NickSeiler
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(3/30/06 1:29 am)
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Michael Summers
Out of Character
-Name: Nick
-Contact: NickSeiler [AIM], nickseiler@yahoo.com [e-mail]
-Note: Spring semester of college is fairly busy for me, and I’ll likely not be able to consistently RP until the end of April, but I wanted to get the application up early. If this is a problem, let me know.
In Character
Loner
-Avatar: Harrison Ford
-Name: Michael Jonathan Summers
-Alias: The Fallen
-Age: 40
-Family: Richard Summers [father, 67, currently residing in Santa Ana, California]; Deborah Summers [mother, 68, currently residing in Santa Ana, California]; Rachel Carter [ex-wife, 37, currently residing near Austin, Texas]; Lindsey Summers [daughter, 8, currently residing w/ mother near Austin, Texas]
-Occupation: Summers is a former detective whose position with the Savage City PD was terminated after a drug bust went bad. He’d worked on the force for sixteen years, climbing his way up the ranks to become a legitimate presence on the streets of Savage City. Despite a rather quick ascension, Summers’ career was both impressive and intimidating, creating a reputation that street thugs both knew about and feared.
But it all ended with one bust. Summers had been investigating incoming shipments of cocaine to determine the distributor within Savage City, and the evidence pointed to one of Sacred Oats’ more prominent sons, a golden child praised in the public eye as someone whose career was going to take off once he was of age. Summers would have preferred putting the punk behind bars, but a raid during one of the deliveries ended with the kid shot dead while trying to evade arrest. Bad press and an angry family forced the department to take Summers off their payroll. Soon after, his wife Rachel divorced him and eventually gained full custody of their daughter, Lindsey. Michael has seen neither in over three years, and has been working various jobs ever since, the latest as a private investigator and security officer.
-Weapons: Summers used to carry a standard issue handgun when he was a cop, but since being dismissed, had to turn in his weapon. He currently carries a Beretta 96 Inox, a .40S&W-caliber pistol that takes 10-round magazines. Being right-handed, Summers keeps his pistol holstered on the right side of his belt, and is never without a small cache of additional clips, just in case. Because of his police background, Summers is proficient in other weapons, such as automatic rifles and shotguns. He has a very small collection of such weapons in his apartment.
-Description: As a former cop at 40 years old, Summers is not quite at peak health and conditioning, but isn’t very far off. After losing his job due to questionable circumstances and then watching his family walk out on him, Summers became depressed and stopped working out regularly, and because of it, has put on a few pounds. But at six feet and 205 lbs, he still remains in decent shape.
He’s carried a no-nonsense attitude with him since his days as a cop, and one look at him and you can tell he means business. Summers doesn’t get caught up in fashion trends; he sees clothes simply as what covers his ass when he’s on the street. He’s rarely seen out of his standard casual clothing – a pair of worn jeans and a dark shirt hidden underneath a dark tan trench coat. His brown hair is kept short if only because he doesn’t want to have to deal with it every morning.
-Personality: It’s hard for a man to find purpose in his life after being robbed of his profession. Michael Summers took pride in being a law enforcement agent in one of the worst cities in the world, and genuinely wanted to clean up the streets. He knew he couldn’t turn Savage City into a respectable town overnight, but he had youthful aspirations of being able to make a difference.
He was wrong.
And now, working the occasional security job during the day and also offering his services to the public as a private detective for hire, Michael tries to find a reason to return to work the next morning because - let’s face it – neither are the same thing as being on the police force solving crime, especially in a city where crime practically spits in your face wherever you turn. He’s bitter about his downfall, but his release didn’t surprise him – the press and the wealthy from Sacred Oats typically got their way within the department, and Summers was the scapegoat for a raid gone bad. But deep within him, Summers still wants to make a difference, even if it means packing his own piece and offering his own brand of justice when the opportunity presents itself.
Don’t mistake him, though. He’s not the kind of man who goes out looking for a fight. But he’s knowledgeable of the streets, and if something goes down, he’ll take a side and lend a hand rather than sulk into the shadows to save his own skin. The thing about Michael Summers is he’s not afraid of dying. He’s lost everything that was once precious to him. What more does he have to lose?
