Thanatos

Thanatos is an operative working for the Dogs of War. (Created by ***Captain Whitehawk***)

## Appearance

Dark, washed out skin, black curly hair bound in a long stream of dreadlocks (which are then ponytailed and tossed back over his shoulders.) A smooth, tapering face, a flat, triangular nose, round chin, full lips. Dark brown eyes, thick eyelashes, ponderous brows. Broad shoulders, thin hips, lean and wiry. Dresses like a member of the generic passerby: t-shirt, skinny jeans, sneakers, an oversized jacket, a few chain necklaces around his throat, a septum piercing, twin lobe studs in his ears. Permanent under-eye circles add to the strained and drained, yet unyielding look. There are several permanent bullet wounds through his chest and sides. Usually they do not bleed, though under duress they may begin to. They are the only wounds on his body that refuse to heal completely.

## Biography

### Pre-RPG

It was browsing through a mythological bestiary that Thanatos discovered the term “ghoul.” Though it was conventionally understood as a spirit or demon that preyed upon children, hoarded gold, drank blood, and ate the dead, what really caught his attention was the idea that such a creature could be, in fact, dead. Or rather, undead.

Rebirth had been boring, frankly dull. Waking up to dry blood and bullets? Almost like he’d taken a nap in the middle of a children’s game. For a moment he’d thought that perhaps he’d drunk something amiss and woken as a zombie, but his mind was his, his body his. He moved still at the implications of his own will.

He scared the mortuary upon waking up, and watching the man almost piss himself sent a shiver of anger through him. Killing him was an accident, really. He didn’t remember if he’d intended to or not, but then he found himself taking the man’s shirt and rifling through a laundry basket for a pair of clean pants and by that point he’d forgotten the whole ordeal.

In a box he found a collection of not quite familiar and yet known objects: a collection of keys (a pair for a car, another set for a house or apartment, probably), a lighter, a switchblade, a wallet. The name on the driver’s license had felt foreign and unrecognizable to him. The face next to it was strange. He could not see it as his own.

It took several months before he began to remember what had happened before. It came back through recognition, the connection of details to the present that slowly but surely reconnected himself to what came before. His mind wasn’t spotty or blank, simply disinterested. Years of information sat in his head like a series of textbooks, perusable at a moment’s notice. He felt it stronger through connections, seeing something around him and understanding how something from the past overlaid it: a red lipstick like one his mother had worn on Sundays to mass, the smell of diesel fuel like the kind his first car had burned, the faces of men passing by like those he had previously dated or made love to.

He shaved his head, watched long strands of tight, dark curls drop to the trash. He changed his clothes, lost his keys and didn’t look for them again. Names sat in his head like monuments, the identities of people he had information on but no understanding of. Three faces stood in his mind, indomitable and leering. One he needed to kill. Supposedly she couldn’t be, but he knew he could get to her eventually. And if he couldn’t, that just left him a challenge, didn’t it? That sounded exciting. The second was a bastard. He would pay that man back eventually, if only to watch him squirm. The look on his face would be satisfying. Eventually. Maybe. It was uncomfortable to think of times before.

But the last, the last he would have to think about. He didn’t know what to make of him. There was a heady cloud of memories surrounding that one, and it seemed as if every street corner could contain a fragment of meaning that would lead back to him. His days were filled with a ghost, and nothing was safe from his presence. It was too easy to remember, a tame walk through a park could drag him back to a late night in a different park, his hands tracing up this man’s sides, his face drawing closer to his, their breath mingling between them. He'd lean in and look up, see dark eyes and feel stubble scraping against his chin and his lips, their lips –

He hated memories.

Whoever had existed in his body before, they weren’t here now. That person didn’t matter. He decided at 2 AM after a long day of remembrance and something near pain that it was going to stop.

Though he no longer had the key for the Baptist's office, he knew where he needed to go. That conversation was an infuriating one. There was supposed to be explanation, reasoning, some kind of speech required from him. No, he didn't want to go back to where he'd come from. No, he didn't want anyone to know about him. Why would he give a fuck about the ones left behind? They weren't his prerogative anymore. No, the Baptist wasn't to tell anyone that he was here. "If you do," he'd said, "if you do I will slit your throat in your own office."

Negotiation was simpler after that. Less questions. He was given a job.

Killing became his favorite form of therapy.

## Personality

As he is a serial killer, to the average reader it would be unsurprising to learn that Thanatos has no conscience, furthermore that he finds killing entertaining. Likewise, the normal structures of society (laws, social orders, morals, manners, other such conventions as those) are equally amusing to toy with. While attentive to himself, the lack of morals leads to less questioning of his own actions. As such, once dedicated to a task he will think little of consequence or alternative. He is not without empathy, he just chooses to ignore it; he’s as likely to kill a child as he is a real enemy. He understands that what he does harms other people, but he doesn’t believe them important enough to stop for. There’s no person he listens to, whatever sense of boundary he has rotted away long ago.

And yet, there is a kind of haze to Thanatos’ mind as it is dominated by unnatural quantities of detachment and apathy. Where most people have interest and homage in life, their world, and their fellow human beings, Thanatos exists in a vacuum where there is no meaning, no excitement, and no affection. Memories lack value and meaning, he builds off the past in a clinical manner. He interacts with the world much like an explorer, toying and fiddling with the things he sees before him, poking them simply for the sake of finding more information. Specific people he avoids, so much so that he's gone to great lengths to make sure his living status remain hidden from the public and others who were previously connected to him. His choice of employment is a way of combining his skills (a desire to fulfill utilitarian purposes) with a desire to explore the past, all while sating an interest in killing at the same time.

## Abilities

* **Killer Instinct.** Thanatos possesses an incredible ability to survive. Injuries or threat of them can be withstood with ease, making him very difficult to kill, let alone harm. There’s an unnatural edge to his aim that allows him to stick landings, catch projectiles, throw weapons, and generally be a nuisance with greater accuracy and precision than the average person. Whether or not he can die is up for debate.

* **Radar.** An ultra sensory ability that allows Thanatos to sense his surroundings farther than the average person. Both people and objects are included, and perception is relative to mass: bigger objects are easier to sense than smaller objects. For this reason, people are generally easier for him to sense than say, books. This ability is muffled by obstacles like furniture or walls, and it declines in accuracy the farther away from himself he is trying to sense. Generally, this ability only works within a ten-foot radius.

## Notable Relationships

Supposedly he has two grandchildren recently inducted into Harwell’s. He remembered to visit his mother a decade or so ago, only to find and consequently remember that she had died many years ago. Curious how that happens. The picnic he had on her grave was pleasant though.

## Strengths

Survival as a superpower? Survival as a *superpower?*

## Weaknesses

Not being nice and not having people who care about you makes it very hard to operate solo. You become completely reliant on your ability to defend yourself.