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CARTER WYNN
414 GRANT ST.
CITY-COUNTY BUILDING
CITY-COUNTY BUILDING
"Firstly, I'd like to thank the members of the press for coming here, along with the general public for this address."
Stick to what you'd practiced.
"It has been a... difficult time in recovery. But, firstly-- I want to restate my solidarity with the O'Shea family. My thoughts, my prayers, my actions are dedicated to those whose lives were taken by the attack on October 12th."
Carter Wynn had been in recovery in the weeks that followed, partly due to the concussion he'd allegedly sustained along with the gunshot wound to his gut; this was his first public appearance since the incident beyond his media team's Twitter updates and off-the-record interviews with trusted journalists. It was important that the public heard the truth, though, and understood that he was alright-- and that this attack had only made him more determined to set the future of Pittsburgh on the correct course.
"I've already given my statement to the Pittsburgh Police Department, who I will additionally commend for their bravery in dealing with the threat at the David L. Lawrence Convention Center," Carter continued, glancing down to his prepared notes and clearing his throat. "In particular, Jared Carlisle, Richard Martinez, Matthew Jones, and Assistant DA Ava Hunt all deserve recognition for their bravery and service to the general public, however mundane they may appear in the face of paranormal aggressors." He straightened his back, at that, and nodded, looking off to the distance in thought for a moment before nodding again. "Additionally, I'd like to commend the services of Special Agent Basilica and the Metahuman Response Taskforce as a whole; I would not be alive right now if not for the selfless heroism of these individuals."
His right hand gripped the side of the podium as his other calmly adjusted his tie, gesturing out to the audience; another flick of his gaze downwards, and he was locked back in.
"You all may understand that I did not agree with Henry O'Shea's policies. We were from opposing ends of the aisle; we didn't see eye to eye on plenty of issues. But what we value is the sanctity of human life above all else-- the need to protect our loved ones, to guarantee a future for our children, and to provide a guiding light for the younger generation so that they may carry the torch in our stead. As such, I've coordinated with Henry's family to open a scholarship fund-- the O'Shea Metahuman Student Scholarship Award, to be awarded annually to one-hundred students; fifty of which will be confirmed to have metahuman abilities by an independent board of experts, and fifty of which will be going into an industry and degree related to science, technology, engineering, or math with metahumans as a focus of study. Understanding and educating the new generation upon this diverse, emergent issue is paramount, and I believe fostering an interest will lead to greater ease in navigating these uncertain times." A small look away from the mic, to clear his throat, and he looked back to the audience.
"It is the nature of humanity to emerge stronger from hardship. There are times like these, however, where we must ask why. Why did this happen? Why were four gunmen allowed to walk into a convention center with the intent to assassinate political figures?" A pause. "Why was it O'Shea, that died, and not me? I-- I asked myself that. Every day, in the hospital, I asked myself why. An act of God? Poor preparation on the side of the gunmen that wished to kill me for voicing my beliefs? No-- it was the bravery of those involved. Metahumans and brave bystanders that were anchors in the midst of chaos-- that saved my life." Another pause. "Before the attack began, I spoke of a need for moderation upon powers. Now, more than ever, we need to take a stand. What was perpetuated at the convention center was an act of terror, because these men were terrorists. Shooters who wished to send a message."
Another pause. He looked to his left, where his PR agent was. The next part was off-script; he'd probably catch shit for it.
"Well, here's mine-- I'm still standing, and I'm not going anywhere." He gripped the side of the podium, white-knuckled. His gaze returned to the audience. "Additionally, I have a call to action for the Mayor of Pittsburgh, our State Senate, and our entire government-- we need legislative action upon the cataloguing of metahuman abilities, and we need it now. Our streets are not safe; our places of gathering, for civil discussion and debate, are not safe. And even now, those in power hide behind claims of oppression and discrimination. Well, to that, I say that the unpowered man is persecuted by these terrorist supremacists. But to say all metahumans are criminals is reductionist, divisive, and idiotic. My contemporaries are unfortunately short-sighted in that regard." A pause; a sigh, this time.
"No. To deal with a supervillain, we need superheroes. Bad metahumans are stopped by good metahumans. The sooner we are able to police and institute these good metahumans with the capacity to correctly act and the jurisdiction to do what needs to be done-- like Special Agent Basilica-- the sooner we are able to restore law and order to Pittsburgh. As such, I will be directly advocating for the petition and institution of a proposition upon the 2024 ballot to allocate more effective funding to our police force to properly deal with metahuman threats, as well as advanced monitoring upon said metahuman threats to this city's security."
A smile, at that. "Even if it means taking a bullet for you, I am here to keep you all safe."
Age: How long has it been, really? The charge was December 20th, 1998. That much he knows. He'd just turned 29, then; the math is simple from there.
Gender: A man.
Word: Warrior. Of course. He's been fighting his whole life-- what else would he think of?
Talent: Always been good at hurting things.
Virtue: Nothing virtuous about a man like him.
Sin: Unbaptized. The rest follows from birth.
Story: On death row for 20 years. Appeals and delays had kept his head out of the wicker basket; in the decades he had been afforded on technicality, he'd done little to improve himself. It's all lies, what they write on their little letters and pleas to the courts. The guilt. The remorse. All of it.
But he plays his part, and he plays it well. Because oblivion-- what he'd sent her to-- is the second-greatest terror of all.
The first would be her waiting for him on the other side to drag him to hell.
Last edited:
FILE COPY - DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
METAHUMAN RESPONSE TASKFORCE
SUSPECT DOSSIER - FILE NΒΊ V-55-I
SUSPECT DOSSIER - FILE NΒΊ V-55-I
SECTION NΒΊ1: BASIC CHARACTERISTICS
NAME
D.O.B.
CITIZENSHIP(S)
RACE
ETHNICITY
LANGUAGE(S)
RACE
ETHNICITY
LANGUAGE(S)
CHARGES
REGION OF OPERATIONS
ALIAS
FILE NΒΊ
REGION OF OPERATIONS
ALIAS
FILE NΒΊ
HEIGHT
WEIGHT
BLOOD TYPE
WEIGHT
BLOOD TYPE
HAIR COLOR | TYPE
EYE COLOR
VISION
LATERALITY
EYE COLOR
VISION
LATERALITY
KHASMAN ISMAILOV
1980
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, RUSSIA
CAUCASIAN
CHECHEN
ENGLISH, CHECHEN, RUSSIAN
CAUCASIAN
CHECHEN
ENGLISH, CHECHEN, RUSSIAN
MULTIPLE | SEE APPENDIX A
NY | MA | PA
"FRACTURE"
V-55-I
NY | MA | PA
"FRACTURE"
V-55-I
5'10
91.6 KILOGRAMS
O+
91.6 KILOGRAMS
O+
AUBURN | 2A
BLUE
20/20
RIGHT
BLUE
20/20
RIGHT
Figure 1. Ismailov in his active metahuman form; photographic image provided by Associated Press.
