Conary Fechine

Name: Conary Fechine

Alias: Canary 

Age: 31 (old as hell, really)

Race: Human

Ethnicity: Irish, Erilian

Gender: Cis male, he/him

Height: 5’10”

Occupation: Running ‘tasks’ for the ‘Mafia

Affiliation: Villain(?), though has slight empathy for the lives he takes.

Rank: He isn’t feared, though he is well known at this point for his bank robberies.

Class: Threat in regards to government funds.

Personality: Other than being pretty silent when he’s on the job, Conary mostly keeps to himself. He’s a decently skilled guy, though his skills only refer to his talent in building hand-made bombs. He tries to keep his opinions to himself as best he can, though his ADHD keeps him from keeping his mouth sealed too long when he has something he really wants to say. Whenever Conary actually does speak on the job, it tends to be manipulative in hopes that things will easily slide his way. Regardless of being a villain, it's not as if he had much choice which leaves him a bit open when he’s taking the extra time to kill as little people as he has to, an especially hard task thanks to his wreckless nature.
If you get to know him outside of costume, he can be a pretty decent guy, albeit a tad fried in the brain in a lot of odd ways. He’s also pretty stubborn, and refuses to give up easily.
He doesn’t talk about it usually, but he holds a big bottle of depression compressed in his mind all while festering on the pains of his past life. This pain leads him to be constantly searching for the next thing to latch on to and emotionally feed off of (in a usually toxic way).

Background: 

Born in the 1800’s, Conary is hundreds of years old. That’s right, friends, his timeline exists when the best way to get around was via horse-back. His story starts when his family migrated to ‘America’ from ‘Ireland’ when a famine began plaguing his country. Just a ripe young lad when this all perspired, it was easy for Conary to familiarize himself with his new way of life in the west. They had their own farm, with cattle, sheep, and even a horse he could ride. It was like heaven to a boy who longed for adventure and intrigue, which is exactly what he pursued growing up. The more he rode a horse, the more he loved the feeling of wind in his hair and freedom at his fingertips- nothing could hold Conary back. In his late teens, finally, Conary broke off from his family and ventured off into the western sunset as he had longed to do for years. The first few years he spent travelling around, adventuring, experiencing what he could with this new freedom he’d found- he came across many small towns he found charming, some were rough around the edges, and some just felt like home. All of them had interesting people, though, he had thought.
He had no idea just the amount of shit he was about to step himself into however, when he met one of the most ruthless outlaws running amok at the time in a hollowed out saloon.Conary didn’t feel fear towards the man, though instead took a liking to him off an instant. He was big, he was mean, he’d certainly killed people before (that was hardly in question), and yet Conary found him nothing but interesting. Despite the outlaw’s hard shell, he allowed Conary, now a young adult, to stick with him so long as he did as he was told.
Something felt somehow even more freeing with this man than it did ever before. He was free to completely indulge in his weird fantasies, in fact, they were encouraged!
“Go on, show me.” He’d say in regard to Conary finishing making his first stick of dynamite, “blow the cow up”. It would evolve gradually into a deep obsession of his, creating bombs, seeing how far he could push it. Of course his outlaw friend took advantage of Conary’s skill to see people, houses, horse carriages- you name it, blow up into a pile of rubble so they could make off with their cash while hootin’ and hollerin’.
Conary felt as though his attachment to this disgusting, hollow man was deeper than it actually was...no prostitute from the brothel could make him feel the way the outlaw made him feel, and as time went on, his feelings grew. Anything that happened between the two of them, wasn’t what Conary had desperately yearned for it to be.
It all came crashing down when Conary was caught and blamed for all the rapes, pillaging, explosions (the one thing he DID for sure do), chaos and theft that was committed over the years. The outlaw was never caught, leaving Conary sitting in a jail, festering, by himself. For the first while, he expected his partner to return and bail him out- shoot up the place, blow it up, something! Though, after weeks of waiting...he never came, and the realization hit Conary then; he was merely a patsy from the get-go, just a tool and a pawn the outlaw had used to ensure his own escape come a time he had gotten caught for his horrendous crimes.
The sick, gut churning feeling ate away at him ceaselessly, wishing so badly he could tear out of jail and exact revenge- the feeling was stifled however when a rich looking couple rolled into town and paid an insatiable interest to the jail house- the one where Conary sat, night and day, waiting to be seen in front of a judge then hung.

