Maximilian "Cobrikhan" Fang

To: Kristen Geary, Subject: Known Dragon Agent, Maximilian Fang aka Cobrikhan I've been looking into the matter as you requested. I know the brass isn't happy about the Dragon recruiting in our backyard. Thing is, the guy is a ghost? Whatever life existed prior to his joining the Dragon is currently under investigation but much of his file has been redacted. Further examination of records that were available revealed contradictions in their continuity, at one point records would indicate that the subject was leading three wholly separate lives simultaneously. The source of these inconsistencies are cause for much speculation among our sources with theories ranging from criminal activities to a government cover-up. At present we can neither verify nor invalidate any of the reports. Who is Maximilian Fang, really? - Decoded Illuminati Field Report from the desk of Donovan Williams

=• Biography •=

A son of the Fang family
Born into the prominent Fang family, Max is the son of Darius and Nerise. He was preceded by two brothers; Darien and Zane, and one sister; Caresse. Anybody in the French Quarter could tell you about the Fang family, they were old money and well known for the weight they carried within notable social and political circles. Though it was rare to find somebody who hadn't heard of them, far more rare was a person willing to discuss the topic any further, at least not openly. Whispers carried a story of a particular mayoral candidate who had made the mistake of asking the wrong questions regarding the fangs. Within the week his campaign funds had dried up and his personal finances took a turn for the worse. It wasn't a month until police were pulling the poor man's entire family out of their estate in body bags. A short investigation ruled it a murder-suicide case and most were content to simply try forgetting the grizzly incident.

Childhood
Max's parents were always far too busy with their work to really fit the role. Him and his siblings were instead raised by the caretakers his parents had hired to attend them. What few moments of time they could spare were hardly the typical family affairs. While Nerise doted over Darien and groomed him to take his place as head of the family, Darius directed his attentions toward Zane. Typically father and son would disappear below, into the lab where Darius conducted his research for hours on end. Caresse filled her days studying the arts from the finest teachers, while Max was left to in the capable hands of his nannies.

For the first few years Max experienced the almost cliche upbringing of a child of privilege but as time passed the mood of the Fang manor changed. Darius became more reclusive and began spending more and more of his time conducting his research. Nerise seemed to take the reigns of the family's social obligations while distancing herself more and more from her husband. During this time Zane also became a higher priority to Nerise as she attempted to keep him away from Darius's work whenever possible. A storm had begun to gather over the House of Fang and it's full fury would soon come to bear.

Alone In the World
It was the middle of the night when Jacques, Nerise's butler and personal bodyguard, rushed into Max's room. Before the child, then four years old, could even fully wake he had been dressed for travel and whisked out of the room. The mansion was ablaze as Jacques deftly guided Max through twisting corridors, many of which the child could not recall by the light of day. When they finally emerged into the night air the flames were a distance false sunrise cast against the night sky. The pair fled further from the flames and into the woods, not stopping until true dawn was upon them. When Max awoke the sun was already high in the sky and Jacques was nowhere to be found. The forest was gone too, replaced by a bustling city street where a circle of adults had gathered around the child. They wiped away dirt and soot, they mumbled among themselves and finally they carried the small boy into the church where he had been left.

Alone at Last
Fuck this, I'm out.

