Name: Erhard Murtagh Samael
Weight: 127 lbs.
Experimental type: Mage
Powers/Abilities/Skills: High-grade Telekinesis, Well developed intelligence, though not technically super-human.
Pets/Companions: His own thoughts
Description: Slender and frail, Erhard could never be a soldier, athlete, or anything of the sort. He stands tall, despite his hieght, never removing his short brown coat and gold-rimmed aviator sunglasses. Under it, Jeans and a white dress-shirt mark his everyday attire. His face is lean, solid, and sallow, almost to the point of looking sickly. He keeps it trimmed down to a clean-crisp beard, just touching the sharp edge of his jawline. To make up for his height, he walks with long strides, easily outpacing his taller companions, and using less energy in the process, and he tends to give more expression through his body than his words, every sentence being punctuated by sweeping arm motions, broad shoulders, and some form of shift in stance. Despite all of this, his face is very rarely expressive, and generally doesn't show more than a slight smile or frown, though his eyebrows are frequently used to add effect.
Personality: Erhard is very rarely in a good mood, but also tends not to have negative reactions. He is the epitome of the nuetral party, and never takes action without thought of consequences. Unfortunately for those in the same room, being teh highly intelligent man that he is, this thought process rarely takes more than a full second, or else is started well before any action is required. Despite his nuetrality, when he does reach an extreme, it is VERY extreme. In a good mood, he will shower his surroundings with generosity, but when his mood swings toward the negative, few things are left standing.
Less the experiment and more the scientist, Erhard had been a member of Division 17 from the onset of its workings. He took great pride in his work, developing new ways to enhance the human body, psyche, and occasionally experiment with the super-natural, though nothing ever came of it. Before long, however, his department was seen as an 'unnecessary expense' and he was cut from the program, exiled into the wasteland that was left of the American continent. Here, he wandered.
He had taken with him what was left of his belongings from the office and barracks, mostly thanks to a friendly guard who he often talked to while at work. Among these possessions was his tattered copy of The Golden Bough (a tome large enough to break small stones if dropped), a spare pair of glasses for emergencies, and his favorite brown coat. In the pocket of his coat, he had hidden away his contingency plan, and his salvation. In it was a small plexiglass vial of innocuous gray liquid. Carefully breaking the glass seal so as not to spill the precious substance, he dragged a finger across the ragged edge, slicing it to the bone.
Blood dropped into the mysterious goo, and it began to react. Sticking his nearly severed finger farther into the container, he stared skyward and felt motion under his skin, as the substance sprung to life and slithered into his veins with a mind of it's own. Now infused with his own brand of powerful nano-technology, he has the power to manipulate the things around him on an atomic level, to the point where he can burst flames in empty air, drain heat from an object to freeze it in place, and lift extreme amounts of weight with little effort. This is only the beginning of his laundry-list of power, but you'll be lucky never to see anything else.
How can one man be so simple... Erhard thought this over and over, pacing the floor of his nearly empty office. Did I not tell him what the consequences would be? Did I not give him ample warning? Or did he just ignore my effort, passing it off as unwanted charity?
The man in question sat silent outside the office, head buried in his hands. Before long, his fate was decided, and he was ushered in by a somber receptionist. "Mister Tildy... Do you know why you're here? Wait, nevermind. I don't care." The scientist continued to pace, keeping his eyes trained on the victim. "You were given explicit orders, and rather than carry them out, you chose to spend your day LOUNGING, in a BROTHEL. DO YOU HAVE ANY EXCUSES?" The man began to speak, but once more he was cut off. "YOU EXCUSE IS INVALID. You will be spending the remainder of the week in the bathing area, cleaning the grime from between the tiles. Once the tiles are clean, you will re-groute them, ALL OF THEM, and clean them again. Now get out of my office, and keep this in mind the next time I tell you to GUARD, THE DAMN, DOOR."
Before he could stand to leave, the scientistic was talking again. "Because of your failure, three experiments came loose and had to be put down for fear of blood-lust. We lost two guards in the effort. Their salaries will be coming out of your pay." With a shuffle of feet, the receptionist was back, taking the poor man by the arm and leading him away to his fate. "Cathy, next time I hire an assistant, please remind me to NEVER DO IT AGAIN."