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Sam McKellen
Known Aliases: "Saint Sam" "Whatzit" and "Pie-Eating King of Boston"

Age: 27 (officially) Birthdate unknown, but lists it as January 1st, 1987
Height: 7'10"
Weight: 320 lb.
Eyes: Blank
Species: Unknown: Further research required.
Features: 60 MPH flat-out running speed
50 ft vertical leap, 60 foot running jump
Accelerated Healing: Sam has a healing factor that repairs injuries, replaces blood, and mends organs and bone at an alarming rate. This also results in a near-inexhaustible supply of energy and stamina. On top of this, a compartmentalized cardiovascular system and hyperdense bone tissue make him effectively a self-repairing tank.
Chest inclusion: We don't really know what it is yet, but every time we've seen him teleport, his chest glows. He's made references to a stone in the center of his chest allowing time travel, but whether he can actually control it is unclear.

Samuel McKellen is the adoptive son of Ginny and Michael McKellen, a pair of Irish goats from eastern Massachusetts. Unable to conceive, they took it upon themselves to adopt the "problem" child from DSS. Sam had been found foraging for food somewhere around Worcester in 1993, originally handled by Animal Control but eventually handed over to DSS when it was discovered he had a vague grasp of English. Immensely fast and strong for a toddler, he caused no end of destruction, and was the first candidate for "Strongbox" room construction in an orphanage. This, combined with his untraceable genealogy, made him an increasingly difficult sell.

Luckily, Ginny and Michael were incredibly patient, firm parents. Soon Sam was able to attend school and live what passes for a vaguely normal teenage life, if not a particularly social or easy one. Isolated save for two or three good friends, he dedicated most of his time to Chinese martial arts, Western philosophy, and hours spent watching local comedians. He grew incredibly tall, incredibly quickly, and didn't stop until the age of 23, having towered over most everybody for years. Being an almost indecipherable cross of canine, feline, goat and who knows what the piss else didn't help him much either.

After schooling, he began to wander the country, searching for clues to his origin and his past. After finding a few vague clues, a strange inclusion in his chest started to open small holes in reality, warping him from place to place in history. He saw the most brutal warfare that Earth has ever seen, and learned from some of the best teachers that such a window could offer him. Bruce Lee. Doc Holliday. General Patton. The first abbots of the Shaolin Temple.

Now, with some idea of what he is and what he's meant for, he wanders North America aimlessly, waiting to be needed.

Due to his size, Sam has had to learn to build and maintain all of his own gear. His preferred loadout, near as any survivors have reported, is the following.

The Naildriver is a massive-bore revolver, the prize of his armory. It's a seven-pound, .500 Express chambered revolver with a twelve-round cylinder. Shined titanium finish, harmonically stabilized barrel, and double-action machining he describes as "light, springy and cheerful" its versatility matches its owner's, making him capable of both long-ranged precision and hails of heavy lead. It looks large in his massive mitts, but an average sized being would have no end of trouble stabilizing it, even with two hands. Against sword and spear fighters, he'll outfit it with a single-prong bladecatcher below the barrel.

His gauntlets are a kevlar-underlined wrap of reactive "smart fibers" with a heavy alloyed knuckle duster plate. They're based on a combination of martial arts and combat accouterments, designed to make his already horrific punching power more effective, with less risk of snapping a hand bone. He's also managed to rig the smartfiber with tech to store and rapidly reload ammo to his weapons with little more than a flick of his arm. His boots employ similar tech, steel-capped casings and soles equally suited to kicking in teeth and doors.

His bike is a wide-tired mass of steel, easily the weight of a normal civilian sedan in itself. It isn't generally great for combat on it's own, but it's heavy and solid, and it has places for all of his favorite toys. He won't make any Evel Knievel jumps with it, but it gets him where he's going, and he loves it more than most people love their pets. He affectionately calls it Ox.

It's deceptive to call the Dozer a shotgun. It has more in common with vehicle-mounted flechette weapons, or a Claymore mine you point with your hands. It takes ammunition that Sam must craft himself. Soda can sized steel shells, loaded with shot types ranging from marble-sized steel balls up to packs of six golf ball sized explosives. The sound of a single round being pumped into place is so malicious-sounding, small animals and weak willed men within earshot will s**t themselves.

Approach with extreme caution.



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