SECTION NΒΊ2: METAHUMAN ABILITY ASSESSMENT
I. PRIMARY FACTORS.
Figure 2. Photo of Ismailov in 2024. Taken at Highland Park, Pittsburgh.
A. ADAMANTINE INTEGUMENT CONVERSION
Ismailov possesses the ability to transmute the epidermal and dermal layers of the integumentary system from organic cells to carbonado diamond (or "black diamond"), seemingly at will. This comes with no detriment to bodily function or his nervous system; while there is speculation amongst MRT metabiological analysts as to the specifics of this conversion, it seems that the diamond layer is not, in fact, a "shell" that forms upon the outer epidermis, but a literal replacement of the epidermal and dermal layers down to subcutaneous tissue. This would, hypothetically, result in a 2 millimeter-thick layer of pure diamond that surrounds the body of Ismailov once the ability is activated. Given the distribution of dermal layer thickness at certain regions along the human body (and slight variations in epidermal thickness, though this is most likely negligible), it is assumed that there are variations both above and below the 2mm metric.
The adamantine integument layer appears to be a largely defensive mutation, rather than anything directly for offensive purposes; given the material properties of carbonado diamond, Ismailov has demonstrated an immunity to most abrasive forms of damage; as such, typical cutting or abrasive equipment like grinders, knives, or other adjacent weaponry has little observed effect on the surface of the converted flesh. Additionally, Ismailov has a noted resistance to blunt-force impacts and breakage, given carbonado diamond's polycrystalline structure and, thus, increased toughness over conventional raw diamond.
The layer of carbonado diamond affords Ismailov a high measure of electrical and thermal resistance, and a marked resistance to high-pressure environments (see APPENDIX B: "BOSTON HARBOR INCIDENT"). However, Ismailov's integumentary system still displays the brittle properties of diamond, even with the higher toughness of the carbonado variant; blunt-force trauma has been observed to crack, fracture, and outright shatter layers of diamond from his body, which is theorized to lead to a direct loss of mass in organic tissue when the conversion is reverted. In this way, he is highly resistant against most forms of energy and cutting or scratching weaponry, but is far more susceptible to attacks with large amounts of force. The toughness of the carbonado diamond layer grants him a measure of resistance against small-arms fire, but the millimeter-thick layers that may shatter from his body could inevitably cause a failure of his defenses-- which, theoretically, would lead to subcutaneous tissue and further layers of the body being exposed.
Informants within Chechen mob circles (specifically within those based in New York) have also given further insight as to Ismailov's healing process. According to eyewitness reports, the integumentary layer displays a self-healing lattice property while in diamond form, suggesting some sort of "healing factor" that is slightly faster than a baseline organic human's; however, Ismailov must, allegedly, leave the tissue converted until fully healed, as reverting the tissue would leave an open wound with a depth of whatever mass had been lost while in an adamantine state. Informants have reported wound closure and a cessation of adamantine self-healing after a total of one (1) week for most wounds, with deeper wounds requiring a longer amount of time. Organic tissue does not appear to be affected by this healing process.
The shattering of adamantine layers appears to have extremely potent impact-absorption and force-dispersion properties, similar to ceramic plating seen in composite body armor; however, given the scarcity of the converted tissue directly relating to the mass and surface area of the integumentary system, the defensive properties of Ismailov's abilities insofar as impact mitigation are not infallible.
B. ADAMANTINE INTEGUMENT MANIPULATION
Once converted into an adamantine state, Ismailov also possesses the ability to manipulate this integumentary layer to a limited extent. While he is not able to drastically alter the profile of his body and "shapechange" in the conventional sense (see REPORT A4-C: "POWER DEFINITIONS"), eyewitness reports have detailed accounts of Ismailov's hands morphing into large, jagged points with fingers entirely melded together and wrists reinforced (see APPENDIX C: "LITTLE GROZNY FLOWERSHOP INCIDENT"). These are considered the primary weapons of choice by Ismailov and are considered to have extremely dangerous cutting and puncturing abilities, though his ability to cut through more durable materials like asphalt, concrete, and metals are severely limited by the amount of exertion required. Ismailov possesses little enhanced strength, if at all, and no oscillation methods to increase cutting and abrasive power.
Additionally, Ismailov appears to be able to "divert" mass and thickness to certain regions of the body at the expense of thinning layers elsewhere. This was observed primarily by NYPD officers in a 12/04/23 shootout (see APPENDIX C) wherein Ismailov took over 10 rounds of 9mm small-arms ammunition; shots were localized upon the anterior trunk. However, a single baton strike to the posterior trunk approximately two minutes after the observed incident-- specifically, the lumbar spine and lower back-- completely shattered the diamond layer present and exposed subcutaneous tissue. Ismailov appeared to be grievously wounded by this injury, but not incapacitated, and has appeared to recover-- most likely due to the healing factor outlined in Section 2A.
Ismailov possesses the ability to transmute the epidermal and dermal layers of the integumentary system from organic cells to carbonado diamond (or "black diamond"), seemingly at will. This comes with no detriment to bodily function or his nervous system; while there is speculation amongst MRT metabiological analysts as to the specifics of this conversion, it seems that the diamond layer is not, in fact, a "shell" that forms upon the outer epidermis, but a literal replacement of the epidermal and dermal layers down to subcutaneous tissue. This would, hypothetically, result in a 2 millimeter-thick layer of pure diamond that surrounds the body of Ismailov once the ability is activated. Given the distribution of dermal layer thickness at certain regions along the human body (and slight variations in epidermal thickness, though this is most likely negligible), it is assumed that there are variations both above and below the 2mm metric.
