Colonel Winston
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
| |
| @BurgerSlave | |
| Colonel Winston | |
| Player: | |
| Origin: | Science |
|---|---|
| Archetype: | Scrapper |
| Threat Level: | 26 |
| Personal Data | |
| Real Name: | Burke Winston |
| Known Aliases: | Colonel |
| Species: | Human |
| Age: | 58 |
| Height: | 7'2" |
| Weight: | 480 lbs |
| Eye Color: | Silver |
| Hair Color: | Silver/Gray |
| Biographical Data | |
| Nationality: | USA |
| Occupation: | Freelance Thug and Professional Brawler |
| Place of Birth: | USA |
| Base of Operations: | Seville, Texas |
| Marital Status: | Divorced |
| Known Relatives: | Confidential |
| Known Powers | |
| Controlled generation of focused kinetic bursts. With these kinetic fields, he is able to accelerate portions of his own mass to velocities far exceeding the potential energy invested in them. With proper application, he can create the force of a gunshot with the merest of touches. With more rigorous application, he is able to project these bursts beyond his own body, transferring the energy to spheres of air that he can then 'throw' at range. Winston is even able to redirect kinetic energy from other individuals, creating a loop circuit of power that bolsters and strengthens his own attacks. By focusing and compressing kinetic energy into a sphere and releasing it suddenly, he can cause a localized kinetic explosion, hitting everything around him in a spherical burst. | |
| Known Abilities | |
| Deep familiarity with United States military protocol, including knowledge of sensitive and classified information regarding troop deployments, battle strength, and materiel in various theatres of battle all across the world. | |
| Equipment | |
| A self-replicating nanite field constantly circulates through the Colonel's bloodstream, infusing his tissues. Able to draw power from his body heat and utilize simple sugars as raw material for reproduction, this field is reactive to Winston's own pain receptors. Any time his body registers trauma, the nanites respond by flooding the injury site, repairing damaged tissues and restoring hemostasis. While the field is in a constant state of activity, keeping him at the peak of human health and performance, he is able to overdrive the field with a brief kinetic burst, increasing his durability and resistance to injury for brief periods. In the event of catastrophic injury, the field focuses all its efforts on recussitation--failing that, he is equipped with a standard mediporter that can whisk him to the nearest hospital for triage. | |
| Currently wanted for acts of terrorism in Paragon City. Considered a Prime Threat villain by Freedom Phalanx. Longbow has standing orders to subdue and apprehend on sight. | |
Contents |
Personal History
Early Life
They won't stop unless you tame your soul
Don't tame your soul
--Leaether Strip, 'Don't Tame Your Soul'
Burke Owen Winston was born 58 years ago in Seville, Texas--a tiny farming town with a population in the hundreds. Naturally big and strong, he was a right little hellion growing up. His temper was a thing of legend, and he was the epitome of the schoolyard bully. He used his strength to frighten and intimidate the other kids around him, and was always landing in trouble for his lack of control. Punishment just seemed to feed his titanic ego. He loved the attention, and his schemes to garner more grew more and more elaborate. Eventually, his bullying resulted in the death of a fellow classmate, when a science club member he locked in a locker during detention suffocated in the blistering Texas heat.
Burke was taken from his family and put in St. Christopher's Juvenile Detention Center. There, he was whipped into shape by brutal corrections officers. But the core of his ego could not be broken. Instead, he let himself be honed and guided, the regimen giving him strength and purpose. The powers at St. Christopher's sought to turn him into a productive member of society. What they did was create the perfect candidate for one of the most disciplined organizations of killers in the world--the United States Marine Corps. As soon as he was eighteen, Burke enlisted and never looked back.
Military Career
They get you ready to fight
The fuse is ready to blow
You shoot to kill on sight
They call you GI Joe
You never want it to stop
The smell of burning flesh
The hero marches alone
Along the highway of death
--Ministry, 'Hero'
It was 1970, and the Vietnam War was in full swing. Burke had learned his lessons well in juvie. He was a perfect fit for the Corps. He was dutiful, obedient, and utterly ruthless. He climbed the ranks with a will, earning numerous commendations for his combat performance. He gained a reputation for being one of the biggest, baddest, meanest soldiers in the Corps. When the war ended four years later, he returned to the States and enrolled in officer's school. There, he was able to develop his mind just as he had developed his body. Of course he loved his country--that was drilled into him with everything else. But what Burke truly longed for was power--power and recognition. He was one of the greatest men who had ever lived, and he was going to make damn sure the world knew it.
