typical image of a strong, silent soldier.
Though, you'd only notice this if you actually took a good look at him, because everything about him? Nondescript. Because a rebel fighter can't stand out, you know? He's almost always dressed in featureless clothes that cover everything, rendered in dark colors. Clearly a person who places function above form. Army jackets, long-sleeved T-shirts, loose jeans, combat boots -- nothing particularly worth noting, and he likes it that way. Some occasions will see him walking around with a violin case over his shoulder -- a case that contains his carefully dissembled rifle.
A quick glance at him will reveal little to nothing. 'Oh, just some kid,' you'd think. 'A little tall, a little lanky, nothing weird.' But watch him closely, watch him carefully, and you might notice that the way he moves and holds himself is always wary, always cautious -- always on guard. And that's when you might start getting the slightest feeling that maybe -- just maybe -- this guy's more than just some student.
Personality:
Most people would describe him as 'reclusive,' to put it simply -- and it's a fairly accurate description, especially when it comes to first impressions. Quiet, introverted, and withdrawn, rarely speaking any more than necessary, Kazama comes off as shy, to put it in a positive way -- or antisocial, to put it in a blunter way. With a powerful dislike of crowds and strangers, and an even stronger tendency to shy away from conversation.
But the thing is, he wasn't always like this. Oh, he was always the more proper type -- as per his traditional upbringing, speaking when spoken to and keeping his words curt -- but the silent act, the dislike of speaking, the almost-fear of talking any more than necessary -- that's something that was seared into him during that game called Battle Royale. Because during those few days of terrified silence, where the slightest noise would have given him away and gotten him killed -- it was instantly branded in his mind that silence was the key to survival.
He got over it, of course, to some degree -- a person can't survive in utter silence -- but he never really escaped from that trauma completely, either. Even still, he feels the slightest pangs of fear, when surrounded by strangers, or forced to speak in front of too many people -- he has a powerful dislike of speaking, in general. He'll answer any questions he's asked, or respond if called, but any more than that? Nothing. And physical contact without warning? Completely out of question. He'll react violently, instincts first, taking it as a threat to defend himself against. He knows, of course, that the game's long since over, but the terror that was branded in his mind scarred him far too deeply.
However, underneath all those cracks and faults, he's not a bad person. As long as he's not being crowded, he's almost pleasant -- when he talks, it's polite and clean-cut, and when you talk, he'll usually listen quietly. He's also fairly perceptive, good at reading people and their moods, and quick on the uptake given minimal information. And sure, he doesn't trust people easily, but once he gets to know and understand a person well enough to relax around them, he'll be loyal to them until the very end.
Not to mention, he lives by a strict moral code -- almost like a samurai, one might think. With a fierce belief that injustice towards the weak and innocent should be eradicated with the most extreme prejudice, he has no qualms about shedding blood -- but only for a cause, to defend those who need help. Despite his stoic demeanor, he has a quietly protective side, willing to go to great lengths to guard those who he feels deserves it -- people who shouldn't be placed at the mercy of the harsher world. And he knows, of course, that his power is but small and insignificant -- what can one man do? -- but that doesn't mean he'll sit back and do nothing. A follower more than a leader, but within the parameters of his abilities and assignment, he'll fight as hard as he can to protect that which he believes in.
Abilities:
A sniper first and foremost, Kazama's strength lies in watching and waiting from a distance, taking in the scene and observing the small details -- then, at the right moment, pulling the trigger once (just once) for a quick, clean kill. Nothing flashy, nothing lingering -- watch, kill, leave the scene. End of story. As a sniper, he's of the highest caliber, capable of taking out carefully guarded prisoner in a maximum-security compound with a single bullet. Certainly not a person you'd want after your life.
Even without his rifle, he's a more-than-competent fighter, trained in all the basic necessary for a good rebel fighter. Though sniping is always his strongest suit, he can handle a small arm with the same degree of proficiency -- and in worst case situations, hand-to-hand combat with a knife isn't out of question either. With amazing reflexes and a lanky, sinewy strength, he can defend himself against most common threats without any difficulty. Network hacking, electronics disabling, basic mechanic work -- none of it exactly his specialty, but enough to handle most cases. As a student, he may only be "above average," but when it comes to being a well-rounded soldier, he's certainly more than just that.