The adamantine integument layer appears to be a largely defensive mutation, rather than anything directly for offensive purposes; given the material properties of carbonado diamond, Ismailov has demonstrated an immunity to most abrasive forms of damage; as such, typical cutting or abrasive equipment like grinders, knives, or other adjacent weaponry has little observed effect on the surface of the converted flesh. Additionally, Ismailov has a noted resistance to blunt-force impacts and breakage, given carbonado diamond's polycrystalline structure and, thus, increased toughness over conventional raw diamond.
The layer of carbonado diamond affords Ismailov a high measure of electrical and thermal resistance, and a marked resistance to high-pressure environments (see APPENDIX B: "BOSTON HARBOR INCIDENT"). However, Ismailov's integumentary system still displays the brittle properties of diamond, even with the higher toughness of the carbonado variant; blunt-force trauma has been observed to crack, fracture, and outright shatter layers of diamond from his body, which is theorized to lead to a direct loss of mass in organic tissue when the conversion is reverted. In this way, he is highly resistant against most forms of energy and cutting or scratching weaponry, but is far more susceptible to attacks with large amounts of force. The toughness of the carbonado diamond layer grants him a measure of resistance against small-arms fire, but the millimeter-thick layers that may shatter from his body could inevitably cause a failure of his defenses-- which, theoretically, would lead to subcutaneous tissue and further layers of the body being exposed.
Informants within Chechen mob circles (specifically within those based in New York) have also given further insight as to Ismailov's healing process. According to eyewitness reports, the integumentary layer displays a self-healing lattice property while in diamond form, suggesting some sort of "healing factor" that is slightly faster than a baseline organic human's; however, Ismailov must, allegedly, leave the tissue converted until fully healed, as reverting the tissue would leave an open wound with a depth of whatever mass had been lost while in an adamantine state. Informants have reported wound closure and a cessation of adamantine self-healing after a total of one (1) week for most wounds, with deeper wounds requiring a longer amount of time. Organic tissue does not appear to be affected by this healing process.
The shattering of adamantine layers appears to have extremely potent impact-absorption and force-dispersion properties, similar to ceramic plating seen in composite body armor; however, given the scarcity of the converted tissue directly relating to the mass and surface area of the integumentary system, the defensive properties of Ismailov's abilities insofar as impact mitigation are not infallible.
B. ADAMANTINE INTEGUMENT MANIPULATION
Once converted into an adamantine state, Ismailov also possesses the ability to manipulate this integumentary layer to a limited extent. While he is not able to drastically alter the profile of his body and "shapechange" in the conventional sense (see REPORT A4-C: "POWER DEFINITIONS"), eyewitness reports have detailed accounts of Ismailov's hands morphing into large, jagged points with fingers entirely melded together and wrists reinforced (see APPENDIX C: "LITTLE GROZNY FLOWERSHOP INCIDENT"). These are considered the primary weapons of choice by Ismailov and are considered to have extremely dangerous cutting and puncturing abilities, though his ability to cut through more durable materials like asphalt, concrete, and metals are severely limited by the amount of exertion required. Ismailov possesses little enhanced strength, if at all, and no oscillation methods to increase cutting and abrasive power.
Additionally, Ismailov appears to be able to "divert" mass and thickness to certain regions of the body at the expense of thinning layers elsewhere. This was observed primarily by NYPD officers in a 12/04/23 shootout (see APPENDIX C) wherein Ismailov took over 10 rounds of 9mm small-arms ammunition; shots were localized upon the anterior trunk. However, a single baton strike to the posterior trunk approximately two minutes after the observed incident-- specifically, the lumbar spine and lower back-- completely shattered the diamond layer present and exposed subcutaneous tissue. Ismailov appeared to be grievously wounded by this injury, but not incapacitated, and has appeared to recover-- most likely due to the healing factor outlined in Section 2A.
SECTION NΒΊ3: OBSERVED EQUIPMENT
I. PRIMARY OBSERVED EQUIPMENT.
A. KNOWN PARAPHERNALIA AND ARMS
Ismailov does not appear to carry much in the way of equipment or costume, having worn no particularly identifiable outfit during recorded appearances. Police incident reports have noted the use of a Mossberg 590S Shockwave in certain instances, but much of his criminal activities and intimidation are accomplished with the use of body alone.
Ismailov does not appear to carry much in the way of equipment or costume, having worn no particularly identifiable outfit during recorded appearances. Police incident reports have noted the use of a Mossberg 590S Shockwave in certain instances, but much of his criminal activities and intimidation are accomplished with the use of body alone.
END DOCUMENT
SUSPECT DOSSIER - FILE NΒΊ V-55-I
FILE COPY - DO NOT DISTRIBUTE - MRT DOSSIER ENCLOSED
Last edited:
FILE COPY - DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE
METAHUMAN RESPONSE TASKFORCE
SUSPECT DOSSIER - FILE NΒΊ A-203-X
SUSPECT DOSSIER - FILE NΒΊ A-203-X
SECTION NΒΊ1: BASIC CHARACTERISTICS
NAME
D.O.B.
CITIZENSHIP(S)
RACE
ETHNICITY
LANGUAGE(S)
RACE
ETHNICITY
LANGUAGE(S)
CHARGES
REGION OF OPERATIONS
ALIAS
FILE NΒΊ
REGION OF OPERATIONS
ALIAS
FILE NΒΊ
HEIGHT
WEIGHT
BLOOD TYPE
WEIGHT
BLOOD TYPE
HAIR COLOR | TYPE
EYE COLOR
VISION
LATERALITY
EYE COLOR
VISION
LATERALITY
KHASMAN ISMAILOV
1980
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, RUSSIA
CAUCASIAN
CHECHEN
ENGLISH, CHECHEN, RUSSIAN
CAUCASIAN
CHECHEN
ENGLISH, CHECHEN, RUSSIAN
MULTIPLE | SEE APPENDIX A
NY | MA | PA
"FRACTURE"
V-55-I
NY | MA | PA
"FRACTURE"
V-55-I
5'10
91.6 KILOGRAMS
O+
91.6 KILOGRAMS
O+
AUBURN | 2A
BLUE
20/20
RIGHT
BLUE
20/20
RIGHT
Figure 1. Ismailov in his active metahuman form; photographic image provided by Associated Press.
SECTION NΒΊ2: METAHUMAN ABILITY ASSESSMENT
I. PRIMARY FACTORS.
Figure 2. Photo of Ismailov in 2024. Taken at Highland Park, Pittsburgh.
