Jensen, Maxim P.

NAME:
Maxim P. Jensen

AGE:
27

GENDER:
Male

NATIONALITY:
1/2 English, 1/2 American.

LETTER:
Alpha.

PICTURE:

Spoiler:

PERSONAL DETAILS

DESCRIPTION:
Max stands around 6' 1" with an athletic yet not overtly muscular build. His frame is slender, his shoulders not too wide, and his body appears to be kept in good enough and working condition that Max still possesses a viable amount of physical force. Max possesses unkempt and untidy bright blonde hair, and two vibrant hazel eyes, over which usually sit a pair of tinted glasses. Max isn't short or long-sighted, he simply likes the way they look and feel, plus, they can double for sunglasses very easily.

Max tends to wear button-up shirts, and a waistcoat over them, along with some form of loose tie, purely because, for a long period of time, he worked as a bartender, and this was his uniform, and he's grown rather accustomed to it. He's quit his job as of late, or just taken leave, but the uniform tends to follow him around. It's also good for formal occasions: no-one ever questions a man wearing a shirt and tie. The waistcoat is somewhat optional, as is a jacket over the top.

Max will always be seen with a cigarette in his mouth, either lit, or waiting to be. He chain-smokes, and the Children serum fortunately enough has made him resistant to cancerous cells, so he can afford to. It's a good stress reliever, and an integral part of the Maxim Jensen image. Underneath the waistcoat or jacket sits a shoulder holster on either side designed for 'The Ladies', Max's twin M1911 pistols, and he usually carries a cylindrical black bag over his back, basically a thin protective skin for Slugger, his baseball bat.

PERSONALITY:
Max is a very forward person, first and foremost. He doesn't really have many reservations, he's a loud person, and a proud one, at that, too. He's perhaps not the most ideal of leaders, with his mannerisms being particularly chaotic, but his methods work, and they get results. Thanks to being abandoned by both parents and his brother, and, plus, the effects of essentially being able to foresee many ways in which it's possible he could die, Max is a tad damaged - but it's a miracle he's not more so.

Around Gaia comrades, Max is an earnest friend, a devout comrade, and occasionally a kind but stern teacher. With his ability, he's able to predict the most useful applications of others' powers tactically, which makes him an invaluable asset as a mentor. There are moments when he will be kind, and though it might not seem like the man they met such a short time ago, Max is always the last one to get in the car, the last one to exit through the back door, and the last guy to get on the plane. Never leave a man behind - and the only way to ensure he can stick by that ideal is by prioritising others, constantly.

He will always jump to another's defense, but is not without his tactics. If someone is captured in the line of duty and it's clear there's no way of getting them back, Max will leave first and mourn later, and then, shortly afterwards, begin to plot his breaking them back out. He's selfless to a T, though not in the most charming of ways, in all honesty...

...which brings us to the other extreme. Max is efficient, often brutally so, and holds a great deal of animosity towards Typhon, a large amount of it personal. He seeks to bring them down and eradicate them in their entirety, and watch the remainder of his family burn before his eyes. Max is famed for his methods of interrogation and convincing, and when fronted with a new prospect member of the Children, if they initially refuse Gaia's offer, has no qualms about beating them senseless and eventually taking them captive and treating them in the most inhumane of manners until they finally break. His modus operandi is often considered cruel and senseless, and whilst his motives are clear and good, his execution is not always so clean. But, unfortunately, Gaia can't afford to be kindly 24/7, and a man like Max is just the thing they need when push comes to shove.

Typhon soldiers and Children who clearly bear no margin for defection are obstacles that must be cut down, but just as much as he will about one of his own comrades and friends, Max knows when it's the right time to run away, so he can fight again another day. His morals are stalwart and though his means perhaps a little shaky, everything is for the greater good in the end. Gaia wouldn't be standing without him - that's an absolute fact.

At the end of the day, one can't do much but ask 'is Maxim Jensen the right man to lead Gaia?'

In an era like this... he's the only one who can lead Gaia.