-- and that's talking in only human terms, of course. Ever since his pseudo-pact with the demon Belial, he's been granted some powers that tap into the reserves of Hell itself. Granted, they were never his to start with and so he has some trouble controlling them perfectly -- but what he's capable of devastating. The powers mostly manifest in the form of manipulating his own shadow into a physical form -- spikes and tendrils and blade of darkness capable of slicing through flesh with almost zero effort. His aggression channels into these demonic powers, and what he's capable depends only on how much desire he has to destroy a topic. These are powers granted by one of the higher powers of Hell, after all -- creating pockets of interdimensional space, summoning, corruption are all things he's capable of now. And natural healing, of course. Injuries stitch themselves up in a matter of moments, slimy tendrils of shadow mending flesh together and replenishing blood at rapid speeds. he's near immortal now, like it or not. (How much he actually uses these powers, though -- we'll see about that.)
History:
People hear 'dystopian future,' and they automatically think of crumbling buildings, rats scurrying everywhere, people digging through rubble for food -- rather narrow-minded, don't you think? Because who needs that sort of physical destruction, when there's a different sort of brutality that serves just as well?
No, the world we're talking about is Japan in the near future. Don't you worry, all the glorious technology, all those skyscrapers clawing upwards are still there -- the changes are the subtle ones. The ones like the ever-popular and ever-controversial Battle Royale law. 'What's that?' you say. It's quite simple, actually! It's just this: every year, you select one class of ninth-graders from each district -- not all at once, of course, you need to spread it all out -- and what happens to those kids? They get shipped off to a deserted island, handed a variety of weapons -- pistols to rifle to pot lids to sporks -- and are told. "Alright. Go ahead. Kill each other."
Simple as that.
Kazama was just another one of those unfortunate students chosen to participate in the massacre called a game. The single bright spot, if it could be called that -- his assigned weapon was a rifle. That, paired with his talent at archery and natural athletic abilities meant it wasn't too hard to come out on top. All he had to do was wait in absolute silence for hours at a time -- because, you see, the slightest noise would have given away his position, and it would have been GAME OVER right then and there -- and shoot his friends through the head. One by one. -- at the end of a three-day game, he was declared the winner, with eight kills to his name. Hailed as a bright new prodigy and a upstanding citizen worthy of much praise.
That sort of thing, though, you never really "forgive and forget" -- you never really get over. Kazama spent the next few months wandering aimlessly, before -- one day, he vanished from the government's radar. Sunk into the underground to join the rebel groups fighting against the government. They welcomed him with open arms, of course -- they'd all seen the way he could lie silently in wait for hours at a time, then take a single shot and blow a person's brains out -- and it wasn't long before he became somewhat of a known figure in the Underground. A previous winner of the Game, now fighting against those people who had turned him into a murderer.
Though, of course -- the underground was never an overly friendly place. Wandering from rebel group to rebel group, he was eventually entangled in a group notorious for taking a ruthless stance on its members -- use people until they weren't worth keeping around any more, then dispose of them. Left with no choice, he took a young sniper that he was teaching, and fled the organization, killing the division leader to shake them off his trail.
This eventually led him to the group called the Dawn of Asia -- and the Wild Seven. A rebel group composed largely of those who had been forced to participate in Battle Royale, or those who had lost loved ones to the terrible game -- a motley crew of people who were determined to destroy the system. And one year's Christmas Eve was met with a formal challenge -- a bombing of five governmental buildings, and a broadcasted message -- "We declare war upon the adults who made us kill each other."
The government retaliated, of course, sending a group of students to kill them -- "let the brats fight this out on their own," they said. But eventually, eventually, they had to step in. A firebombing of their headquarters, then an invasion of what the Wild Seven had left. Backed into a corner and exterminated with the most extreme prejudice, they all died, one by one. The last thing Kazama remembers is the leader screaming his name, before the dozen machine-guns pointed at him started firing.
False memories:
Given a different set of circumstances, Kazama might have led a normal life -- born to a modest young couple in Terra and raised with few expectations and even fewer problems -- he was a good kid with his priorities straight and high moral standards. Except. That didn't continue for long.
Because, because, a radical cult group in the Abyss had been conducting a particular game for the past few years -- gathering up groups of orphans from the Abyss and abducting an unlucky few from Terra families to fill up the numbers, then, every few months, conducting a little experiment called "Battle Royale." The rules were simple -- the groups of forty-or-so collected children were tossed into a fenced-off area of the Abyss' slums, each given a weapon, and told -- "go ahead, kill each other. We'll kill you all if you don't." This was for the better of the city, they said. Prune out the weaker creatures, and the strongest would survive.