A. ADAMANTINE INTEGUMENT CONVERSION
Ismailov possesses the ability to transmute the epidermal and dermal layers of the integumentary system from organic cells to carbonado diamond (or "black diamond"), seemingly at will. This comes with no detriment to bodily function or his nervous system; while there is speculation amongst MRT metabiological analysts as to the specifics of this conversion, it seems that the diamond layer is not, in fact, a "shell" that forms upon the outer epidermis, but a literal replacement of the epidermal and dermal layers down to subcutaneous tissue. This would, hypothetically, result in a 2 millimeter-thick layer of pure diamond that surrounds the body of Ismailov once the ability is activated. Given the distribution of dermal layer thickness at certain regions along the human body (and slight variations in epidermal thickness, though this is most likely negligible), it is assumed that there are variations both above and below the 2mm metric.
The adamantine integument layer appears to be a largely defensive mutation, rather than anything directly for offensive purposes; given the material properties of carbonado diamond, Ismailov has demonstrated an immunity to most abrasive forms of damage; as such, typical cutting or abrasive equipment like grinders, knives, or other adjacent weaponry has little observed effect on the surface of the converted flesh. Additionally, Ismailov has a noted resistance to blunt-force impacts and breakage, given carbonado diamond's polycrystalline structure and, thus, increased toughness over conventional raw diamond.
The layer of carbonado diamond affords Ismailov a high measure of electrical and thermal resistance, and a marked resistance to high-pressure environments (see APPENDIX B: "BOSTON HARBOR INCIDENT"). However, Ismailov's integumentary system still displays the brittle properties of diamond, even with the higher toughness of the carbonado variant; blunt-force trauma has been observed to crack, fracture, and outright shatter layers of diamond from his body, which is theorized to lead to a direct loss of mass in organic tissue when the conversion is reverted. In this way, he is highly resistant against most forms of energy and cutting or scratching weaponry, but is far more susceptible to attacks with large amounts of force. The toughness of the carbonado diamond layer grants him a measure of resistance against small-arms fire, but the millimeter-thick layers that may shatter from his body could inevitably cause a failure of his defenses-- which, theoretically, would lead to subcutaneous tissue and further layers of the body being exposed.
Informants within Chechen mob circles (specifically within those based in New York) have also given further insight as to Ismailov's healing process. According to eyewitness reports, the integumentary layer displays a self-healing lattice property while in diamond form, suggesting some sort of "healing factor" that is slightly faster than a baseline organic human's; however, Ismailov must, allegedly, leave the tissue converted until fully healed, as reverting the tissue would leave an open wound with a depth of whatever mass had been lost while in an adamantine state. Informants have reported wound closure and a cessation of adamantine self-healing after a total of one (1) week for most wounds, with deeper wounds requiring a longer amount of time. Organic tissue does not appear to be affected by this healing process.
The shattering of adamantine layers appears to have extremely potent impact-absorption and force-dispersion properties, similar to ceramic plating seen in composite body armor; however, given the scarcity of the converted tissue directly relating to the mass and surface area of the integumentary system, the defensive properties of Ismailov's abilities insofar as impact mitigation are not infallible.
B. ADAMANTINE INTEGUMENT MANIPULATION
Once converted into an adamantine state, Ismailov also possesses the ability to manipulate this integumentary layer to a limited extent. While he is not able to drastically alter the profile of his body and "shapechange" in the conventional sense (see REPORT A4-C: "POWER DEFINITIONS"), eyewitness reports have detailed accounts of Ismailov's hands morphing into large, jagged points with fingers entirely melded together and wrists reinforced (see APPENDIX C: "LITTLE GROZNY FLOWERSHOP INCIDENT"). These are considered the primary weapons of choice by Ismailov and are considered to have extremely dangerous cutting and puncturing abilities, though his ability to cut through more durable materials like asphalt, concrete, and metals are severely limited by the amount of exertion required. Ismailov possesses little enhanced strength, if at all, and no oscillation methods to increase cutting and abrasive power.
Additionally, Ismailov appears to be able to "divert" mass and thickness to certain regions of the body at the expense of thinning layers elsewhere. This was observed primarily by NYPD officers in a 12/04/23 shootout (see APPENDIX C) wherein Ismailov took over 10 rounds of 9mm small-arms ammunition; shots were localized upon the anterior trunk. However, a single baton strike to the posterior trunk approximately two minutes after the observed incident-- specifically, the lumbar spine and lower back-- completely shattered the diamond layer present and exposed subcutaneous tissue. Ismailov appeared to be grievously wounded by this injury, but not incapacitated, and has appeared to recover-- most likely due to the healing factor outlined in Section 2A.
Ismailov possesses the ability to transmute the epidermal and dermal layers of the integumentary system from organic cells to carbonado diamond (or "black diamond"), seemingly at will. This comes with no detriment to bodily function or his nervous system; while there is speculation amongst MRT metabiological analysts as to the specifics of this conversion, it seems that the diamond layer is not, in fact, a "shell" that forms upon the outer epidermis, but a literal replacement of the epidermal and dermal layers down to subcutaneous tissue. This would, hypothetically, result in a 2 millimeter-thick layer of pure diamond that surrounds the body of Ismailov once the ability is activated. Given the distribution of dermal layer thickness at certain regions along the human body (and slight variations in epidermal thickness, though this is most likely negligible), it is assumed that there are variations both above and below the 2mm metric.
The adamantine integument layer appears to be a largely defensive mutation, rather than anything directly for offensive purposes; given the material properties of carbonado diamond, Ismailov has demonstrated an immunity to most abrasive forms of damage; as such, typical cutting or abrasive equipment like grinders, knives, or other adjacent weaponry has little observed effect on the surface of the converted flesh. Additionally, Ismailov has a noted resistance to blunt-force impacts and breakage, given carbonado diamond's polycrystalline structure and, thus, increased toughness over conventional raw diamond.
The layer of carbonado diamond affords Ismailov a high measure of electrical and thermal resistance, and a marked resistance to high-pressure environments (see APPENDIX B: "BOSTON HARBOR INCIDENT"). However, Ismailov's integumentary system still displays the brittle properties of diamond, even with the higher toughness of the carbonado variant; blunt-force trauma has been observed to crack, fracture, and outright shatter layers of diamond from his body, which is theorized to lead to a direct loss of mass in organic tissue when the conversion is reverted. In this way, he is highly resistant against most forms of energy and cutting or scratching weaponry, but is far more susceptible to attacks with large amounts of force. The toughness of the carbonado diamond layer grants him a measure of resistance against small-arms fire, but the millimeter-thick layers that may shatter from his body could inevitably cause a failure of his defenses-- which, theoretically, would lead to subcutaneous tissue and further layers of the body being exposed.