Making his way
Developing the skills of a misspent youth

Lucky Break
The money comes twice as hard when the work is honest

=• Awakening the King Cobra •=

The pitiable existance
Keys jingle and locks rattle shattering the absolute silence of the hours that blur the boundaries of last night and the new day. With passage refused Max slams a frustrated hand into the old dry rot wood. Brushing against something smooth and pliable, a stark contrast to the cracked and chipping paint he expected, he draws his hand into a fist crumpling the piece of paper. He stared at the wadded ball in his hand for a moment before a soft chuckle escaped him. There was barely enough light to allow for finding his door in the first place, certainly not enough to read by. But that mattered not, he'd already gotten the message. The landlord had been on his case for the past few days about his back rent. Looks like this time she was serious. He paused for a quick glance up and down the hall, though he wasn't sure why. There was no way of seeing more than a few feet beyond his own reach and certainly nobody to see him at this late hour. He reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet. Flipping it open he laughed to himself. It was completely empty save for his driver's license. No pictures, no credit cards, no cash. He removed the small plastic card from it's insert and deftly slid it down the door jam. It paused for just a moment as it struck the bolt but a quick flick and the latch easily slid aside. He tucked the small piece of plastic back into his pocket and let the empty wallet fall to the floor. After that it took barely more than a solid shove to break the heavier padlock loose, the ease with which the door and frame splintered made the additional lock seem a bad joke. After gathering the bundle at his feet, he entered what was, until today, his apartment. Before closing the door he checked the hall once more in either direction. Who exactly did he expect to see? Even he wasn't sure. It had been a long day. Or maybe a long week? He couldn't recall anymore as time blurred and stretched into infinity both in front and behind him. A queer thought crossed his mind as he made his way to the fridge to grab a beer. "This dump isn't even fit for rats and roaches... now that slum lord 's trying to say it's too good for me?" Another heavy sigh escapes him as he slumps onto the couch, letting the bundle in his hand fall to the floor. Feeling in the darkness his hand snakes it's way up the post of the lamp beside him searching for the switch. Nothing. "Oh yeah, the shut that off yesterday... or was it Monday?" The routine of his "life" had been such a constant cycle that time had lost all meaning. Every day for longer than he cared to remember was the same as the one before it. He woke early and headed into downtown Pittsburgh. Without a car that left a respectable distance to cover on foot from his small apartment on the east side. Generally he would get there just as the rest of the city was starting to come to life. He spent the majority of his day as an errand boy, running to catch the elevator to deliver package and parcel between the businesses and offices which occupied the building he worked in. The hours were long, the pay was laughable, and the job itself was thankless. When everybody else was just greeting the new day he was already arriving and sorting the over night deliveries. After the suits filed out for the night he picked up a few extra hours by cleaning up the mess they'd left behind. Just the cost of living one paycheck to the next was higher than he could afford working full time so her served as both the mail room attendant and the night janitor. They didn't care, even working all that overtime his weekly take home was still less than those around him made in a day. At the end of it all it was off to the Laundromat. His wardrobe was meager, two pairs of black slacks and two button up dress shirts. That meant the clothes her wore yesterday would need to be clean for tomorrow. Then it was finally time for the trek back to Homewood for a few hours sleep, if he was lucky, before replaying this same sad existence once more. His thoughts swirled around his dead end life, as he looked around the room his mood only worsened. A small efficiency apartment that he called home. The bathroom barely a hole in the wall, the living space just big enough for a small couch which folded out into a bed, an end table and a floor lamp. In the far corner was the kitchen; a stove that didn't work, a fridge that was now barren and a single cabinet above the sink, which may still hide an old pack of Roman Noodles. As his gazed panned his surroundings he was grateful to the black void which had swallowed the room, but in his mind's eye he knew what laid beyond it. The peeling wallpaper, rotting floorboards, some places the plaster had crumbled away to reveal the slats behind it, he knew they were they just beyond the shroud. As these thoughts ran through his mind that shroud was growing, blanketing him in sweet oblivion and he embraced it for the few brief moments of peace that it would provide. This was once the pitiable existence of Maximilian Fang.