-Sample RP: It’s not the kind of beer he normally drinks, but he’s had worse. Much worse. And in a joint like this, he couldn’t ask for much better. Summers slapped his money on the table and nodded to the bartender, about as much of a thank you as a man can expect in a city like this. A city where life is one never ending abortion, where there are no hands but bad ones, and you’ve either got to fold or try and bluff your way into living to the next day. The bar’s shady at best, but what else is new? Shady is a compliment around this part of town. He’s far from a regular, but doesn’t feel self-conscious as his audience watches him take a seat in the back corner of the establishment. Michael’s not a heavy drinker either, but he can fake it well enough. That’s not to say that he doesn’t enjoy putting one back once in a while, but drinking impairs judgment, and Summers would rather be dead than impaired. In this town, there’s not much distinction between one or the other, though.
He had his eyes on the dancer taking center stage. Not why he came, but he wasn’t about to complain. It’d been a while since he’d been with a woman, let alone seen one without clothes on. His wife was the last, and that was years ago. After he took the fall for the Sacred Oats drug mess, she didn’t waste much time leaving him and taking their daughter with her as well as most of their savings. Since then, he hadn’t had much of a desire to get involved in another relationship. Hell, it took him a couple months before he’d even leave his apartment. But he was out now, and the feel of the Beretta at the small of his back made him feel better about his decision.
Summers eyed the crowd as they eyed the woman on stage, whose perfect form kept them mesmerized long enough for Michael to get a good look at who had been watching him just moments ago. Most of the seats were filled with drunks, probably regulars, whose only concern was whether or not this new guy was going to take the chair they’d spent weeks solidifying as their property. He was no threat to them, so their eyes went back to the entertainment, and Summers got to drink his brew without feeling the urge to finger the grip of his pistol.
That’s when it happened. In the far corner of the bar, a door opened, exposing dim white light from the alleyway outside the bar. Two figures walked through the opening, one male and one female, and they weren’t being quiet about it. Hardly anyone else in the place paid attention, but Michael was watching through two trained eyes, and he knew a dispute when he saw one. Wasn’t really any of his business, but the last thing he wanted was to walk outside after he was finished with his drink and find a woman with a collection of bruises. Or worse, stab wounds.
He took one gulp of the beer he’d been nursing, then rose from the booth, pulling the edges of his coat closing around his frame. The eyes returned, but he ignored it, fishing for a cigarette from his inside jacket pocket. He had to have some reason to go outside, and while this place wasn’t exactly a no-smoking business, maybe no one would notice. He had to bank on the fact that no one would notice.
Summers walked out the front door, since following the pair out the back would be way too obvious. He produced a lighter and ignited the end of his smoke, taking a drag from the cancer stick as he waited for a few seconds. Charging right in toward the alley would be another dead giveaway, especially if the pair had spotted him in the bar. But he didn’t think that was likely - this thug had other things on his mind, like roughing up his woman. Maybe she was looking at the wrong guy in the wrong way, or maybe they just met and she wasn’t too receptive to the signals he was giving out about how he wanted company tonight. When he was a cop, he would have cared about motive. Now, things were different.
About halfway through the cigarette, he started walking toward the alley. He’d walk past it, as if he were walking home, but would catch a glance into the darkened side street to see what he could see. On the first pass, he saw them in the back, the bum’s hips thrusting into her as she cried, his forearm pushing her hard against the side of a building. Summers wasted no time in reaching behind him for his pistol. He spun the weapon in his hand so he was gripping the barrel, then charged in, slamming a shoulder into the man’s side. He tripped, the pants around his ankles keeping him from being able to get his footing. Summers ignored the woman; she’d know what to do now that this bastard was being taken care of. Michael pulled the pistol across his body, then whipped it across the rapist’s cheek so quickly that the blood of the cut hadn’t even began to run by the time he swung with another attack. The man cried out, and Michael enjoyed making this man the victim, like the thug had just done to the broad who was now halfway out of the alley, no longer wanting to be a part of any of this.
She knew that justice had a way of appearing even if the cops weren’t involved, and Michael didn’t mind administering it when the opportunity presenting itself. The thug’s face began to bruise an unnatural purple color, and he whimpered as he curled up on the wet cement of the alley. Michael introduced his boot to the man’s ribs, but unfortunately the meeting didn’t end on good terms. As the thug tried to crawl toward safety, Summers could hear the broken bones shift in his torso, and he smiled. It would be a while before this guy was on his feet again, and the bastard would think twice before he pulled this kind of stunt.