Kazama was 15 when he was dragged into such a game -- returning from school one day to find his family slaughtered and a shadowy figure waiting for him. Thrown in the Abyss slums with only a days' worth of food, ammunition, and a bolt-action rifle, he survived in terrified silence, afraid that the slightest noise would give him away before he had time to shoot. Four days later, the Neo Genesis police found him huddled in an alleyway, clutching his rifle in petrified silence -- and they told him, "all the other children are dead. You're the only survivor." Escorting him to the patrol car, they said, "come on, let's get you home."
It was only later that Kazama found out that he was a rare exception -- the government more often than not refused to meddle in the Abyss' affairs, even if civilian children had been involved -- forced to kill each other. Over the years, dozens of students had been lost to these 'games' -- only a few ever brough back from the Abyss. Those that were? Toted by the media as lucky testaments to the government's power, and eagerly snapped up by attention-hungry members of the Elysium elite. It wasn't long before a rich Elysium couple took him in as their son, basking in the media attention, claiming that they couldn't bear to leave such a tortured young soul all alone.
He was grateful, of course, to some degree -- even if they hardly lived up to their claims of utter devotion, once the media attention died down. They had, after all, raised him, even paid for his education at the University. But what he couldn't simply gloss over was the way the government had so easily abandoned its citizens -- not just himself, but the countless other children before him who had been similarly slaughtered by each other, without any hope of rescue. This, he couldn't understand, could not fathom -- could not forgive or forget.
When he was sixteen, he first ventured back into the Abyss, where he'd spent those terrifying days first fighting for his life -- and searched out the anti-governmental rebel group -- Quark. It wasn't too difficult to prove his worth -- the sharpshooting that had been ingrained in his survival instincts, the other skills he'd picked up on his own -- and so started his double life. A stoic, efficient student on one hand, and a dangerous rebel fighting on the other -- it's difficult, of course, to live such a lie. But if it's for the sake of bringing about justice to the city, then so be it.
His life was a series of twist and turns after that. After Quark crumbled, he had a brief stint in FOXHOUND before that organization, too, withered away -- leaving him to wander into the clutches of the Chinatown yakuza. His skills as a sniper and fighter elevated him to the position of third-in-command -- a position that he filled out with no particular likes or dislikes -- and his life had gained some semblance of stability. A stability that was only broken by the return of the game that had shattered his life in the first place: Battle Royale. He couldn't bear to win again -- and his kouhai apparently thought the same thing. Fatally stabbed by his kouhai, he bled to death and was withdrawn from the game as a loser.
And revived, later, with claims that the entire game has been a joke. A simulation. A haha-wasn't-that-funny prank. Regardless, this reopened wound was just a bit too much for him to handle without cracking at least a bit. Retreating into the dark alleys of the Abyss, he festered in his hatred and loathing for a while. And this was enough to trigger his powers without him knowing -- his demonic capabilities channeled his negative energy into an interdimensional rift, where he wandered for weeks without much thought. Just wanting some time alone.
It was only after he had suffered -- or basked -- enough that this alternate dimension faded, returning him to the streets of Abyss. Without much else to do, and now that his emotions from the aftermath of BR (round 2) had faded enough for him to return to his usual blank facade, he decided to return to the upper levels. Try and resume the blank lie that he's so carefully constructed.
Sample journal posts:
[ network post ; text ]
It seems I've been away for longer than I intended.
Sample role-playing post:
[ old tag from an old log ]
Ah, his vision was starting to go wrong about the edges. And while Kazama knew that he should probably be more concerned about it -- a marksman was nothing without his vision -- he was finding it difficult to care about anything much any more at present time. The bandages wound about his head had adequately stopped the bleeding from his shot-off ear and the deep lacerations the grazed bullets had carved into his flesh. The myriad of different little pains making friends with all the other pains in his limbs, his head -- that, combined with the fact that this was his third day without sleep, it was starting to wear him down.
His footsteps were still silent as he padded down the hallway, the uzi held slack as he made his way towards the 'home base' classroom. Knowing that he'd need a short break -- even a few minutes would be fine. He needed to close his eyes. Hidan was standing guard outside with the pistol -- and he wouldn't be gone long, anyway. (Staying still for too long was a danger. A luxury he couldn't afford.)
The door dragged open, and he spared the two others a brief glance before making his way towards one of the empty corners, sitting down on the floor with his back against the wall. The uzi still held loosely (never, ever lose your weapon if you wish to survive) as he canted his head back to rest against the wall. "I'm just resting for a few minutes before going back out. Hidan's still out there." The exhaustion -- both physical and mental -- was starting to take his toll, and his voice was almost inaudibly quiet.
QUESTIONS/CONCERNS: Nope.
DID YOU READ THE RULES?: Yes, sir.