Informants within Chechen mob circles (specifically within those based in New York) have also given further insight as to Ismailov's healing process. According to eyewitness reports, the integumentary layer displays a self-healing lattice property while in diamond form, suggesting some sort of "healing factor" that is slightly faster than a baseline organic human's; however, Ismailov must, allegedly, leave the tissue converted until fully healed, as reverting the tissue would leave an open wound with a depth of whatever mass had been lost while in an adamantine state. Informants have reported wound closure and a cessation of adamantine self-healing after a total of one (1) week for most wounds, with deeper wounds requiring a longer amount of time. Organic tissue does not appear to be affected by this healing process.
The shattering of adamantine layers appears to have extremely potent impact-absorption and force-dispersion properties, similar to ceramic plating seen in composite body armor; however, given the scarcity of the converted tissue directly relating to the mass and surface area of the integumentary system, the defensive properties of Ismailov's abilities insofar as impact mitigation are not infallible.
B. ADAMANTINE INTEGUMENT MANIPULATION
Once converted into an adamantine state, Ismailov also possesses the ability to manipulate this integumentary layer to a limited extent. While he is not able to drastically alter the profile of his body and "shapechange" in the conventional sense (see REPORT A4-C: "POWER DEFINITIONS"), eyewitness reports have detailed accounts of Ismailov's hands morphing into large, jagged points with fingers entirely melded together and wrists reinforced (see APPENDIX C: "LITTLE GROZNY FLOWERSHOP INCIDENT"). These are considered the primary weapons of choice by Ismailov and are considered to have extremely dangerous cutting and puncturing abilities, though his ability to cut through more durable materials like asphalt, concrete, and metals are severely limited by the amount of exertion required. Ismailov possesses little enhanced strength, if at all, and no oscillation methods to increase cutting and abrasive power.
Additionally, Ismailov appears to be able to "divert" mass and thickness to certain regions of the body at the expense of thinning layers elsewhere. This was observed primarily by NYPD officers in a 12/04/23 shootout (see APPENDIX C) wherein Ismailov took over 10 rounds of 9mm small-arms ammunition; shots were localized upon the anterior trunk. However, a single baton strike to the posterior trunk approximately two minutes after the observed incident-- specifically, the lumbar spine and lower back-- completely shattered the diamond layer present and exposed subcutaneous tissue. Ismailov appeared to be grievously wounded by this injury, but not incapacitated, and has appeared to recover-- most likely due to the healing factor outlined in Section 2A.
SECTION NΒΊ3: OBSERVED EQUIPMENT
I. PRIMARY OBSERVED EQUIPMENT.
A. KNOWN PARAPHERNALIA AND ARMS
Ismailov does not appear to carry much in the way of equipment or costume, having worn no particularly identifiable outfit during recorded appearances. Police incident reports have noted the use of a Mossberg 590S Shockwave in certain instances, but much of his criminal activities and intimidation are accomplished with the use of body alone.
Ismailov does not appear to carry much in the way of equipment or costume, having worn no particularly identifiable outfit during recorded appearances. Police incident reports have noted the use of a Mossberg 590S Shockwave in certain instances, but much of his criminal activities and intimidation are accomplished with the use of body alone.
END DOCUMENT
SUSPECT DOSSIER - FILE NΒΊ V-55-I
FILE COPY - DO NOT DISTRIBUTE - MRT DOSSIER ENCLOSED
Please input User PIN: β β β β
PIN Accepted . . initializing Startup
Accessed Disk 0E
E:\ATIS>dir
Directory of E:\ATIS
README TXT
PACKAGES
CACHE
DOCS
MASTERLIST
PROGRAMS
BACKEND
BIOSINFO
> CANDIDATE LIST
DIAGNOSTICS
ARRAY FXN
SYSTEMS LIST
Accessing E:\ATIS\CANDIDATELIST
Please specify inquiry:
> STANISLAW_KOWALCZYK.SRF
> ACCESS GRANTED.
PIN Accepted . . initializing Startup
Accessed Disk 0E
E:\ATIS>dir
Directory of E:\ATIS
README TXT
PACKAGES
CACHE
DOCS
MASTERLIST
PROGRAMS
BACKEND
BIOSINFO
> CANDIDATE LIST
DIAGNOSTICS
ARRAY FXN
SYSTEMS LIST
Accessing E:\ATIS\CANDIDATELIST
Please specify inquiry:
> STANISLAW_KOWALCZYK.SRF
> ACCESS GRANTED.
Last edited:
"GIANCARLO!"
Another three pounding knocks on the door. Arlecchino heard some shuffling-- Giancarlo's voice, low-- and pressed the side of his head against the door, eyes narrowing as he tried to eavesdrop upon whatever conversation was occurring. Most likely his fat bastard cousin apologizing for nearly suffocating the cheap whore he had begun to take a liking to over his wife.
But such was not the case. Instead, he heard a yelp-- cut off-- and thundering footsteps that pounded towards the door.
"Ma che cazzo--"
In an instant, he backed up-- the door slamming off of its hinges and flying forward, directly towards Arlecchino. The reaction was instantaneous; his legs drew up, knees tucking against his chest as his boots slammed upon the front of the door. The force carried him back, momentum already providing a platform for him to kick off of; with a seamless backflip, Arlecchino landed on his feet across the spacious hall, cape fluttering down to veil one shoulder as his head shot up to look at the doorway-- eyes narrowed--
-- and the pitched whine of an unspooling reel of wire sounded through the air as Arlecchino threw out his open hand, a shimmer in the air shooting toward the man who held his cousin by the arm-- a nigh-invisible wire twining itself around the ankle with an audible THWP-THP-THP of winding coils. His hands gripped the shimmering wire, winding a bit of length down the side of his back for extra leverage before he rose a boot and stomped upon the body of the unspooled fili d'argento, cinching it taut and hopefully yanking the man's foot out from under him to stop the forward charge. If his wires could hold such strength back, that is.
If not, well-- improvisation was the heart of performance. He would manage.