A few moments after entering, Michael Summers exited the alley and withdrew another cigarette.
Character Stats
-Basics-
Name: Michael Summers
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Loyalties: Unaffiliated. Summers used to serve as a detective in Basin City but holds no loyalty to the department itself, save a few old friends he may still have.
Personality: It’s hard for a man to find purpose in his life after being robbed of his profession. Michael Summers took pride in being a detective in one of the most criminal cities in the world, and genuinely wanted to clean up the streets. He knew he couldn’t turn Sin City into a respectable town overnight, but he had youthful aspirations of being able to make a difference.
He was wrong.
And now, working temporary security jobs during the day, Michael tries to find a reason to return to work the next morning because - let’s face it - security is hardly the same thing as being on the streets solving crime, especially in a city where crime practically spits in your face wherever you turn. He’s bitter about his downfall, but his release didn’t surprise him – the press and the wealthy from Sacred Oats typically got their way within the department, and Summers was the scapegoat for a drug raid gone bad. But deep within him, Summers still wants to make a difference, even if it means packing his own piece and initiating his own brand of justice when the opportunity presents itself.
Don’t mistake him, though. He’s not the kind of man who goes out with a purpose of fighting crime like some kind of disenfranchised hero with a cape and a mask. But he’s knowledgeable of the streets, and if something goes down, he’ll take a side and step into the fight rather than sulk into the shadows to save his own skin. The thing about Michael Summers is he’s not afraid of dying. He’s lost everything that was once precious to him. What more does he have to lose?
Strength: As a former detective, Summers is still keen in many areas vital to the profession. He’s street smart and knows his way around Basin City; he knows who to mess with, who to get answers from, and who not to approach unless you absolutely have to. Despite his disenfranchisement with the Basin City police, Summers’ wits and critical thinking are as sharp as they ever were. He’s gifted at analyzing a crime scene and criminal profiles, though with the depth and degree of the slime in Sin City, there’s always something out there that he’s never seen before. His original aspirations as a police officer were true and just, so he has a strong sense of what’s morally right and wrong. And as a family man in the force, Summers knew he had to come home in one piece; therefore, he spent many hours on the firing range, becoming an expert in the weapons he relied on to keep him alive.
Weakness: Summers can be headstrong at times, especially when the evidence supports his opinion. Since he has a daughter of his own, he can’t stand when children are put in danger, and will sometimes rush into a situation rather than planning out a course of action if he knows a child is in the line of fire. One might say that because of his inability to be a father to his own daughter, Michael sees this opportunity as a means of protecting those in need and takes the role very seriously. This protector complex can extend to women as well, depending on the situation; Michael is far more likely to rush to the aide of a business woman than he is an Old Town Girl, if only because he knows those from Old Town know how to take care of themselves. But that doesn’t mean he won’t help them. Furthermore, Summers will at times let his emotions get the best of him. He has a hard time knowing when enough is enough, so to speak, and can also be difficult to approach or get to know. He has a sarcastic sense of humor, but most wouldn’t see it because he doesn’t allow many people to get close to him. He was betrayed by his employers and then betrayed by his wife. That tends to gives a person trust issues.
Relationship Status: Divorced. At the age of 26, Michael was married to a woman named Rachel Carter, and the two produced a daughter, Lindsey, who would now be eight years old. After being dismissed from the Sin City PD under questionable circumstances, Rachel divorced Michael and gained custody of Lindsey. Michael has seen neither in over two years.
Occupation: Summers is a former detective whose position with the Sin City PD was terminated after a drug bust went terribly bad. He’d worked on the force for ten years, climbing his way up the ranks to become a legitimate presence on the streets of Sin City. Despite a rather quick ascension, Summers’ career was both impressive and intimidating, creating a reputation that street thugs were well aware of. Find a guy with a rap sheet, mention Summers’ name, and chances are the guy knew him… and feared him.
However, it all ended with one bust. Summers had been investigating incoming shipments of cocaine to determine the distributor within Sin City, and the evidence pointed to one of Sacred Oats’ more prominent sons, a golden child praised in the public eye as someone whose career was going to take off once he was of age. A man not only with political aspirations of his own, but with political protection from those currently in office.