The 1980s were good years. As a captain, he led military actions all over the Middle East and Southeast Asia. He saw combat in Lebanon, Syria, Libya, Thailand, and Afghanistan. In 1990, he was one of the first pairs of boots on the ground in Operation Desert Storm. By the time the millennium was rolling around, Burke had become a Colonel, decorated countless times for his bravery in battle. It was everything he had ever wanted out of life.
9/11 changed the entire world, and Burke was no different. Like so many others, he was outraged at the unprovoked attack on American soil. But unlike so many others, he could do something about it. It wasn't long before he was on the ground in Iraq, coordinating troop movements all across the region. With cold, calculated brutality, he sought out terrorist cells and exterminated them wherever they lay. The people of the area came to fear him just as his own men did. In time, the mere mention that Colonel Winston and his men were coming was often enough to break the morale of the most diehard jihadist. But as successful as he and his soldiers were, they were but a handful of warriors in a large, hostile region. To make things worse, just like the end of Vietnam, the God-damn liberals were making all kinds of fuss back home, demanding that the war be brought to an end.
In 2006, Burke and his platoon were attacked while running recon near the Kurdish-held northern quarter of Iraq. A lucky shot caught Burke in the shoulder. It wasn't anything serious--he'd had plenty worse injuries in the past. But this time, his age had caught up to him, making recovery difficult. Rushed back to the Green Zone in Baghdad, he was taken off active combat duty and put behind a desk. Burke was furious. For nearly forty years, he had fought and bled for his country--his reward was to have his gun taken away and a pencil put in its place. After so many years of bloodlust and battle, he couldn't begin to adjust to life as a bureaucrat. But his commanding officers were adamant. His days on the battlefield were over, along with all his dreams of conquest and glory.
Apotheosis
Dig
Bury me
Underneath
Everything that I am
Rearranging
--Mudvayne, 'Dig'
In 2008, Burke returned home to the States, where he contemplated his future. He had become addicted to the thrill of combat, and found peacetime stifling. At first, he considered signing on with a PMC, but he learned that those companies were even more full of bureaucratic bullshit and red tape than the Corps ever was. He became desperate for something, anything to fill the monotony of his life. It was then that he was contacted by DATA. They had been working closely with the US military for some time, working on a secret project, known as Prometheus. Their goal was to unlock the full potential of human performance, allowing ordinary men to compete with superhumans at their own level. ston's impressive record with the Marines had caught their eye, and they had put him at the top of a very short list of candidates. When offered the chance to act as their test subject, it sounded like the answer to all his prayers. Burke couldn't sign on the dotted line fast enough. Before he knew it, he was shipping out to Paragon City.
For the next six months, he underwent a battery of tests measuring his physical and mental capabilities. Experimental strains of nanites infused into his bloodstream and laced throughout his nervous system. Potent telepaths made subtle adjustments to his subconscious mind, unlocking key psychological blocks. The docs could only speculate what sort of abilities the treatments might unlock, but they reassured him that he'd know when it worked.
And work it did. After grueling months of testing and training, Burke's powers manifested with a literal bang. While working out with the punching bag in the campus gym, Burke released a burst of kinetic force from his fist that blew the bag off its chain and threw it with enough force to crack the concrete wall nearly fifty feet away. The researchers were ecstatic. A renewed battery of testing began, helping Burke learn how to focus and control his newfound powers. For awhile, it seemed like he was finally getting what he wanted: to be looked up to and admired by his fellows--and absolutely feared by his foes.
But despite his best efforts, there was a catch. Burke found himself losing control of his temper more and more often. It started small at first--angry outbursts and thunderous yelling over the slightest things. But as time progressed and his powers grew, so did his aggression. It wasn't long before he was in a constant state of agitation. A seething, barely-restrained core of fury that could go supernova with the smallest provocation. The telepaths tried to correct what the researchers were rapidly coming to see as a design flaw, but Burke's own subconscious resisted their every effort. The last straw came when a nurse coming to take a blood sample sneezed, jabbing the needle deep into Burke's arm. His vision went red--and when it cleared, he had three Longbow Nullifiers kneeling on his chest, his hands dripping with gore.