“Yes, we’ll take him with us,” The posh exchanged a massive wad of cash with the Sheriff in exchange for...Conary? The Irishman was reluctant, though didn’t have a choice, and was taken away in the back of a carriage for an undisclosed amount of time.

When he woke, after a sudden, heavy sleep, he had to squint his eyes tight to be able to see in the stark-white room he lay within. He noticed he was tied down, an IV plugged into his veins attached to a bag filled with an indescribable liquid dripping slowly into him. Drip...drip...drip
He shouted, writhed, cursed such unholy words the devil surely heard him and to no avail. He wasn’t getting out of this mess, not any time soon.
Conary Fechine had become the newest unwilling test subject in a very underground, discrete laboratory up north. The liquid they had injected into him was a sick amalgamation of superhero/alien DNA in a genetically altering substance. It was a superhero test lab, as superheroes were still fairly new and nothing but a puzzle to humanity.
Conary obtained the ability to regenerate indefinitely thanks to the injected substance, which caused him to be a favoured test subject for hundreds of years.
Time was lost within the walls of the facility, and Conary felt nothing but misery, loathing, hatred...and above all, regret.
A day came in the far future where the lab found itself under a temporary attack, leading to half of the facility having to evacuate. The perfect opportunity for Conary to escape, finally, after all these god forsaken years. As he made his great escape, naturally, he was blown-the-fuck-up the moment he made it outside the protective fence.
Not realizing who it was they just exterminated, it took a couple weeks for Conary to be laughing to himself as he dragged his regenerating torso to freedom.
He was...out! He was OUT. FREE AT LAST...Hundreds of years, confined, tested on, and now he was free- oh, wow, everything is so...different.
Though he had come from a different time, Conary took a liking to the more modern way of society, appreciating the ease at which to travel around and communicate.
He found the grave of his old partner first and foremost, and took no hesitation in decimating, defacing and ultimately destroying his and his wife’s grave.
“Hope you rot in hell, you cunt.” Would be his last words to his partner before running off to spend the next few months desperately searching for any way to die.

When he realized killing himself was futile, he figured he’d maybe try living again and quickly wound up within the grips of a mafia- bad people doing bad things, and getting a lot of money in the process, home sweet home to his old soul. He even picked up his old hobby again, building bombs! Which only felt natural to a pyromaniac like himself. He indulged a little too hard however, when he realized all the new creations he could make with all the new tools and types of technology out there-- the mafia wound up in debt because of Conary, who then attempted to escape with all of his beloved bombs and tools without repercussion.

It didn’t work.

Instead, he was bound to their chains even more tightly once they’d cornered him. If he didn’t do what they demanded, he’d be chained up, locked in a metal box and shot into space- or worse, burrowed into the bottom of the ocean, forever suffocating, forever living- never dying yet dying constantly.
So he opted to comply with the threat, owing his life to the mafia now and regularly doing a run of stealing from banks with his ‘Canary’ persona to pay off his deadly debt.

Abilities: Conary uses an array of weapons
- A pistol with a silencer

- A pocket taser
- Grappling gun
- And smoke grenades in case he needs to make a dramatic entrance or escape.
He's pretty skilled with the weapons he has, but just in case he is caught without them, he knows how to use his physical strength. Not a very good fist fighter though; he's better at kicking.

There's one more piece...Conary has the ability to heal himself like a mutant- that includes removed limbs, organs- everything, at an alarming rate. If you blew him up into tiny chunks, he’d be revived and himself again in less than a month.

Weaknesses: He has normal human weaknesses. There is nothing that is really/specifically effective against him- because...well, anything will be. As for how to kill him for good, not even he has figured that out yet.

Rumors:

“This guy is a bit of a creep-when he isn’t wearing his gas mask he just has this look about him…”
Sometimes if he gets real drunk, he’ll be crudely harassing people, often men, at the bar for sex.

Health: ADHD and depression eat away at him like the plague and he is, in fact, suicidal. Obsessed with fire and bombs...not mentally well, a pyromaniac. 

Other:
-His last name is the Irish way of saying ‘Raven’