HISTORY:
A hiss of air and a spluttering as heavy-set eyes struggle to open beneath viscous fluid is the first thing he remembers. A door shutting in front of him, through vision stained by a translucent blue gel that suspends him within a tank. An oxygen mask over his mouth. The slow glug of liquid seeping out of a container. Two soft thuds as his feet collide with the ground. What can he remember? A name? An age? ...a letter?

The liquid is all but gone; with a blue-stuck elbow, the boy strikes at the cylinder in front of him. The glass cracks after a few more strikes; crimson rivulets drawn along sticky skin. No reservations about his being nude. Red light bathing his body. Alarm bells above within his test tube prison. The door hisses open, with red letters flashing upon a screen in front of him. And gasping for air, the oxygen mask detaches; the humid air of the Mojave desert floods his lungs. Real air. From side to side, he takes a sweeping look. Three dead bodies. Twenty-three more unconscious suspended, flailing gently in tanks like his.

The patter of feet upon the floor; he brushes liquid from the cool metal of his tank, and reads the inscription aloud in languages he wasn't sure he could speak. "...Jensen," Words are strangled, difficult, at first. "Maxim... Jensen," After a while, they come naturally. "Al...pha." Comes the whine, as he scratches the back of his neck, before considering why he feels nothing for the dead men in white coats on the floor, bleeding out in front of him. One grasps at his bare ankle and hisses; the boy looks down, regarding him with a look of true apathy. "You must... let... them out," With that, he collapses, dead; and the boy looks to the walls. He is the first of many. Alpha... Beta, Gamma, Delta... cycling through a list of letters in a language that he doesn't remember learning, the boy lets his hands brush along every other cylinder, females, males, black, white, Asian, European, American... then, finally, he reaches the end.

"MASTER SWITCH. PULL TO RELEASE ALL TUBES." Intended for a time that wasn't now. A bundle of dossiers on a desk by his arms. The distant pounding of black rubber against tiles. Feelings of animosity well up from within as the engraving of one simple word upon the switch's panel evoke a flood of emotions, feelings, thoughts, hazy memories of training... 'Typhon'. His brow wrinkles, his eyes narrow, a growl he doesn't remember stemming from the bottom of his throat. Digits stronger than ever before wrap around the switch... and he yanks it downwards.

Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Sequential hydraulics. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. He bends down and scoops up some of the dossiers. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. He grasps a lab coat from a peg on the wall, everything clearer with every waking moment, every breath he takes. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. He wraps it around his nude form, and watches as twenty-three others fall out, collapsing, panting in a symphony of tired, long-overdue sighs. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. A brother he remembers, or, a grotesque, musclebound imitation. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Only echoes remain now. He looks to a fire exit, before sprinting towards it, and kicking the door open, able to see himself doing it before the action actually commences.

Natural yellow-white light bathes the room, refracting from a desert of red sand and green cacti. He hands a bundle of folders to another who takes his side curiously, handing him a lab coat; a photograph from one of the folders slips out, and matches his face, the caption beneath outlining him with a single letter. LAMBDA. The pounding of boots getting louder now, hurried voices of aging scientists. The doors burst open. The click of rifles. "NO!" The scientists plead. "DON'T SHOOT! YOU MUSTN'T SHOOT!"

He turns to them and raises a fist into the air, with a smile of triumph upon his face, before he dives into the desert and wrestles his freedom from the company's grasp. "Come with me if you want your freedom!" Comes the weakened howl, before he dives into the maze of red sand and green cacti, adrenaline surging through his veins... freedom. The scent of sweat and blood upon the air, of smoke and cactus sap. Of nature. Freedom.

The next thing he knows is a boat journey, hastily-stolen clothes and credentials with false IDs dug from the bundle of folders. Max. Max. Max. It feels strange to think, let alone say. Where are they departing for? An estate. Long-abandoned. 'JENSEN' scrawled in marker upon the top. 'LISBON' upon the bottom. He sets the bundle back down and smiles to himself, looking to the roof of his cabin and thinking of the others in rooms nearby, the handful he convinced. "I'll start a rebellion," He murmurs, half-asleep already, but meaning it with every ounce of his being. "Gaia."