The End of the Beginning
He awoke with a start, it was still dark outside so he hadn't dozed off for very long but what had woken him? Another quick burst of gunfire rang out from the street below his window as if to answer his silent quandary. He immediately slid off the couch and onto the floor below, laying flat on his stomach. Gunshots were not uncommon in this area but these were different. Suppressed and too close together for your usual gang bangers blasting it out with 9 mms. But if they were using a silencer why was the sound still so... Max's mind raced, he couldn't allow himself to finish that thought or his next move would be all the more foolhardy. He crawled to the side window which overlooked the alley and provided access to the fire escape. After a few deep breaths to calm himself raised his head and peaked out. A shadow crossed the window as he did so and was soon followed by another volley of gunfire. This time the bullets pierced the flimsy walls of his apartment and sent bits of debris flying. He ducked and wrapping his arms over his head instinctively. Another burst tears through the wall, this time accompanied by searing pain. He nearly cried out as the bullet tore through his shoulder but merely grumbled choice profanities through clenched teeth. The sounds of heavy breath draw his attention away from the wound and send chills running down his spine. Shifting his gaze upward he lays eyes on a strange figure clinging wall of the building above his window. The shadow twisted sharply revealing two gleaming eyes, bestial eyes filled with hatred, and they were focused on him. He returned it's stare for a moment, frozen in disbelief. He wanted to run but his body wouldn't respond. As a low growl reached his ears he pleaded with his body to move. A twitch became a leap, he launched himself across the room as the figure crashed though the window. Against better judgment he looked back, the nightmarish creature landed on all fours and surveyed the room quickly. At first it occurred to him that it might be some type of feral animal. But what would it be doing here? It was like no animal he'd ever seen or heard of. He dived across the back of the couch and huddled there. he could here the floorboards creak and snap as heavy footsteps approached. Whatever it was was right on top of him, he would have take action now, or choose to sit quietly and await the end. Such thoughts were quickly forced from his mind. He had made it this long, despite every circumstance by refusal to give up. Every day you live there is hope. The hope that day will be the one that paves the way for a better tomorrow. That's what has kept him alive this long, and if he'd ever had something that could be considered a skill or talent this was it. Survival. Even as he steeled his resolve, a massive paw came from the side and sank it's claws into his leg. Risking whatever might be waiting on the other side he stood and plunged his arm into the back of the couch. A guttural yell echoing through the room, he gave a forceful tug and the bed inside unfolded. His foe, taken by surprise jumped away buying him precious seconds. Reaching deeper into the crevice now, to the floor he withdrew the one earthly possession he had allowed himself, other than necessity. As the sun began to rise over the city it revealed the truth of the thing that he was now fighting. At first it could be mistaken for a large dog, a rottwieler or the like however it was many times too big. There was no fur, just black flesh that gave an eerie sheen as the light struck it and concealed massive rippling muscles. Along it's back was a mane of long quill like protrusions. Claws and fangs glistened red and around it's muzzle and paws there was a crimson hue. Whatever this thing was, one thing was certain... it had tasted blood this night, and it's appetite had not yet been sated. The demon only took a moment to recover from the start it had been given. Thankfully that had been enough time for the young man to draw his katana from it's resting place. It was mostly a decorative piece, the blade was sharp and the steel was of good quality but it had never been tested in combat before. Still, it was the only chance he had right now. His leg and shoulder ached, even the effort to remain standing was almost more than he could muster, luckily he wasn't allowed the luxury of time to dwell on such things. The beast lunged and he stepped forward to meet it's charge head on. He drew back prepared for what would likely be his death, but he would meet it fighting. With the creature so close he could feel it's breath on his face he swung, when again the sounds of gunfire broke out. The creature was caught mid-flight and was blown sideways by the impacts. It rolled heavily across the room and lay still. Max fell to his kneed, driving to tip of his sword into the floor as his weight came to bear on it. "Dammit, we've got a civi in the crossfire!" came a cry from the fire escape.

Clad in an olive green uniform bearing red trim sat what he could only assume to be a soldier of some fashion. The fatigues weren't those of regular army and the shoulder patch bore an insignia he'd never seen before; a green symbol on black background and trimmed in golden braids. Their face was masked by metal banded helmet of sorts which conformed to the shape of the human head. At the front a dark black visor concealed the eyes of this new stranger. The entire scene before him was playing out in slow motion. "Are you injured?" a distinctly feminine voice asked. "Snap out of it! Are you injured!?" She asked again more insistently. "I-- No, I mean, I don't--" he stammered, as she stepped down from the window and approached. Her gun remaining fixed on the motionless beast. "Hyru, this is Sheppard." She was holding her neck as if feeling for a pulse. Max assumed she must be using a tac radio, definately military. But that still left the question of why all this crazy was pouring through his window. "Location secure. Target has been neut-" She is interrupted by the demon, seemingly only stunned by the large dose of lead it had just been treated to. "Sh*t! Disregard last transmit!" She exclaimed as the creature rushed toward her. She emptied round after round into the beast, however, it was completely unphased. Bullet holes simply disappeared as rapidly as they had appeared on it's flesh. Without even fully realizing what he was doing Max leapt to intercept. His mind and body had long since gone numb from the confusion and injuries, now acting purely on instinct and reflex. Rolling to land on his back his arms stretched out above him, Max slid between the two combatants. As the demon's jaws passed over him and opened toward this strange woman who had appeared, he put forth every ounce of his strength into a single decisive strike. He closed his eyes, his arms felt light but strong, his hands felt warm, almost hot, but he never felt the sword strike it's target. His body moved as if possessed, curling his knees to his chest, shifting his balance and springing backwards from his shoulders he rolled to a crouching position. He expected by now his last sight would be that of those terrible jaws closing down on him. He remained that way for a moment, eyes closed tightly. His body screaming against its' wounds that such acrobatics should not have been possible. Quietly contemplating the end, laughing to himself that the only part of his life worth telling, would be the ending which nobody would ever know, or believe.