"Ciau, ciau, mi chiamo ARLECCHINO. Sicilianu parri?"
Another three pounding knocks on the door. Arlecchino heard some shuffling-- Giancarlo's voice, low-- and pressed the side of his head against the door, eyes narrowing as he tried to eavesdrop upon whatever conversation was occurring. Most likely his fat bastard cousin apologizing for nearly suffocating the cheap whore he had begun to take a liking to over his wife.
But such was not the case. Instead, he heard a yelp-- cut off-- and thundering footsteps that pounded towards the door.
"Ma che cazzo--"
In an instant, he backed up-- the door slamming off of its hinges and flying forward, directly towards Arlecchino. The reaction was instantaneous; his legs drew up, knees tucking against his chest as his boots slammed upon the front of the door. The force carried him back, momentum already providing a platform for him to kick off of; with a seamless backflip, Arlecchino landed on his feet across the spacious hall, cape fluttering down to veil one shoulder as his head shot up to look at the doorway-- eyes narrowed--
VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVMMMMM--
-- and the pitched whine of an unspooling reel of wire sounded through the air as Arlecchino threw out his open hand, a shimmer in the air shooting toward the man who held his cousin by the arm-- a nigh-invisible wire twining itself around the ankle with an audible THWP-THP-THP of winding coils. His hands gripped the shimmering wire, winding a bit of length down the side of his back for extra leverage before he rose a boot and stomped upon the body of the unspooled fili d'argento, cinching it taut and hopefully yanking the man's foot out from under him to stop the forward charge. If his wires could hold such strength back, that is.
If not, well-- improvisation was the heart of performance. He would manage.
"Ciau, ciau, mi chiamo ARLECCHINO. Sicilianu parri?"
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"Yes."
His response was immediate; instinctual. He bore no hesitation for truth, as there was no shame for truth to an honest man. "Her. And Juniper. And Alys-- and Caleb. Pris. Ciaran. The rest. Even you." The Baron's snout twitched, perhaps discreetly, perhaps not. His gaze did not stray from Lucien's, the challenge of those predatory eyes answered in kind. He knew better than to turn his back upon a lion.
"And Leo." He spoke, eventually, fists tightening. It helped, perhaps, that he could look down upon the vampire in a literal sense. Perhaps that was what helped him work up the nerve to take a step closer, eyes narrowing.
"The Nox might have slaughtered hundreds. That's true. But for better or for worse, I find myself here. On this ship. As quartermaster." He let the news fester, a moment, before continuing-- Lucien was hardly bound to care. Yet. "Responsible for her crew. Once a prisoner, now holding a station above yours." He suppressed the urge to let a sneer come across his face, at that, but held his composure. The Baron's face was ever a rock, unreadable and uncompassionate; for what compassion could he hold, now, across from...
Heart of loam. Hand of stone.
"Things are to change, here." He stated, finally. "I know you were the one who killed Leo; it seems you take pride in that fact. I do not. Your shares are docked for your outburst. One month." He seemed to enjoy a life of luxury, here-- or appeared as such. Whether the gesture would be effective... time would only tell. He wasn't sure of either of them living past this damned conversation. "Further, if I catch you feeding. And if I catch you killing--"
His hand moved, leveling a finger to jab at the vampire's chest.
"-- like that, again. If I witness you slaughter, or hear of it-- so much as a damned rumor-- so help the earth below that holds your form because I will bury you within it." His finger curled into a fist. Falling back to his side, a steady breath reeling slow from the lungs as his chest fell. He spared a glance to the shelves of shattered bottles and spilled crimson-- his mind falling back to the alleyway, with Naveen. The woman, helpless, as blood oozed from the neck. Him, in the clinic-- necklace about his neck, Emer beneath--
"Do not test me." Emryk spat. "If you harm a member of this crew without proper cause again, I will end you."
His response was immediate; instinctual. He bore no hesitation for truth, as there was no shame for truth to an honest man. "Her. And Juniper. And Alys-- and Caleb. Pris. Ciaran. The rest. Even you." The Baron's snout twitched, perhaps discreetly, perhaps not. His gaze did not stray from Lucien's, the challenge of those predatory eyes answered in kind. He knew better than to turn his back upon a lion.
"And Leo." He spoke, eventually, fists tightening. It helped, perhaps, that he could look down upon the vampire in a literal sense. Perhaps that was what helped him work up the nerve to take a step closer, eyes narrowing.
"The Nox might have slaughtered hundreds. That's true. But for better or for worse, I find myself here. On this ship. As quartermaster." He let the news fester, a moment, before continuing-- Lucien was hardly bound to care. Yet. "Responsible for her crew. Once a prisoner, now holding a station above yours." He suppressed the urge to let a sneer come across his face, at that, but held his composure. The Baron's face was ever a rock, unreadable and uncompassionate; for what compassion could he hold, now, across from...
Heart of loam. Hand of stone.
"Things are to change, here." He stated, finally. "I know you were the one who killed Leo; it seems you take pride in that fact. I do not. Your shares are docked for your outburst. One month." He seemed to enjoy a life of luxury, here-- or appeared as such. Whether the gesture would be effective... time would only tell. He wasn't sure of either of them living past this damned conversation. "Further, if I catch you feeding. And if I catch you killing--"
His hand moved, leveling a finger to jab at the vampire's chest.
"-- like that, again. If I witness you slaughter, or hear of it-- so much as a damned rumor-- so help the earth below that holds your form because I will bury you within it." His finger curled into a fist. Falling back to his side, a steady breath reeling slow from the lungs as his chest fell. He spared a glance to the shelves of shattered bottles and spilled crimson-- his mind falling back to the alleyway, with Naveen. The woman, helpless, as blood oozed from the neck. Him, in the clinic-- necklace about his neck, Emer beneath--
"Do not test me." Emryk spat. "If you harm a member of this crew without proper cause again, I will end you."
Emryk's gaze softened at the revelation-- the dagger of Lucien's comment cutting deep. Caleb had been present-- and he'd... sanctioned the killing?
"You..." He flustered, a moment-- trying to bite back his vitriol, but failing nonetheless. Emryk's gaze closed, and he shook his head. No more. No more of this.
"... why. WHY?!" He barked, eyes flaring open; deep-seated rage roiling along the wound that had been drawn. "WHY do you act like this? You could be so much MORE-- your strength, your age, you could learn and teach and HELP-- but you just sit here-- wasting away, PITIFUL." He stepped forward, thundering footfalls carried along the quarters and echoing out into the hall as his hand shot out to grab ahold of the vampire's collar. Tight. Trembling.