And so, he did. Taking to the estate in Lisbon that his father had so-graciously and unwittingly left for him, from there, Max took the place as his base. Their journey had been long, but, finally, they were there. They spent a good few months restoring the place to its former glory, and often got strange looks from builders and gardeners because of their youth, but Max simply explained some bullshit story and usually got away with it. And from there, you ask, what have Gaia been doing?

Systematically, with their dossiers, they've been listening to the lay of the land, defending against Typhon, and using liberated radio frequencies, trying to pick up on chatter of one of their siblings being nearby, or even in the same continent. They've been hunting them down. Getting them to sway to the 'right' side. And if they don't join? Well, Max isn't exactly going to let Typhon have them...

FACTION:
Gaia.

ABILITY DETAILS

SKILLS/ABILITIES:
- Half-decent marksman.
- Good at close-combat and with bladed weaponry.
- Survivalist.
- Fairly decent driver.
- A good schemer.
- Incredible reaction time.

WEAKNESSES:
- Often lets emotion and pride get in the way.
- Using his power gives him a cracking headache.
- Has a tendency to sleep for immeasurably long amounts of time.
- Not using his power will eventually cause him to fall into a coma.

POWER:
Clairvoyance :: Primary :: Dream Precognition - At Primary-level, Max can see the future foggily in his dreams. It's usually hazy and fragmented at best, and requires that he actually get a full eight or nine hours sleep so the active REM sleep can trigger, but he can see the future pertaining to his current situation. Other than this, it's entirely useless at Primary-level.

Clairvoyance :: Secondary :: Distant Precognition - At Secondary-level, Max can see the future far more clearly whilst awake. It's nowhere near as hazy and fragmented, but is usually a quick glimpse of what's to come, hastily-sewn together, and gives Max one hell of a headache. At Secondary-level, Max can also only see things beyond the next twenty-four hours, so it's not good for plan-based predictions. As well as this, there are a number of outcomes, as one would expect, dependent upon variables, and the future that he sees, to put it simply, is simply the 'default', and can be changed.

Clairvoyance :: Tertiary :: Active Precognition - At Tertiary-level, Max can see the future clearly and vividly, but again blasts through it quickly, and must be paying heed consistently. This active precognitive sense is far more useful and still allows him to see the distant future, but also the close-to-immediate future. However, there are still limits imposed due to his skill levels, as Max can only see things beyond the next hour.

Clairvoyance :: Final :: Combat Precognition - Max's only combat-based power, at Final-level, he can see the immediate future without any impediments of any sorts, allowing him to predict incoming attacks. Things are still a touch jolty, but Max has honed his mind to keep up - however, the precognition isn't always useful, as Max may predict an attack and have no time to dodge it, or predict one that's so far away that an earlier attack changes the course of it. However, with the appropriate combat ability, and a good sense of timing, Max can dodge and block a good majority of most attacks by tapping into his power.

At Final-level, on another note, Max does still get dreams; these dreams are forced precognition which he must succumb to, and this means Max has to sleep in a full session of nine hours at least once a week, otherwise he will fall comatose due to the ability.

LANGUAGES SPOKEN:
Max is fluent in English, Spanish, French, and Portuguese.

USER DETAILS

ALIAS:
Ross.

OTHER CHARACTERS:
None thus far.

FACECLAIM:

Code:

[b]DURARARA!![/b] – [i]heiwajima shizuo[/i]

CUSTOM RANK:
- REGNUM DEI

REVISE

Soooo....I hate to be that guy, but his history doesn't tell us anything about what hes done for the past two years and thats important to the over all plot of the site, considering he is the LEADER of Gaia and directs their actions. So im asking you to give us some details about what exactly he's been doing for the two years hes been free, and whats more what exactly Gaia has been up to. Please take care of those minor details at your discretion boss man.

Updated appropriately.

Approved

Update looks good. Have fun getting punched in the face by my anger.