The Bee's Sting
"H-Hyru, threat neutralized... You better get up here and see this for yourself." He heard the woman's voice once more and slowly opened his eyes. She was sitting on the floor, her legs bent to either side as though her knees had simply given out. She'd removed the helmet revealing herself to be a young woman of her late twenties. Her hair glistened a golden blonde in the early morning sun. She was sitting in a pool of a viscous black liquid which was coming from the decapitated corpse which fell only a few inches in front of her. Following a trail of blood splattered over the floor, before him laid the severed head. It's eyes, lifeless and hollow but pulled wide as if frozen in surprise. He trembled at the sight and slowly shifted his gaze to the sword he still clenched tightly in his right hand. His arms and chest were drenched in the blood of the beast but the blade remained pristine. What really struck him were his hands. They were caked in a substance black and dry, flaky even. It cracked and peeled as he flexed and turned his hands for inspection. The palms were clean, only the backs of his hands and fingers seemed to have been exposed to it. "Look Hyru, don't quote protocols to me right now. I told you to get up here. NOW!" Patience, apparently, was not this heroines strong point. "Hey you, any pieces missing?" He was brought back to reality by the realization she was talking to him this time. His words failing, he sat there dumbstruck for a moment, and managed to give himself another quick once-over before shaking his head. There was the minor matter of the gunshot to his shoulder and the large gashes in his calf but given the circumstances he felt quite blessed that these were his only complaints. "Well I dunno if you're stupid, crazy or both but.. thank you, I guess" She seemed to nearly choke on the words as she forced them out. Max got the distinct impression she was not accustomed to offering her gratitude. "I don't-" he struggled to find his voice, "I don't even know what the hell is going on here? Who are you? What is that thing? What just happened!?" A myriad of questions flowed from his thoughts to his lips, panic and disbelief taking over. His sanity needed answers. "Whoa, calm down. Those answers will come in time, I hope. It's not over just yet, though." Her last words trailed off. Max looked quickly to the body and severed head in front of him. "Don't worry, that thing is down for good. Removing the head is one of the few ways to be sure. Good work on that. But you see we- Or rather, You, have another problem." Her choice of words and emphasis sent another chill down his spine. "By the way, they call me Sheppard. What's your name?" "I'm Max" He paused "Max Fang, pleased to meet you?" It wasn't meant to be a question but as uncertainties screamed in his mind it just came out that way. She replied with a soft, almost whimsical chuckle. Sheppard stood and moved to him, offering a hand in assistance. Max raised his left hand, finding his right unresponsive and numbed, though it refused to release it's grip upon the katana. Sheppard, as she had called herself, grasped his wrist firmly and gave a sharp tug which yanked him to his feet. Her frame was small, and though she appeared to be in top shape, her strength was still impressive. Just as Max was about to speak again, an older man in similar garb climbed through the window. He wasn't very tall, but his shoulders were broad and his arms and legs thick. His hair was cut short, black as a raven's wing and his skin betrayed his eastern heritage. Sheppard casually stepped over the disembodied head to this unknown man. Max could only guess that this was the "Hyru" she had been speaking to on the radio. When Max attempted to approach a sharp look from Sheppard told him it was ill advised. He stepped back and observed as the two conversed. "Well you certainly made a mess of this one, Shep" Hyru said coldly as he eyed the aftermath of the preceding events. "Never figured you for the up close and personal type, thought you didn't wanna get your pretty little hands dirty?" "Wasn't my hands getting dirty." She retorted tilting her head in gesture towards Max who still stood covered in the demon's blood, gripping the instrument of it's demise. "You're putting me on? This guy took down a Category 12? That thing used four good men for chew toys tonight and you wanna tell me this punk kid did it in? Pull the other one." He was obviously not convinced. "You don't see anything a little out of the ordinary here?" Sheppard looked to Max once more, this time her gaze was low. Max followed her eyes to realize she was looking to where his limp arm clung to the blade. "What you mean that toy pretending to be a swo-" Hyru's eyes went wide with sudden realization. "He's got direct contact on a massive level with the Filth and still hasn't spouted tenticles? What's more, that thing's only been dead a minute and that crud is already dry?" "Your powers of observation are rivaled only by your ability to state the obvious." Shep quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm. Max still was clueless as to what was going on but he was starting to figure out that he did like this woman's style. Max looked to the black substance which he had noticed earlier and realized it was indeed the creatures blood, already dried and crusted as though it had been there for some time. But what was that bit about tentacles Sheppard nodded, a coy smile playing at the corners of her lips. Max's eyes where closed at the fated moment and Hyru had only just arrived. She knew something more about what had transpired, but she wasn't ready to spell it out for anybody just yet. "Even if he had the physical strength to cut that thing's hide, a mantle piece like that might 've just as well been made of wood. There's something more to this kid, I think we should take him back." Sheppard's declaration shocked both men. "What the hell do you mean take him with us?" Hyru asked incredulously. "Yeah, what do you mean?" Max echoed, "And who are you calling a kid!?" he added in defense of his pride. "Shep, it's a clean sweep. In out, quick and easy." Hyru shook his head as he spoke, "We can't take him with us. No witnesses, those are the rules!"