Aftermath
I know the pieces fit
'cause I watched them fall away
No fault, none to blame
That doesn't mean I don't desire
To point the finger, blame the other
Watch the temple topple over
--Tool, 'Schism'
Project Prometheus was written off as a failure. The experimentation ended, and the formula was destroyed. But there was still the question of what was to be done with Burke. At first, the researchers believed that, without constant nanite infusions, his powers would fade away in time. But to everyone's surprise (and Burke's delight), it was found that the nanites had become self-replicating. No-one could have forseen this development. Moreover, they had become so fundamentally ingrained into his physiology, there was no safe way to remove them without serious risks to his health. The matter was discussed at length. Eventually, Statesman offered the services of the Freedom Phalanx. They would provide Burke with mood-stabilizing drugs to help him cope with his aggression issues, and a position in the Phalanx where he could use his powers for the good of Paragon City. It wasn't Burke's fault, after all, that he was what he was. After all he had done for his country and everything DATA had done to him, he at least deserved a chance at heroism.
Unfortunately, things didn't go as well as Statesman had hoped. While the drugs did take the edge off Burke's aggression, they did nothing for his world-sized ego. He was used to being large and in charge--suddenly starting at the bottom ranks again grated on his nerves and angered him even despite his treatments. Though he did make a genuine effort to do the right thing, he found that walking the streets of Paragon was no panacea. The criminal element was terrified of him, sure--he was every bit as ruthless and merciless in the City of Heroes as he'd ever been on the battlefield. But the other heroes around him shook their heads in disapproval every time he brought back another bloodied and battered thug for justice. He was bewildered and infuriated at them--it wasn't like he was killing anybody.
It didn't take long before Burke was walking the fine line between heroism and vigilantism. All it would take was the right push at the right moment to send him over the edge entirely.
Fall From Grace
As the seeds you've cast away take hold
War will be born
Rejoice, the age of the fall has begun
We'll dance as the palaces burn
My redemption, redemption lies in your demise
Rejoice, the age of the fall has begun
We'll dance as the palaces burn
--Lamb of God, 'As The Palaces Burn'
Paragon City had become stifling. Burke couldn't stand it. He needed to live somewhere real. Somewhere that God-damned capes weren't holding everyone's hand. Where a man could live for himself, could live free. He found that somewhere in the Rogue Isles. Taking out an apartment in St. Martial, he roamed the isles, dispensing his particular brand of justice wherever he could. It didn't take long before he was noticed by agents within Arachnos. They approached him, offering him money, power--anything he wanted. All he had to do was swear to serve Lord Recluse. Bewildered, Burke promised to think about their offer.
Everything he'd ever heard about Arachnos painted them as terrorists just as bad as any he'd fought in the Middle East. But at the same time, they were offering him everything he wanted. Besides, those pansy-ass hippies in Freedom Phalanx already looked down their noses at him as though he were a villain already. But... did he want to become little more than one of Recluse's personal slaves? He had fought Arachnos many times before, from the Fortunatas to the Crab Spiders, from the Longfangs to the Mu Adepts. Was that truly what he was searching for?
While contemplating these questions in Pocket D, Burke was approached by Black Amaranth, who offered him a third alternative. In P.R.E.D.A.T.O.R., he could be himself. Nobody would judge him. He could do what he wanted--take what he wanted. And he would never be punished for using his powers as he saw fit. And most of all, his aggression problems were a non-issue. As long as he kept them to himself and didn't unload on his peers in the organization, he would be free to vent his world-searing rage to his heart's content. It was a tempting offer indeed. One that Burke found he couldn't refuse.
And so Burke tendered his resignation from Freedom Phalanx in the form of a bombed-out crater in Brickstown, taking the reformed supervillain Miyamoto Higashi, his daughter Silent Blade, and an entire squad of PPD SWAT out in one fell swoop. There could be no doubt now--Freedom Phalanx struck him from the rolls and issued a standing order to Longbow to arrest and detain him on sight. In Statesman's mind, there was only one place left for the Colonel left in the world: a maximum security cell in the darkest corner of Ziggursky Prison they could throw him in. So far as the Freedom Phalanx is concerned, the charity case of Colonel Burke Winston has reached its end.
But for the villainous old Colonel, the story is only now beginning.
