Skills: Bluff +8[4], Computers +14[11], Diplomacy +10[6], Drive +5[2], Innuendo +8[4], Spot +3[1], Taunt +8[4].

Feats: Dodge, Endurance, Evasion, Fame, Hero's Luck.

Powers: Kinetic Control +8 [Extra: Force Field {Extra: Affects Others (touch), Deflection |Stunt: Catch|; Flaw: Melee & Projectile attacks only}, Kinetic Blast {Stunt: Duel Damage, Paralysis, Slow}, Flight {Stunt: Running}; Source: Mutation; Cost: 6pp], Amazing Save: Reflex +4 [Source: Training, Cost 1pp]. 

Vitals: Name: Tyrone Carter; Alias: Luthor Rhymes; Gender: Male; Age: 25; Height: 6'0"; Weight: 198 lbs.; Hair: Black; Eyes: Brown; Languages: English, F: Project: Daedalus #0.  (126/129 PP spent)

Background: Tyrone Carter was born in 1989 in New York City. His mother was single, and had to raise her son by herself, and worked two jobs in the projects to do so. Ghetto life was hard, and exposed Tyrone to all negative aspects of life in the ghetto; gangs, violence, drugs and racism. Some of these things Tyrone avoided, some he couldn’t.

   Going through the public school system where teachers were sequestered behind bullet proof glass barriers from the classrooms was part of his daily routine. Despite the lure of gang life, Tyrone avoided joining any gangs, and avoided become part of the violence around him. He turned down drug use, kept his grades above average and generally attempted to please his mother who encouraged him to do well in school.

   Tyrone was constantly exposed to the perceived negative attitude against his people. To him, the ghetto and projects were a way to keep the ethnic minorities sequestered from the rest of society. The poverty experienced by his class was obviously the fault of those in power. While his mother tried to teach him otherwise, he started becoming a disenchanted teenager.

   His way of coping with the poverty of the area was to immerse himself in old movies and books. Most of these portrayed African Americans in a stereotypical roll, such as pimps and thugs. He found that by dressing and acting in a manner perceived by old movies, of black people in high rise boots, alligator skin trench coats and afro hairstyles, he could throw folks off. He mimicked characters like “Superfly” and “Shaft”, using their mannerisms and attitude. He went so far as to get an old beat up boat of a Lincoln convertible, and with the help of his pal Rodney, fixed it up into the ultimate low riding pimp-mobile.

   It was all an act and people knew it. His dress and mannerisms made him an enjoyable character on school grounds however, and he used this to become a leader in the school. The gangs didn’t bother him, nor did the tough guys hate him for being smart. He helped people with their classes and organized some help classes where the only rules were “No gang colors” and “No drugs.” 
On his 16th birthday, there was a massive power outage. It just happened to be on the night the the Ghenther’s Comet was at its closest path to earth. While riots raged during the blackout, Tyrone sat on top of his apartment building and watched the comet and resulting meteor shower. The next day, he grew ill, but after a few days of bed rest, things returned to normal and he returned to school. He graduated at the age of 17, top in his class and the state.

   His high grades and social work earned him invitations and fully paid scholarships from schools seeking to meet their ethnic quotas. All of them he turned down, instead attending the little known College of African American Excellence, located in the same ghetto he lived in. He entered computer sciences, and under the teachings of Professor Marcus Rodman, a superb mind on computers in the world, but whose vocal opinions kept him from the mainstream, he excelled at his new study. He spent most of his time completing high tech projects with Professor Rodman, and in his spare time began to cruise the internet, hacking systems for fun, using the alias of Tyroc.

   He graduated when he was just twenty, but stayed on as a paid assistant to Professor Rodman. The money he was pulling allowed his mother to stop working and help the two of them move into a better house. But things were not at all perfect in the world. The emergence of “Elites” came to the forefront, and a few of these super-powered elites happened to be members of gangs in the ghetto. Soon, a pair of them banded their gangs together and started a protection racket in the neighborhood where Tyrone and his mother lived. One night, when the Professor was over for dinner, the thugs targeted them for protection. Bursting into their house, the elites, one a man with super-strength and the other who could shoot shards of ice from his hands, started to tear apart the place. When they started slapping his mother around, Tyrone’s powers manifested.

   A wave of kinetic energy burst from him, shoving all the gang members into walls and to the floor. When the ice shooting elite fired his projectiles, Tyrone lifted his hands and the missiles slowed and came to a halt, finally crashing to the floor before hurling the elite through the front door, where he crashed into a light post and was knocked out. With police sirens heard closing in, the gang tried to make a break for it, only to be trapped in a series of kinetic rings, trapping them. As the police arrived, Professor Rodman helped Tyrone let the men free, allowing the police to capture the gang, and keeping his powers secret. Tyrone, the Professor and his mother didn’t mention Tyrone’s powers to anyone when giving the report to the police.