"Do you want to know what I think of your Captain, Lucien? I think you were Sinead's pet because you were kindred souls. Little broken things who couldn't fathom the agony of their loss and hid from it. You want to call ME weak? Who had her last moments drowning in a damn LAKE? Who spent her life in a cycle of violence, killing and whoring and stealing and doing NOTHING but causing harm, and for WHAT? To die to her second. What excuse do you have for that, hm?"
His hand shook the vampire once-- or, at the very least, tried to. In his fervor, he was hardly sure if he was holding onto anything, anymore.
"And you. Feeding. Murdering. Sleeping. All you do. All you're known for. You're a so-called scourge, and what do you have to show for it-- broken bottles, spilled blood, and shattered glasses half-filled. That is all you are. Your word is iron, but its shackles are loose. I don't know what Nessa could possibly see in you," Emryk spat, moving to shove the vampire back against the wall of ruined bottles. "But I know there is no greater cowardice than for the powerful to prey upon the weak. Killing. Slaughtering." His snout curled. Leo's death-- sanctioned. How many other bystanders? How many times had history repeated-- how many times had Lucien been allowed bloodlust? How many women in alleyways, how many innocents dead? How many bottles upon the wall had come and gone, consumed and forgotten?
His rage runneth over, heartbeat hammering staccato within the chest. Fear? Certainly. Determination? Undoubtedly.
Hand of stone.
"You're right. I was a coward, for not doing anything." Emryk growled. "NO MORE."
And then he charged forth, before he could regret the act-- dropping into a low tackle to send them both into, and through, the wall of the ship, a bellowing roar filling the air.
"You..." He flustered, a moment-- trying to bite back his vitriol, but failing nonetheless. Emryk's gaze closed, and he shook his head. No more. No more of this.
"... why. WHY?!" He barked, eyes flaring open; deep-seated rage roiling along the wound that had been drawn. "WHY do you act like this? You could be so much MORE-- your strength, your age, you could learn and teach and HELP-- but you just sit here-- wasting away, PITIFUL." He stepped forward, thundering footfalls carried along the quarters and echoing out into the hall as his hand shot out to grab ahold of the vampire's collar. Tight. Trembling.
"Do you want to know what I think of your Captain, Lucien? I think you were Sinead's pet because you were kindred souls. Little broken things who couldn't fathom the agony of their loss and hid from it. You want to call ME weak? Who had her last moments drowning in a damn LAKE? Who spent her life in a cycle of violence, killing and whoring and stealing and doing NOTHING but causing harm, and for WHAT? To die to her second. What excuse do you have for that, hm?"
His hand shook the vampire once-- or, at the very least, tried to. In his fervor, he was hardly sure if he was holding onto anything, anymore.
"And you. Feeding. Murdering. Sleeping. All you do. All you're known for. You're a so-called scourge, and what do you have to show for it-- broken bottles, spilled blood, and shattered glasses half-filled. That is all you are. Your word is iron, but its shackles are loose. I don't know what Nessa could possibly see in you," Emryk spat, moving to shove the vampire back against the wall of ruined bottles. "But I know there is no greater cowardice than for the powerful to prey upon the weak. Killing. Slaughtering." His snout curled. Leo's death-- sanctioned. How many other bystanders? How many times had history repeated-- how many times had Lucien been allowed bloodlust? How many women in alleyways, how many innocents dead? How many bottles upon the wall had come and gone, consumed and forgotten?
His rage runneth over, heartbeat hammering staccato within the chest. Fear? Certainly. Determination? Undoubtedly.
Hand of stone.
"You're right. I was a coward, for not doing anything." Emryk growled. "NO MORE."
And then he charged forth, before he could regret the act-- dropping into a low tackle to send them both into, and through, the wall of the ship, a bellowing roar filling the air.
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Lucien was not wrong. Here Emryk was, besmirching the woman who had, for better or for worse, given him a second chance. What example was he setting, doing this? Indeed, he could hear the screams from the Nox proper. The others could see him now-- Emer, Nessa, Juniper, Ciaran. All folk he'd tried to set a good example for, their perception of his character undoubtedly tarnished in the wake of this fight. Some pillar of virtue he was, clawing tooth and nail to kill.
But he had no shame, now. Just like in the pits. His anger flared, drowning out his doubts in a tide of rage. He hated Lucien Kilta-- hated everything that he stood for. Most above all, he hated him for this. Making him do this. Dragging him down to the level of beasts, into habits he'd spent decades unlearning, back into the horrid oblivion of filth-laden ire. But he had no cares, now, beyond the throat he gripped and the visage he sought to pummel-- to brutalize like Leo's--
"Ghhhrr-- RRRHHH." Emryk growled out, a guttural sound leaving his maw alongside blood-laced spittle as he was forced to give up his grip upon Lucien's throat-- wrist and forearm carved deep by the flurry of clawed strikes. How long until he bled out? How long until his heart could not replace that which had been so thoroughly lost? Hate. So much hate, and it bled from him in droves, eyes open and wild in an expression of animalistic desire. Kill. No greater priority. Nothing but the man before him, small and fallible, pulling his arm back--
-- until the man leapt up and sank his teeth into his shoulder.
The response was immediate; borderline instinctual. The Baron's eyes widened, pupils dilated as he unleashed a guttural bellow of pain-- practically animal in its tone-- and drove his own jaw downwards, teeth aiming to sink deep into the vampire's own collarbone. Unlike Lucien, his bite lacked the capacity for finesse-- like an alligator, the blow was crushing and inelegant. As quickly as they he into flesh, Emryk jerked his head up, aiming to rake his teeth along flesh and muscle to rip his jaw away before both arms wrapped around the vampire, coiling in a bear hug that would've likely crushed the breath out of any lesser man. Against a monster like Lucien, he prayed it would be enough to merely keep him in place.
"RRR-- RRRNNNHFFGH--"
Needed to think. He was close-- body-to-body. Both hands gripped at Lucien's sides, trying to lift him up--
"-- GHHH-- GET-- OFFHH-- !"