Max felt a knot in his throat and swalled hard only for it to begin growing in his stomach as he realized now the dangers of which Shep had earlier warned. No wittinesses? After all he'd been through, all that had just taken place, he was still going to die here. Screw the questions and their answers, it was time to say good-bye.

"So what? You guys fall into my lap, nearly get me killed... And after I pulled your ass out of the frying pan, you're saying I'm a liability to you now!? Thanks but no thanks sister!" Max rushed for the door. Sheppard called out for him to wait but he wasn't listening. She had just been just calmly debating with her buddy on whether to kidnap or kill him. Friends like that, he didn't need advice from. As his hand reached the door a sharp pain wracked his body, his head spun and the first rays of morning exploded into a blinding white flash. "Damn, that guy's quick for his size." He thought to himself as the room spiraled into the void. "If they don't kill me before I wake up he better at least offer an aspirin." he joked to himself, a smile on his lips as he was once more enveloped by the darkness.

"It's a bad idea Shep, make sure ya quote me on that in the report" Hyru sighed.

Initiation Day
Regaining consciousness Max became aware that he was moving. His apartment was long gone and he was now lying on the floor of a van surrounded by a bunch of bald Asians in green robes. As the haze lifted further he noticed that these men all had had their mouths sewn shut. A sharp gasp escaped him at the sight and drew the attention of the nearest one. The elderly man stretched a out a finger to Max's forehead. A spark leapt from the digit and send a jolt through Max's body. In what seemed like the next instant he was being roused to his feet and tossed from the vehicle.

He turned to protest the treatment only to find a brick wall where the street should have been. Rubbing his eyes in disbelief he tried to rationalize the situation. He was tired, he had been through hell, he was obviously loosing his mind. That last bit seemed to make the most sense. Taking in his surroundings it was clear that he was no longer in any neighborhood he knew. The architecture was like something from a kung-fu movie or one of his anime and those were definitely sakura trees. He wasn't certain but pretty sure that you couldn't find those, even in Chinatown. While he pondered his current situation a butterfly landed on his cheek. He tried to shoo it away unharmed but while doing so another came to rest on his hand. Still another on his shoulder. Soon he was surrounded by vibrant beating wings.

(You guys know where this is going but I'll try to finish out the character perspective on these events later.)

=• The Dragon known as Cobrikhan •=

Who am I?
Max uses Dragon resources to search for his real family

Betrayal of Blood
Those Lumi bastards!

The Dark Truth
bum bum bum.... =• Further Intel •=

Martial Arts and Armed Combat
Squeeze, don't pull.

Occult Studies
There will be blood...

There is no Spoon
In addition to the basic training expected of all Bees in use of their power Max shows particular aptitude and interest in scenario control. His independent studies focus on large area manipulations designed to alter battlefield conditions. By tampering with the laws of nature and physics in his immediate surroundings, he and allies are granted a "home field advantage" while enemies experience significantly reduced combat prowess.

Clothing
No frills. Simple T's; commonly black, red, or dark blue (in that order of likelihood). Jeans, denim or black sometimes cargo or carpenter in style. Garments worn loosely, presumably for comfort and mobility. A pair of black combat boots. Often wears full length coats such as Trench Coats and Dusters.

Loadout
This is my BOOMSTICK!

Philosophies
Despite the resources his affiliations make available he prefers to keep things simple; sticking to what he views as the bare necessities. He doesn't allow himself to be tied to a single area long. As a strategist and tactician the apparent risks he takes are always measured, even when placing his life on the line for a comrade in danger (which he readily does without hesitation). He seems to follow some personal code of honor reminiscent to Bushido but no further specifics are available.

Auditory Driving/Rhythmic Induction
His playlists are diverse, each meant to convey a different mood. They include a broad scope of genres; Rock, Metal, Rap, Punk, and various forms of Techno. He listens via a single ear plug which he almost never takes off. Due to his calm and adaptable nature it's believed he uses this as a type of self hypnosis in order to sway his mental state to the situation. In battle it's noted that his style and rhythm change with the dynamics of each song making it difficult to anticipate his attack patterns from one moment to the next. When the ear piece is removed intel suggests he falls into a trance-like state in which he only sees the most efficient path to his goal.

By Cobrikhan
From the richest of kings to the poor street sweeper; all men have the day they must dance with The Reaper. When your turn comes which of you will lead?

About Cobrikhan
Wha'd you say 'bout me?

Of Interest
In Chaos there is Order.