   With more and more elites, mostly self trained and unsure of their abilities, began showing up in the ghetto, the Professor helped Tyrone to hone his abilities. The two came up with a costume right out of the comics, something few of the elites seemed into, that helped conceal his identity. Then Tyrone spent most nights and some days patrolling his neighborhoods, stopping the elites when he could, and delaying them for the police when he couldn’t stop them outright. Tyroc became his hero-name, and he became well known in New York and surrounding areas, especially in the ghetto districts.

   All the while, he and the Professor worked on their new operating system together. Tyrone often wondered where the school got money for the computer processors the Professor often used. In 2009, Tyrone got his answer. A small computer company started to make it big. Vanguard Secure Computing burst onto the scene, claiming that they were about to unveil an operating system that would put Microsoft into the ground. The release date was early in 2010. Many people scoffed at the notion that a young elite could do what he claimed. Tyrone, however, listened to the reports, and instead of discarding them, hacked into VSC. He found no real details of the stolen software he actually was seeking, but found out instead that the Professor was selling the operating system the two were working on to VSC!

   Instead of confronting Rodman about working for VSC, Tyrone implanted terminal codes within the software secretly, timing them to go live the day before VSC was scheduling release. The codes would crash all versions of the operating system, wiping them clean. As the date approached, Professor Rodman invited him to a meeting with Vincent Vanguard, the young elite heading VSC. He found the two toasting to the success of VSC, and when Tyrone walked in, the two quickly included him in their toasting. Something to Tyrone didn’t quite smell right, however, and though he played along, he wasn’t sure of Vanguard’s motives. Vincent Vanguard paid both of them in shares of the company, and Rodman handed over the operating codes. After signing some forms, dotting the I’s and crossing the T’s, Rodman and Tyrone both had share statements that they were assured were worth millions, and Vanguard left with his operating system.

   Two days before the VSC release, Professor Rodman was found dead, the apparent victim of gang violence. When Tyrone and his mother returned from the funeral, one day before the VSC release, Tyrone dropped his mother at a hotel, put on his costume, and burst into his house using his powers. He found just what he expected; several gun-toting gang members lying in wait. He rendered them helpless with his powers, then shot them all dead. Taking a cellular phone from one of them, he hit redial and waited for an answer.

   “Is it done?” a woman’s voice asked.

   “You tell Vanguard he made the worst mistake of his life, woman,” replied Tyrone, then he smashed the phone on the floor. Moments later, his home phone rang.

   “Yo, what up. Tyrone here,” he said into the receiver.

   “Mr. Carter,” came a young, cocky and familiar voice. “I trust you and your mother are doing well?”

   Tyrone checked the wall clock. “Better than your OS, Vanguard. Can you count to five?”

   “A child of two can count to five.”

   “Then do it.”

   “And why would I want to do that?”

   “Humor a brother.”

   "Oh very well,” came the bemused voice of Vincent Vanguard. “One, two, three, four, fi…”

   The phone cut out suddenly on the other end. Tyrone hung up and waited. In a few moments the phone rang. Tyrone answered it.

   “Your mama shoulda taught you to count faster than that.”

   “This is twice in ten minutes you have surprised me, Mr.Carter. I am seldom impressed this easily. I am certain, however, that being reasonable men, we can come to an agreement.”

   Tyrone turned on the answering machine stealthily. “Yeah, maybe. Why’d you off the prof?”

   “Why Mr. Carter, I don’t know what you are talki…”

   “Shaddup fool, I aint no brainless kid. You did it, I knows you did. Either you grow a pair and tell me the truth straight up yo, or this ends and you go broke.”

   “He was not completely honest with me, Mr. Carter. He was reneging on our deal we had agreed to. Dishonorable opposition like that must be taken care of, and it was. I’m sure you can understand the need to keep things honest by any means necessary? After all, Vanguard Secure Computing will be at, if you pardon the pun, the Vanguard of computing for years to come.”

   “I understand that. Now understand this,” said Tyrone, less angrily than he thought he’d be. “I got you on tape saying that. That’s called leverage, yo. So here’s the deal. You listening, punk?”

   “You have my undivided attention.”

   “Good, phone me back in 10 minutes at 555-4324.” Tyrone said as he slammed the phone down.

   Ten minutes later, at the corner down the block, the pay phone rang.

   “Ok, you better be ready for… yo, you think I’m dumb?! Call back in 10 seconds!” he yelled as he slammed the phone down.

   Ten seconds later, it range. “First rule. No traces. Try that crap again, your tongue will be licking the sewer of poverty in no time.”

   “Three times impressed, Mr. Carter. My hat is off to you.”