But that didn’t impede Summers. Michael wasn’t a man who didn’t understand a person breaking the law from time to time. He always examined motive and morality. He understood there were some crimes he could let slide or ignore, not because he was crooked, but because morally the action was just. Summers is the kind of cop who wouldn’t turn in a mother for breaking into the pharmacy to get medicine for her sick kid.
But this thug wasn’t a mother, and the drugs he dished out weren’t for sick children.
Summers would have preferred putting the punk behind bars, but a raid during one of the deliveries ended with the kid shot dead while trying to evade arrest. Bad press and a powerful angry family forced the department to take Summers off their payroll, and he’s been working various jobs ever since, the latest as a daytime security officer.
-Physical-
Avatar: Harrison Ford (circa Blade Runner)
Height: 6’0”
Build: Medium build. 205 pounds. Could stand to lose a little extra weight, but he’s in good condition.
Hair: Short, unkempt, and brown
Eyes: Brown
Distinguishing Marks: Nothing overly distinguishing.
General Appearance: As a former cop at 35 years old, one might think that Summers is still at fairly peak health and conditioning, but that’s not been the case. After losing his job due to questionable circumstances, Summers became somewhat depressed and stopped working out regularly, and because of it, has put on a few pounds. But at six feet and 205 lbs, he still looks good and remains in decent shape.
He’s carried a no-nonsense attitude with him since his days as a cop, and one look at him and you can tell he means business. Summers doesn’t get caught up in fashion trends; he sees clothes simply as what covers his ass when he’s on the street. He’s rarely seen out of his standard casual clothing – a pair of worn jeans and a dark shirt hidden underneath a dark tan trench coat. His brown hair is kept short if only because he doesn’t want to have to deal with it every morning.
Equipment: Summers used to carry a standard issue handgun when he was a cop, but since being dismissed, had to turn in his weapon. He currently carries a pair of Beretta 96 Inox handguns, .40S&W-caliber pistols that take 10-round magazines. Being right-handed, Summers keeps his pistol holstered on the right side of his belt, and is never without a small cache of additional clips, just in case. The second pistol is holstered at the small of his back. Because of his police background, Summers is proficient in other weapons, such as automatic rifles and shotguns. He has a very small collection of such weapons in his apartment, but perhaps more importantly, knows where to get them on the street if need be.
Strength: (This should be a physical strength.)
Weakness: (This should be a physical weakness.)
-History-
History: (Please provide a details history no less than three paragraphs. Include information on childhood, family, lovers, friends, how they came into their occupation, anything that will give us insight into their past.
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Sample Roleplay (from another Sin City based RPG)
Smoke rose in front of Michael's eyes, like a thin fog rolling in from the docks. Only he wasn't near the water. Summers was in Old Town, and he'd been staking out this apartment complex for a solid three hours now. He took a final puff on his eighth cigarette before dropping it to the pavement, extinguishing it beneath the sole of his shoe, laying it to rest with its seven brothers that had met similar fates over the course of his watch.
Traffic was sparse around this section of Old Town. This was residential, not where the girls worked their magic and lured the easily seduced into a business transaction. Those who came to Old Town came for just about one purpose and one purpose only. It wasn’t Summers’ place to approve or disapprove of their actions, but the fact remained that in the three hours he’d stood watching the building, he’d noticed that what made Old Town famous – or infamous, if you’d rather – wasn’t centralized in this area. This area was quiet.
The more he watched the building, the more he wondered if he was making a mistake by being here. If he knew one thing about Old Town, it was that the girls had their own laws here, and their own methods. Would they want a nosey ex-cop snooping around on their turf? Would they care? As a former member of the Sin City PD, he knew that they stayed away from this section of the city, so he assumed that official police involvement had been minimized, if it even existed. As resourceful as the Old Town girls were rumored to be, Summers banked on the notion that they could use all the help they could get.
