Harvey Hall

Moniker: Doesn't have one yet
Secret Identity: Harvey Hall
Age: 23
Gender: Male
Species: pure human (for now)
Superpowers: none (for now)
Super weaknesses: none (for now)
Skills: Olympic level athlete, athlete, investigation, hand to hand combat, free running, criminal justice major
Your secret base: ain't got one
Appearance: 6'2, walnut brown skin, eyes are a light coffee brown, his black wiry hair kept in a high taper temp-fade that he occasionally let's grow out. If one had to describe his body type it would be 'swole' possessing the powerful core muscles, toned arms, and hefty legs of a sprinter. He's fine, with a strong jawline, sculpted cheekbones, full lips, and a wide nose, his appearance made softer by a boyish pair of die brown eyes crowned by full brows. Though he does sometimes grow out a beard or mustache, he's currently clean-shaven. He has a few tattoos, the most prominent being that of a stylized lion's skull baring its teeth on his lower neck. Along with that, he tends to wear earrings.
Costume design: Doesn't have a proper one right now, his
Equipment(includes vehicles ): He's too inexperienced to have any vigilante gear just yet

Bio(hit us with that tragic origin story !): Harvey Hall was born on the rougher side of Illium, in the sprawl of beat-up town-homes and project housing left-over from the destruction of the old city. The sullen slums where all the flash and cash of downtown seemed oh so far away. Where gang violence and drug overdoses, prostitution and eviction notices, were just as normal as the sun rising. Raised by his single mother who worked her ass off day in and day out to keep him as safe as she could, Harvey swore he wouldn't stay there, that he'd find a way out for all of them.
To support his family he started working young, running errands for folks around the block, the work was hard, lugging packages from here to there in the cold, but it gave him speed and stamina, tools he'd soon be using for something else. Because soon enough the coach of the high school track team came knocking. Seeing the opportunity right before his eyes, Harvey took it and just like that, a star athlete was in the making. Harvey took to the track like a duck to water or a kite to the air, and soon enough he was attending regionals, state, nationals. It seemed like he just might make it after all!

 His athletic acumen only grew as he easily coasted into an out of state college on a scholarship. All the while his Coach Brown stood behind him even after he left high school, always with sage advice and heartfelt wisdom. During some of Harvey's darkest moments, like after the death of his mother, coach Brown had been there for him and took him in as his legal guardian. All the while Harvey poured everything he could into the track. Day after day, night after night, buckets of blood sweat and tears poured out on the track as he pushed to beat time after time! By the time he was 22, he was one of the fastest people in the country, the world even.  Then he received the news that he was heading to the holy grail of sports, the Valhalla of fitness, the Olympics. He had finally made it.

It was only three days before he was set to head out that it happened, the thing that sent all of his dreams, all of his work crashing to the ground. Feeling a bit sentimental Harvey had decided to head back from college and while there he decided to take a stop by his old coach's spot, thank him for everything. But when he got to the old man's place he found the door, ajar. Weird, because nobody in a neighborhood that bad left their door open on purpose. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harvey made his way in, calling out the man's name. Suddenly he heard movement from the kitchen and as he rounded the corner to see what it was, his heart stopped in his chest. There, blood leaking onto the cheap white tile of the kitchen from his body was Coach Brown, and standing above him with eyes full of desperation, was a man with desperate eyes and a knife in his hand, the blade still dripping red. Utter abject despair smashed into him like a tidal wave as his eyes widened and wavered at the sight, and a horrible sound echoed through the room, a sound he later figured was him screaming. Then in almost the blink of an eye, his bloodshot gaze locked on the fucker who did it, who'd killed his pops, and his fists clenched so hard that blood ran under his nails.

The fight that followed was brutal, if it could even be called one, after all, it's not wise to piss off any sort of professional athlete, let alone someone in peak human condition. Harvey isn't proud of anything that happened that night, but he takes a frim satisfaction in the way he beat that motherfucker down. It didn't matter though, sumbitch got away, managed to scramble out of a window after worming his way out of Harvey's grip, and the traumatized athlete didn't exactly get out unscathed himself. He was fucked up frankly, with lacerations all over, so he did what anyone logical would do...he passed the fuck out.

He woke up four days later to the bright lights and sterile decor of a hospital room, with an iv in his arm and bandages all over. And what he saw on the hospital T.V that blared in the upper right corner of the room, put a cold hard lump in his throat. A lively procession of athletes, his peers, the people he'd worked so hard to compete against, entering the Olympic village. What the fuck, why the fuck had everything gone so wrong? Coach, the man who'd given him the opportunity to escape life on the streets, who'd pushed him to be better than he thought he could be, to hustle and grind and bust his ass for success, was resting in power. And the goal he'd been chasing for so long, was now impossible to reach. The nurses told him the injuries he'd sustained would keep him in the hospital for another two to three weeks, and it would take even longer for the stitches to finish the job. He had been so close, so close to the dream, to the cheering crowd and the medals around his neck, to the life he'd always wanted, and it hadn't meant a god damn thing.

What followed was a miserable painful spiral into depression. It was all over now, his goals were trashed, and the last person he could call family was six feet under. He'd hustled and struggled for so long to escape the circumstances of his upbringing, to escape the slums, and it felt like the world was against him. It was like quicksand, sucking him back in even as he struggled, and he felt powerless. So...he quit, he let his body deteriorate, he stopped going to practice...but then something clicked in his head.  Something that from then on out occupied his thoughts at all times, quickly turning into nothing but a naked obsession. It burned into his brain like a brand on his gray matter. It was the toxic caustic fuel that kept his flame alive even as it hollowed him out, even as it filled him with nothing but hatred. Even as he rebuilt his body and began to train once more, preparing to act on it in a vicious fashion. And this was it, that motherfucker, the one who'd ruined his life and ended Coach's...he was still out there Scott free. Harvey couldn't let that stand. He didn't care about his life, he didn't care about getting better or leaving the slums anymore...but he did cre about revenge.