   “Rule two. Nobody touches my mom, yo. Anything ever happens to my mom, press all over the world hears you live on network television. She’s off limits. She ain't part of business, and she ain't part of no personal crap neither. Got it?

   “Very reasonable, Mr. Carter. I assume there are more rules?”

   “Rule three. My mom gets control of Rodman’s shares. I'm guessing you have them now. She gets them. If anything happens to me, she gets those too.”

   “That will take signed documents, Mr. Carter. I don’t think we have time for that. Release is set for tomorrow, after all.”

   “You’ll have time. While you’re blind, I’m gonna set up protection for my mom, and set up automatic dispatches of copies of this tape of our conversation. Anything happens to either of us, everything goes public. You come, in person, to my house with the papers in 12 hours. We’ll sign them. Now get an empty computer plugged in to a phone line and give me the IP addy. I’ll give you 12 hours to get here with the papers. In twelve hours, after I have all my copies of this tape safely hidden away, and we’ve signed the papers, I’ll reactivate your systems and you can make us both rich men.”

   “That sounds excellent, Mr. Carter. See you soon.”

   In twelve hours, Tyrone had managed to hide half a dozen tapes of the conversation and get his mother back home. The signing of the papers went smoothly, and as per their agreement, and while Vanguard watched, Tyrone sent the command that reactivated the VSC mainframe and computers. Their business concluded, Vincent Vanguard started out the door.

   “By the way, Mr. Carter, I would like to further our business arrangements. Come and work for Vanguard Secure Computing. I need people who can impress me as you have on my team. I guarantee it will be worth more than the sum we just agreed to.”
Given the sheer volume of money he’d just agreed to be blackmailed for, the promise of even more had Tyrone saying “Damn fine, bubba… I mean, Mr. Vanguard,” in no time flat.

   Vanguard was true to his word. Money flowed in as VSC flourished. The shares held by Tyrone and his mother turned out to be worth tens of millions of dollars. Tyrone was put in charge of public services, which included improving public image in ethnic minorities for the company.

   All the while, Tyrone still didn’t quite trust Vanguard. He used his computer skills to create a hidden alter ego, Luthor Rhymes, under which alias he stashed hordes of cash in various world banks, purchased several “hide outs” in various cities in North America and Australia, purchased vehicles to be kept in garages, all the while, keeping Luthor Rhymes substantially off the grid. Even while he was doing this, he managed to keep up his crime fighting escapades. His fame grew in the projects of several cities as he traveled the country, and his masked picture showed up on TV and newspapers regularly. He developed something of a cult following among the underprivileged, spawning several websites in his name.

   Then, in 2014, several years after being hired, Vincent Vanguard called Tyrone into his office. He was joined by Linda Walsh, the head of security and someone whom Tyrone had become fairly familiar with. As far as business women went, she was ok, even if she was tight lipped and surly most of the time. She’d even helped him tone down his “street” look into a cooler “Shaft” or “Neo” look. But today, she definitely looked surly.

   Not Vanguard though. He was positively giddy. He slowly started dropping tapes onto his desk. Most were fairly dusty and a queasy empty feeling started forming in the pit of Tyrone’s stomach as he counted the tapes.

   “Mr. Carter, or should I say,” Vanguard paused dramatically as he turned a monitor around to display one of Tyroc’s websites, “Tyroc. It seems miss Walsh has recovered all of your little copies and your secrets. So it brings me to ask myself, ‘What use are you to me?’ At first, I thought that ‘None’ would be the answer, but then I found someone willing to pay a great deal for an elite of your talents, and you’d be out of my hair and pocketbook for good as a result.”

   Tyrone felt a small prick and reached up to pull a dart from the side of his neck. His muscles started going numb and he slumped to his knees. “What the …” he muttered as he fell forward.

   In the haze that was closing in on him, he heard Vanguard say, “He’s all yours. Whatever you do to him, make sure it’s painful and drawn out. Should we have some fun and eliminate his mother, do you think?” 

   “She’s no threat, Mr. Vanguard,” he heard Linda say. “Far less publicity if we just let her mourn her son. Better yet if you are seen mourning with her.”

   Tyrone passed out. He woke up later in a strange jail filled with several other “Elites”.

Appearance: An African American of average height and build, Tyrone keeps his hair neatly trimmed. He dresses typically in jeans and t-shirts. His manner of dress usually allows him to surprise others with his keen intellect. As his alter ego, Luthor Rhymes, he dresses either in as a high class business man, or in hip "Matrix Style" akin to Morpheus.

Personality: Tyrone often plays the "stereotypical" black man, though that is just an act. He enjoys throwing out old slang, especially to women. He's somewhat generous, and often will drop what he's doing to give to those less fortunate, in the form of time or money. People tend to see him as a cross between "Undercover Brother" and "Morpheus".