Maxime Dillon!

Oh, man.

Poor fuckin' kid. You look... haunted. Stars-damn.
Want a cig? It's on the house. Not much she can do for ya, but she can offer a stick o' Stardom.

Hm... You got a look on yer face. That's not a bad thing, nah. It's just… familiar. Lost innocence and all that jazz, yeah?

Oh, boy... The world's a real cruel son of a bitch, ain't it, kid?
You'll get used to it. Sorta. Can't tell ya it gets much better from here on out though. Sorry, bud, but ya don't seem like the type to fancy sugar-coating, anyway.

C'est la vie. C'est la guerre. Maybe they're one in the same, eh, kid?

The name's Maxime Francine Dillon — that's just Max to you, kid — number one punching bag of the Universe since she popped right out the pussy and had the audacity to think that life was gonna be good. How dare she. Unforgivable. Sentenced to eternal torture. From the look on yer face, looks like you got clapped by the Stars, too.
Hah. Max was too busy being blinded by childhood innocence, when she really should've started gambling and checking on her stock investments along with her five side-hustles instead of sticking her tongue in sockets and shit, huh? Heheh.

Hey, look down. Everyone looks so small when you look at 'em from so high up like this, don't they? Like worms, going from point A to point B in a fuckin' daze. Self-absorbed and uncaring of everything else 'sides the latest thing in the cultural zeitgeist or whatever; really makes it look like their lives ain't miserable like the rest of us.

Like... what's it like not being so… aware of yer body every day?
Monitoring each and every part of it, like it could snap and break beneath you any second? Not having doctors charge ya an arm n' a leg just to say ye'r a fuckin' fat ass and need to exercise more? Rottin' days away in bed 'cause yer body's fuckin' weighing you down like lead and you can't do shit but sit there for hours, alone and scared, itchin' endlessly at yer scars 'till ya fall asleep and repeat the cycle again?
She's had to pick up fuckin' becoming a super just to last from one day to the next without ripping her skin off. What's it like not havin' to do that?

Ah… Heh. Shucks. Her bad. Max doesn't mean to throw a pity party. She's just… very tired. If she still had skin 'round her eyes, she'd probably be sportin' eye bags similar to little ol' you.
This… cycle is hellish. Pathetic, disgusting, tiring, whatever. Nobody feels like doin' shit to change the world n' whatnot 'cause they've already got it all. Everyone else can go fuck themselves. C'est la vie, bitches.

Ugh. Enough with the sob stories. It's cold as shit outside; she's gonna head inside 'fore she turns into a popsicle. Come back whenever you're ready and you can talk at her all ya want in front of the heater, bud.

…Aw, don't hang your head, stranger. Try your hardest n' you'll pull through. Well, not unscathed, but better than nothing, right?
Just… hah. You've been starin' at the pavement below ya for a while. Don't look too far down that drop, 'kay, bud?

Attributes

Abilities

• Electrokinesis
  Max's body is like a big, overly-convoluted circuit. Her body generates electricity at an average rate of 20,000 volts per minute. The most electricity her body can hold is around 15,000,000 volts. She automatically 'recharges' whenever her reserves are low by essentially being a human transformer: channeling the electricity through her body for later usage. She can discharge this energy in a wide variety of ways, but mostly sticks to bolts of lightning.
• Electromagnetic manipulation
• Electrical detection
• Electrical immunity
  Just gets channeled through her... unless it's too much for her to handle all at once.
• Mastery of hand-to-hand combat
• "Flying"
  ...More like electromagnetic propulsion. Faster at 'flying' when in places with high electrical potential, like a city or power plant.

Equipment

• Handguns

Notes

• Short. ~5'3 (161.5 cm).
• Stands tall and proud despite this. Well, mostly due to a visble metal spine, but whatever.
• Sharp and angular features, but not too sharp.
• Scruffy. Dog-like, but more like a starving stray you found in an abandoned building than a little puppy.
• No eyebrows or eyelashes. They got singed off, along with the rest of the top half of her face. Only a mess of scars and exposed muscle remains.
• No fingertips. Got those burned off, too... along with her toetips.
• Eyes and teeth are bright yellow, not white.
• Heterochromatic eyes are not optional.
• Scars are all over her body.
• Should look like she got pulled out from a trash can.
• Has a rough, scratchy, and raspy voice due to her fried vocal cords.

Trivia

• Favorite food is grilled cheese topped with copious butter. An easy comfort food that reminds her of the rare peaceful moments of childhood. Sometimes has this sandwich with apple juice and bananas.
• Scratches her scars until they bleed profusely when she's thinking or stressed.
• Has a weirdly high pain tolerance.
• People typically ask her to charge their devices via her abilities. Max then steals these devices for herself.
• Too much or too little electricity makes it difficult to think, move, and breathe properly. It's also painful as hell; think a cardiac arrest, but Max is fully conscious.
• Always in pain all of the time all over her body. The pain levels fluctuate, but everywhere always hurts with a dull throbbing. Got used to it eventually.
• Doesn't enjoy tight clothing unless it makes her look cool.
• Wishes she went to university to study electrical engineering instead of just becoming a lineman... but doesn't want to seem like a nerd.
• Makes up random beats and tunes on the fly while working. This includes crime, unless it's a stealth mission. If that's the case, she makes up 'stealth tunes.'
• Has always adored extreme thunderstorms. Finds them comforting.
• Max's bed feels like a cloud. Her scars and skin are sensitive, so her sheets and pillow cases are soft cotton. Her bed's got plushies and pillows lining the edges.
• Massive fan of nesting. Makes things a bit more bearable.
• Enjoys listening to music on her radio while laying in bed. If she likes a song enough, she'll get CDs or vinyls for her collection.
• Analyzes the fuck out of songs. Notebooks upon notebooks detailing symbolism and lyrics of different albums and tunes amassed over years keep her sane.
• Has never really enjoyed listening to music via digital mediums, like phones or laptops. Walkmans are on thin ice. Certainly understands why people do it, but she greatly prefers a radio or record player. It just feels right.
• Would love to attend a concert, but thinks she'd explode from all the stimuli. Settles for street performances instead.
• Not really into movies... unless they have a great soundtrack. Typically prefers albums/songs with plots in terms of stories. Nerd.