A power armor-wearing supervillain. His main weapons include a configurable blaster and a tangleweb projector.
Biography[]
It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Richard Wittgenstein was a cat burglar — and a good one, too. He might not have been at the absolute pinnacle of his profession, but he’d rarely failed to complete a job, and had gotten rich in the process. One day, after a casually overhearing some interesting gossip at a high-society party about a new yacht in the harbor at Monaco, he flew down to take a look. There it was — big as life and twice as gaudy. It practically screamed “new money,” and in Wittgenstein’s experience that usually meant good pickings. One night, when the owner of the yacht (a man Wittgenstein had only glimpsed once or twice while casing the boat) and his entourage were at the casino, Wittgenstein slipped aboard. The security systems almost foiled him; they were extremely well-made. But that only convinced him there would be things he wanted on the boat. When he finally found what the yacht’s owner was so careful to hide, he nearly threw it in the sea. Blueprints! Not jewels, not bearer bonds, not cash, just some stinking blueprints. But rather than call the night a total loss, Wittgenstein took them, thinking he could at least sell them back to the man he’d stolen them from. But he quickly changed his mind when he got home and took a careful look at them. These weren’t plans for a building or a car — they were for a weapon. Some sort of prototype suit of powered armor. They reminded him of something he’d seen somewhere, in the news probably, but he couldn’t place it. It didn’t come to him until the next day. They were plans for the Warlord’s battle-armor. Terrified for the first time in his life, Wittgenstein took the plans, his gear, everything else he could lay his hands on quickly, and fled. He knew the Warlord would be looking for him now, and he knew that if the Warlord found him, he’d be a long, long time in dying. While he was hiding, carefully concealed by one of the cover identities he’d established long ago, Wittgenstein looked over the plans some more and did some research. It turned out they weren’t for the Warlord’s armor, but for a similar suit — one based on his, maybe intended for some of his best soldiers or something. The suit was sleeker and less well-armed than the Warlord’s was said to be, but it was still quite powerful. At first Wittgenstein figured he’d sell the plans through his usual fence; he knew they’d fetch a high price on the international black market for arms. But the more he thought about it, the more he said to himself: Why shouldn’t I build the suit for myself? He realized he was sick of sneaking around all the time, preying on people too stupid to protect their valuables. It was time to take whatever he wanted — regardless of who tried to stop him. It took most of his savings, and dealing with a lot of disreputable people he didn’t really like, but eventually Wittgenstein got his powered armor suit. Christening himself Devastator, he embarked on a career of robbery and mayhem that has lasted to this day.
Personality/Motivation[]
Devastator is using his battlesuit, and the power it brings, to work out a lot of frustration and anger that he’s accumulated over the years. He no longer has to skulk about in the shadows, run from the police, or watch over his shoulder for bounty hunters and angry husbands. Now he can go toe-to-toe with super-heroes and smash them into the dirt, or take what he wants from even the most heavily-guarded vaults. He rarely backs down or runs away from any threat, and anyone who tries to bully him is in for trouble.
Quote: “You can forget about the posturing, hero. I want those gems, and if I have to go through you to get them, I will.”