The fact that Michael Summers even bothered to get down here was significant enough, considering that a year ago, he barely left his apartment. Being released from the department had hit him hard, but not as hard as his wife taking their daughter away despite his continued pleas that he was not a killer, like the department would have her believe. He’d tried to convince her that he was the fall man, the scapegoat whose head found itself under the guillotine when the rich demanded retribution for their murdered son. She didn’t listen. She wouldn’t listen. Maybe she was looking for an excuse to leave, and the Sacred Oats drug bust was a gift from God to her. Maybe it was the last straw. Whatever it was, it caused her and Lindsey to leave his life for good, and Michael found out that it was hard to live with himself, knowing he’d never see that pretty little girl again.
God, he missed Lindsey.
It had taken him months before he even stepped out of the door for something other than groceries. He frequented the bars, not to drink, but to watch. He’d spent years on the force, observing people and their behavior. Those skills needed to be tuned, not because he was expecting to be reinstated or hired in another city, but rather because he was a caged animal dangerously close to depression’s lethal doorstep, longing to once again feel the freedom of life outside the walls he’d forced himself into. He’d punished himself long enough, and he knew that it was either time to die or time to make his life worth something. He chose the latter.
Observing the drunks and perverts in various bars around the city didn’t give the detective within him much satisfaction, though. It wasn’t until he heard about the disappearance of Old Town girls that got his blood pumping through his body. You don’t spend ten years as a cop and lose all your sources, and when word had leaked to him that something fishy was going down in this part of Sin City, Summers grabbed on with all his might. If by some chance Lindsey did return to him, he didn’t want her to see the man he’d become – the bum who’d lost everything and just gave up, waiting for death in his recliner with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Summers was ignited by the feeling of once again having some kind of purpose, and he followed it all the way here, to the latest scene of the crime.
He’d spent enough time observing the exterior. Now it was time to look inside. Summers put his hands in his coat pockets and began to cross the street, not looking to either side for fear of what pair of eyes his might connect with. He didn’t want to broadcast his presence here, but he didn’t want to sneak around either. That kind of shit was bound to draw the attention of the girls, and you didn’t want them thinking you were up to something. The front door of the complex was open. He didn’t expect it to be locked. Nor was he surprised when he climbed to the third floor and saw no police tape around the victim’s door. His suspicions were confirmed – the Sin City PD weren’t going to touch this with a ten-foot pole. Maybe a rogue cop would take a look, perhaps as a favor to one of the girls, but there was a clear line of division between the police and Old Town.
The apartment door was cracked, and his shoe convinced it to give him a better look inside. His right hand traced the length of his belt to the small of his back, where his Beretta was waiting for him. He unsnapped the latch that kept it in place in the holster, and then returned his hand to his jacket pocket. The room was dark, no lights on. He didn’t want to touch the switch to change that, and the moon was on his side for the night, giving him enough light through the windows to navigate. The place was messy, but was that a trait of the resident or because someone made it that way in the process of the kidnapping? The slash marks in the upholstery of the living room couch seemed to solve that riddle. He’d noticed no sign of forced entry at the front door, so he had to suspect that either the girl had brought the criminal back here willingly, or the guy knew what he was doing. Either way, it didn’t tell him much. It’s not like the Old Town girls kept exclusive company – anyone with money and skills could be a potential suspect.
Summers made his way to the kitchenette, eying the countertop. A couple used mugs, nothing spectacular. What peaked his interest was a torn sheet of paper with a phone number written on it. He pulled a penlight from his coat pocket and clicked it once, ignoring the danger of alerting others to his being in the room. Michael committed the number to memory, unsure of whether or not it would be of importance, but knowing he’d rather be safe than sorry.
He quickly doused the light and returned it to his pocket before taking a glance toward the bedroom. The back of his mind was telling him that he was taking too long, and if he didn’t hurry his ass up, he’d have a half dozen girls on him. If he was lucky, they’d ask him why he was here. If he wasn’t, they’d skip the questions in favor of assumptions. But he was back in the moment again, a feeling he yearned for for months, and he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers. For tonight, and perhaps this night alone, Michael Summers was back on the horse, and he was holding onto the reins for dear life.
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Player Stats
Name: Nick
Gender: Male
Contact Info: nickseiler@yahoo.com (e-mail), NickSeiler (AIM)
I, Nick, attest that by posting this application I am stating that I have read and understand the rules. By signing this application I am aware that I will be expected to follow those rules and if I do not I will be banned from this community without warning.
Edited by: NickSeiler at: 4/7/06 3:22 pm
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