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<blockquote data-quote="threshel" data-source="post: 2177175" data-attributes="member: 5164"><p><strong>Warhawk</strong></p><p></p><p>The slender man tossed in his bed, sleeping in anti-strobes of unconsciousness. He could hear the large computer whirring and clicking in the main hall, but it wasn’t Ought’s nighttime surfing that was keeping him up. John Carter was coming to grips. </p><p></p><p>When he had come to floating in the tank, not remembering who he was or what he was doing there, he started trying to piece together what he knew. Almost immediately he had seen the hawksuit, it’s artificial wings trailing from its arms, crested helmet on the stand next to it. As he had dried himself of the viscous fluid, he walked around, looking at everything. While he had no memory of this place, he seemed to know what everything was. That part of it, though, felt like deduction, not memory. It became obvious he had some skills. He recognized the grill on the front of the helmet as a sonic projector, he could name the tools on the workbenches, and he knew their functions. The laboratory cave was connected to a central cavern, and three others branched out from it. The nearest one ran to a hall with several rooms, and in one he had found clothing and identification that named him as John Carter, along with a letter of acceptance to a job in a place called Metropolis. He had even looked in the mirror to match the face to the driver’s license. The other rooms had been empty, but looked as if they could hold as many as five others comfortably. The large main cavern was dominated by a monitor screen as wide as he was tall, and beside it a large computer sat, massive tapes behind plastic shields. On the opposite side of the main cavern from the lab and living quarters were two other rooms carved from the rock: a library one had to step down into, the books in tall shelves. A catwalk ringed the room halfway up, a metal staircase spiraling upwards to meet it. There was also a chessboard, and comfortable furniture, along with a gas fireplace. The room was decorated in bird motif, but conspicuously lacked any taxidermy. The last of the rooms was a foyer of sorts; with french doors looking out onto a solid rock plateau under bright blue sky. He had opened the doors, wearing nothing, and carrying only the towel. The thin, frigid air quickly took his breath, and sent shivers crawling. He had ignored it and walked out onto the plateau, only to find it end in a sheer drop into the clouds below.</p><p></p><p>It hadn’t taken John long to search the computer, and discover the Warhawk identity. After some thinking, John came to the realization that he was a superhero, and after a particularly calamitous battle, must have hauled himself into the tank for much needed healing. Healing that evidently hadn’t fully repaired the damage to his brain.</p><p></p><p>But John reported to his employer (after figuring out that he was in the mountains west of Metropolis) and made it work out. Being a new job, he hadn’t needed to remember anyone, and his skills made the engineering work easy. On his off hours, he patrolled as Warhawk, and although the city was strange to him, he made it work. No one knew him, but given the newness of the job, it wasn’t much of a stretch to figure out that he was new in town, anyway. Knightwing had stopped by to see who the knew meta was, and had even visited the Aerie, noting its technology looked familiar, but was from before his time. In the end, the grandson of Superman had given his blessing, and flown away.</p><p></p><p>None of this, however, was the reason that John Carter was having trouble sleeping. The loss of memory was troubling, but the hero work felt so right, like he was born to it. He didn’t question it, and figured that he’d solve his personal mystery in time. He had the rest of his life to discover his past. He had found his life’s purpose, and counted himself lucky for doing so.</p><p></p><p>No, the reason he couldn’t sleep was due to his visit to Star Labs shortly before the fight with Grundy. He had explained his problem, and they had run tests on him for most of an afternoon. He didn’t expect to hear anything concrete from them, and in fact, hadn’t. He had heard from an irate JLA’er, a tall winged woman with a dark and furious face, who threw documents at him in his own foyer and demanded answers.</p><p></p><p>John couldn’t sleep because he was coming to grips with the realization that he had all the memories it was possible for him to have. There was no past for him to discover. The documents from Star Labs proved that he was a clone of Blackhawk’s father, a man named Carter Hall.</p><p>The world knew him as Hawkman.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="threshel, post: 2177175, member: 5164"] [b]Warhawk[/b] The slender man tossed in his bed, sleeping in anti-strobes of unconsciousness. He could hear the large computer whirring and clicking in the main hall, but it wasn’t Ought’s nighttime surfing that was keeping him up. John Carter was coming to grips. When he had come to floating in the tank, not remembering who he was or what he was doing there, he started trying to piece together what he knew. Almost immediately he had seen the hawksuit, it’s artificial wings trailing from its arms, crested helmet on the stand next to it. As he had dried himself of the viscous fluid, he walked around, looking at everything. While he had no memory of this place, he seemed to know what everything was. That part of it, though, felt like deduction, not memory. It became obvious he had some skills. He recognized the grill on the front of the helmet as a sonic projector, he could name the tools on the workbenches, and he knew their functions. The laboratory cave was connected to a central cavern, and three others branched out from it. The nearest one ran to a hall with several rooms, and in one he had found clothing and identification that named him as John Carter, along with a letter of acceptance to a job in a place called Metropolis. He had even looked in the mirror to match the face to the driver’s license. The other rooms had been empty, but looked as if they could hold as many as five others comfortably. The large main cavern was dominated by a monitor screen as wide as he was tall, and beside it a large computer sat, massive tapes behind plastic shields. On the opposite side of the main cavern from the lab and living quarters were two other rooms carved from the rock: a library one had to step down into, the books in tall shelves. A catwalk ringed the room halfway up, a metal staircase spiraling upwards to meet it. There was also a chessboard, and comfortable furniture, along with a gas fireplace. The room was decorated in bird motif, but conspicuously lacked any taxidermy. The last of the rooms was a foyer of sorts; with french doors looking out onto a solid rock plateau under bright blue sky. He had opened the doors, wearing nothing, and carrying only the towel. The thin, frigid air quickly took his breath, and sent shivers crawling. He had ignored it and walked out onto the plateau, only to find it end in a sheer drop into the clouds below. It hadn’t taken John long to search the computer, and discover the Warhawk identity. After some thinking, John came to the realization that he was a superhero, and after a particularly calamitous battle, must have hauled himself into the tank for much needed healing. Healing that evidently hadn’t fully repaired the damage to his brain. But John reported to his employer (after figuring out that he was in the mountains west of Metropolis) and made it work out. Being a new job, he hadn’t needed to remember anyone, and his skills made the engineering work easy. On his off hours, he patrolled as Warhawk, and although the city was strange to him, he made it work. No one knew him, but given the newness of the job, it wasn’t much of a stretch to figure out that he was new in town, anyway. Knightwing had stopped by to see who the knew meta was, and had even visited the Aerie, noting its technology looked familiar, but was from before his time. In the end, the grandson of Superman had given his blessing, and flown away. None of this, however, was the reason that John Carter was having trouble sleeping. The loss of memory was troubling, but the hero work felt so right, like he was born to it. He didn’t question it, and figured that he’d solve his personal mystery in time. He had the rest of his life to discover his past. He had found his life’s purpose, and counted himself lucky for doing so. No, the reason he couldn’t sleep was due to his visit to Star Labs shortly before the fight with Grundy. He had explained his problem, and they had run tests on him for most of an afternoon. He didn’t expect to hear anything concrete from them, and in fact, hadn’t. He had heard from an irate JLA’er, a tall winged woman with a dark and furious face, who threw documents at him in his own foyer and demanded answers. John couldn’t sleep because he was coming to grips with the realization that he had all the memories it was possible for him to have. There was no past for him to discover. The documents from Star Labs proved that he was a clone of Blackhawk’s father, a man named Carter Hall. The world knew him as Hawkman. [/QUOTE]
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