Overkill

“YOU CAN'T KILL ME - I ALREADY DIED IN THE FIRST ACT!”

Player: @First Player

NAME: Rex Ryan (?)
KNOWN ALIASES: “Mr. Practical Effects,” “The Human Fire Hazard,” “That One Guy Who Exploded on Live TV”
AGE: "Old enough to know better, young enough to make it worse."
OCCUPATION: "Former actor, former stuntman, current cautionary tale. I do freelance demolition, performance art, and posthumous career revival."
EQUIPMENT
"One armored stunt suit, an overabundance of firearms, and a crippling need for applause."
ABILITIES: "Explosives, sarcasm, hand-to-hand choreography, vehicular manslaughter (professional), pain management (amateur), and impeccable comedic timing under duress."

Rex Ryan was born to the spotlight, a man who didn’t just want fame — he demanded it. From an early age, he performed for anyone who would watch: juggling flaming batons on the streets, reenacting movie scenes for neighborhood kids, and eventually climbing his way into stunt work in Hollywood. His charisma and audacity made him a natural on-screen and behind-the-scenes, and his career skyrocketed. He became known not just as an actor, but as a daredevil, a man who lived on the razor’s edge for the perfect shot.

His downfall came during the biggest stunt of his life — a high-speed car chase designed to culminate in a spectacular fiery explosion. To the public, it looked like another dangerous stunt. To Rex, it was a routine performance, meticulously rehearsed and carefully choreographed. But someone had tampered with the setup. The crash and explosion were meant to be mind-blowingly awesome; instead, they were catastrophically devastating. Rex survived, but barely. His body was left a canvas of burns and nerve damage, a constant reminder of the accident that wasn’t an accident.

Lying in the hospital, high on morphine and surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the mechanical beeps of monitors, Rex watched reruns of his own films. He saw himself leap from buildings, defy death, and emerge victorious — a hero in his own stories. And then it hit him: his life had been canceled before the climax. He had been robbed of his third act. The world around him was actually a badly written, budget-cut action script in which he was the discarded protagonist. Every moment of betrayal, every corporate snub, every failed opportunity was just another line of lazy writing in the script of his life.

Rex snapped. Not all at once, but with the slow, burning precision of someone finally seeing the stage manager who’d been manipulating the set. He realized that if life wouldn’t give him the ending he deserved, he would have to take it — rewrite it himself. While still in the hospital, he began scheming, using his knowledge of stunts, pyrotechnics, and weaponry gleaned from years on set. He remembered the armored suit and practical weapon systems built for a canceled film called 'The Overkill Directive'.

When he stole the suit and upgraded it into something both functional and terrifying, Rex became Overkill. No longer merely a stuntman, he was a man of action in the purest sense — the hero, antihero, and occasional villain of his own story. He embraced his new identity with theatrical flair: each crime scene meticulously staged, each confrontation turned into a dramatic set piece, and every taunt delivered with a wink to an audience only he could see.

Overkill’s mission is simple in Rex’s mind: rewrite his ending. Every villain's a poorly written antagonist, every civilian a clueless extra, every fight a chance to perfect the choreography of chaos, and every explosion a cinematic flourish. In his delusion, the world itself is an audience, and he is both performer and director. With a razor-sharp wit, a flair for the absurd, and a body that refuses to bend to ordinary limitations, Rex Ryan has turned his pain into spectacle.

To Rex, the past is prologue, the present is a rehearsal, and the future is a script he refuses to let anyone else write. Every day is a chance to stage his vengeance, perfect his performance, and prove that while the world may have canceled Rex Ryan, it can never cancel Overkill.

Rex is a narcissist cracked down the middle — a showman who lost his audience but refuses to stop performing. He’s aware that his mind’s slipping, but he treats the breakdown like a method-acting challenge.

He’s driven by the belief that every person gets one great act in their life — and he was robbed of his. His mercenary work is less about money so much as narrative symmetry: he’s rewriting his life into the blockbuster ending he thinks he deserves. In his head, he’s both the director and the protagonist, barking orders at a world that refuses to follow his script.

Despite his grandiosity, Rex can be weirdly likable in short doses. He’s socially awkward in a way that’s both tragic and hilarious — trying to bond with others through pop culture references, movie quotes, and inappropriate laughter.

There’s also a sliver of sincerity buried under the mania: when Rex drops the act, he’s haunted by the knowledge that he’s alive because of someone else’s betrayal. He can’t remember who sabotaged the stunt — and part of him doesn’t want to, because vengeance gives him purpose. Without it, he’d just be a disfigured has-been muttering lines from old movies to the mirror.

Overkill isn’t just dangerous because he’s armed — he’s dangerous because he thinks violence is performance art. His years as a stuntman, actor, and self‑styled auteur give him an unusual combination of talents. He’s a master of improvised combat, able to turn any environment into a stage for chaos. Whether it’s turning a street fight into a choreography of destruction or turning a traffic accident into a cinematic massacre, Overkill treats every encounter like a stunt sequence.

He’s trained in hand‑to‑hand combat, blending multiple martial styles into something unpredictable and brutal. Rex also has extensive weapons proficiency — firearms, explosives, melee weapons, and even improvised tools. His combat style is more about showmanship than efficiency, meaning he often uses sarcasm, misdirection, and theatrical timing to unsettle his enemies before delivering the killing blow.

On top of that, Overkill is a skilled escape artist and tactician. His stunt background makes him excellent at planning (and surviving) high‑risk scenarios. He’s capable of rapid infiltration, ambush, and getaway, often treating these moments like an elaborate stunt reel. His approach to planning is unorthodox — part military precision, part director’s whim — which makes him as unpredictable as he is lethal.

🎥 Equipment

Overkill’s gear is an absurdly lethal mix of stunt props, salvaged military tech, and custom modifications — exactly what you’d expect from a man who thinks he’s both a director and the star of his own revenge film. At the heart of it is his prototype armored suit from the canceled film The Overkill Directive. Originally designed for cinematic spectacle, Rex retrofitted it for real combat. It offers ballistic resistance, enhanced strength, and environmental durability, while also concealing a variety of concealed gadgets and weaponry.

His arsenal includes custom firearms — pistols, submachine guns, and a modified revolver that he affectionately calls “The Scriptwriter”. His melee weaponry includes blades and improvised tools salvaged from stunt sets. Overkill treats his equipment as part of the act — graffiti‑spray paint on his weapons, custom sound effects for explosions, and a personal flair that turns every fight into a spectacle.

💥 Powers

Overkill has no supernatural powers — but he turns his limitations into an advantage. His greatest asset is his mindset. His combination of insanity, method‑acting delusion, and ruthless discipline gives him a terrifying adaptability in combat. His psychological warfare is almost as deadly as his physical attacks: he uses sarcasm, unpredictability, and theatricality to unnerve enemies, turning fights into a psychological trap.

Because of his severe burns and nerve damage, Overkill has an unusual relationship with pain. He doesn’t feel it normally, but he acts as if he does, exaggerating injuries for theatrical effect. This gives him an odd advantage: opponents underestimate him, assuming pain will slow him down — while Rex uses it to distract and mock them.

His stunt background also gives him superior agility, balance, and spatial awareness, making him an expert in high‑risk maneuvers. He’s as comfortable scaling walls and dodging bullets as he is using improvised weapons mid‑fight. Combined with his armor’s modifications, Overkill is essentially a walking action sequence — able to improvise, adapt, and turn destruction into performance art at a moment’s notice.