-- and then back, as Emryk threw his entire form into a body slam to take them both downwards into the stone dock-- aiming to whip Lucien's upper body hard into the ground, head-first. Following up the blow was an attempt to press himself atop the vampire, straddling the hips in a grappling hold to keep him there. "COME ON! YOU SHOULD'VE LEFT ME FOR DEAD-- YOU MURDERED LEO-- FINISH THE JOB! WHAT'S ONE MORE DEATH ON THIS GODSFORSAKEN SHIP, EY?"
But he had no shame, now. Just like in the pits. His anger flared, drowning out his doubts in a tide of rage. He hated Lucien Kilta-- hated everything that he stood for. Most above all, he hated him for this. Making him do this. Dragging him down to the level of beasts, into habits he'd spent decades unlearning, back into the horrid oblivion of filth-laden ire. But he had no cares, now, beyond the throat he gripped and the visage he sought to pummel-- to brutalize like Leo's--
"Ghhhrr-- RRRHHH." Emryk growled out, a guttural sound leaving his maw alongside blood-laced spittle as he was forced to give up his grip upon Lucien's throat-- wrist and forearm carved deep by the flurry of clawed strikes. How long until he bled out? How long until his heart could not replace that which had been so thoroughly lost? Hate. So much hate, and it bled from him in droves, eyes open and wild in an expression of animalistic desire. Kill. No greater priority. Nothing but the man before him, small and fallible, pulling his arm back--
-- until the man leapt up and sank his teeth into his shoulder.
The response was immediate; borderline instinctual. The Baron's eyes widened, pupils dilated as he unleashed a guttural bellow of pain-- practically animal in its tone-- and drove his own jaw downwards, teeth aiming to sink deep into the vampire's own collarbone. Unlike Lucien, his bite lacked the capacity for finesse-- like an alligator, the blow was crushing and inelegant. As quickly as they he into flesh, Emryk jerked his head up, aiming to rake his teeth along flesh and muscle to rip his jaw away before both arms wrapped around the vampire, coiling in a bear hug that would've likely crushed the breath out of any lesser man. Against a monster like Lucien, he prayed it would be enough to merely keep him in place.
"RRR-- RRRNNNHFFGH--"
Needed to think. He was close-- body-to-body. Both hands gripped at Lucien's sides, trying to lift him up--
"-- GHHH-- GET-- OFFHH-- !"
-- and then back, as Emryk threw his entire form into a body slam to take them both downwards into the stone dock-- aiming to whip Lucien's upper body hard into the ground, head-first. Following up the blow was an attempt to press himself atop the vampire, straddling the hips in a grappling hold to keep him there. "COME ON! YOU SHOULD'VE LEFT ME FOR DEAD-- YOU MURDERED LEO-- FINISH THE JOB! WHAT'S ONE MORE DEATH ON THIS GODSFORSAKEN SHIP, EY?"
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Donning the Sokol suit was easy enough. He was thankful for the streamlined design of the Tyche model; as part of preparation for the assignment at Atys, he had been given equipment to familiarize himself with before the long-haul cryo. The design they had given him had pinched his crotch and was far more blurry in the visor than the sleeker, more form-fitting suit he stepped into now. Perhaps they'd improved on the prototype since he had gone into cryo; a lot had changed in 20 years, after all.
He did not linger too long upon that thought, and instead kept himself focused upon the mission at hand. Indeed, he was additionally thankful that his travels took him through the front atrium once more-- it seemed there was commotion over trouble with an unopened pod at the arrivals bay. Pawel wordlessly approached the frame of the interface, brow furrowing as he scanned the seal for any breaches or gaps in the hermetic seal.
"Please step away for a moment," Pawel stated. "The chances of a massive and rapid decompression event are possible. Slim, but possible." His words were for the unfortunate fellow on the other side of the door as much as they were for everyone else; the absence of any gaps, however, and an affirmative pressure equalization meant that the pod was securely attached and homogenized with the Atys station hull. It was a matter of a failed lock, now.
"A moment."
Pawel began to undo the bolts and screws upon a certain panel of the wall; then, he repeated the process for the other side. Overall, the process took about five minutes-- the panel with the stuck lock was removed and exposed, and the hydraulics were manually released with a hiss as Pawel applied a bit of grease and leverage with a wrench to fully separate the mechanism. A tap of the end of the tool with a hammer, too, provided enough concussive force to jar the metal and open the lock entirely--
"-- fingers!" He warned--
KSSHHHHHH
-- and the door gave a soft hiss as it quickly slammed open. Pawel came face-to-face with another crewmate. A man! Lovely. So he was not the only man upon the station, it seemed.
"Hello. I am Pawel Kowalczyk." The technician stated, simply, stepping back and re-securing the panels to the front facade of the doorway. "I apologize for the wait-- there is a quarantine on Atys that must be released." He looked around to the rest of the arrivals, nodded once, and took off towards 4 and 5.
He did not linger too long upon that thought, and instead kept himself focused upon the mission at hand. Indeed, he was additionally thankful that his travels took him through the front atrium once more-- it seemed there was commotion over trouble with an unopened pod at the arrivals bay. Pawel wordlessly approached the frame of the interface, brow furrowing as he scanned the seal for any breaches or gaps in the hermetic seal.
"Please step away for a moment," Pawel stated. "The chances of a massive and rapid decompression event are possible. Slim, but possible." His words were for the unfortunate fellow on the other side of the door as much as they were for everyone else; the absence of any gaps, however, and an affirmative pressure equalization meant that the pod was securely attached and homogenized with the Atys station hull. It was a matter of a failed lock, now.
"A moment."
Pawel began to undo the bolts and screws upon a certain panel of the wall; then, he repeated the process for the other side. Overall, the process took about five minutes-- the panel with the stuck lock was removed and exposed, and the hydraulics were manually released with a hiss as Pawel applied a bit of grease and leverage with a wrench to fully separate the mechanism. A tap of the end of the tool with a hammer, too, provided enough concussive force to jar the metal and open the lock entirely--
"-- fingers!" He warned--
KSSHHHHHH
-- and the door gave a soft hiss as it quickly slammed open. Pawel came face-to-face with another crewmate. A man! Lovely. So he was not the only man upon the station, it seemed.
"Hello. I am Pawel Kowalczyk." The technician stated, simply, stepping back and re-securing the panels to the front facade of the doorway. "I apologize for the wait-- there is a quarantine on Atys that must be released." He looked around to the rest of the arrivals, nodded once, and took off towards 4 and 5.
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