Verrück Adertal Achen
"Life’s a bomb waiting to go off, and sometimes, the fuse takes longer to burn. That doesn’t mean it still won’t blow."
Pack Number
318301
Nicknames
Ver, Ruck, Rook, Runt, [OPEN]
Name Pronunciation
veh-ROOHK , AYE-dyre-tahl , ake-EHN
Name Meaning
Verrück ; German , derived from verrückt, meaning “The Mental” , “The Crazy”
Runt ; English Nickname , “Small One” , “Smallest”
Adertal ; German , “Valley of the Veins”
Achen ; German , No Set Meaning
Gender
Transgender Male
Pronouns
He/Him
Sexuality
Uranic, Ceterophilic
Age
23
Mafia/Cop?
Mafia
Moral Alignment
Chaotic Evil
Theme Song
"My Ordinary Life", The Living Tombstone
Personality and Appearance
Verrück is a striking figure with a presence that demands attention despite his small stature. Standing at just 5’4”, he is lean and wiry, his body shaped by years of survival and combat. His short, cropped dirty blonde hair is slightly curly, with an untamed and boyish quality that contrasts with his otherwise intense and calculating demeanor. The texture of his hair hints at a natural wildness that he doesn’t bother taming, as though any attempt at control would only amplify his chaotic energy. His dark brown eyes, deep and expressive, carry an unsettling quality that unnerves most who meet his gaze. They are not quite dark enough to be black, but there is an intensity in them that suggests they’ve seen too much. Post-apocalypse, his left eye is partially scarred from chemical burns, the cloudiness giving it an eerie, almost spectral quality.
Before the apocalypse, Ver’s face was angular and sharp, with high cheekbones that lent him a slightly predatory appearance. Now, half of his face is marred by chemical burns that stretch from his left cheek and jawline down his neck and chest, leaving the skin mottled and warped in a grotesque display of survival. The scars are a permanent reminder of the moment his world changed forever, and though he has learned to live with them, they remain a source of both power and pain. When people see him, they often flinch, unable to hide their reaction to the damage. Ver leans into this discomfort, using his appearance as a weapon to unsettle those who cross his path.
His style of dress reflects both practicality and a flair for intimidation. Before the apocalypse, he favored dark trench coats tailored to his small frame, often paired with high-collared shirts or turtlenecks that hid identifying marks or scars. His trousers were well-fitted but durable, and he always wore combat boots—scuffed but meticulously polished—perfect for both blending in and asserting a quiet authority. He preferred fingerless leather gloves, which gave him the tactile precision needed for handling explosives while maintaining a layer of protection. Post-apocalypse, his clothing has become rougher, more functional, and patched together with whatever materials he can scavenge. The left sleeve of his coat is burned away, exposing the scarred flesh beneath, and his gloves now serve a dual purpose: protecting his hands and concealing his vulnerability.
Verrück’s personality is as volatile as the explosives he so dearly loves. His mind is a whirlwind of activity, driven by the interplay of Autism and ADHD. Ideas come to him in bursts of brilliance, often sparked by seemingly random connections that others fail to see. This non-linear thinking makes him a genius at his craft, but it also leaves him prone to moments of chaotic impulsivity. He thrives on chaos, finding comfort in the unpredictable and the explosive. His obsession with bombs goes beyond mere utility; to him, they are art, their destruction a form of poetry. The sight, sound, and smell of explosions captivate him in a way that nothing else does. Each detonation is a masterpiece, a fleeting moment of beauty in a world that so often feels gray and meaningless.
Ver’s sense of humor is dark and cutting, often bordering on cruel, though he rarely means to cause harm with his jests. He has a penchant for gallows humor, cracking jokes in the most inappropriate situations as a way to diffuse his own tension. His laugh is sharp and quick, often surprising those who hear it for the first time. Beneath this exterior, however, lies a deeply fractured individual. Ver carries the weight of his own insecurities and traumas, though he rarely lets them show. His Autism gives him a profound understanding of patterns and systems, but it also makes him struggle with social interactions. He often misinterprets the intentions of others, leading to bouts of paranoia that strain his relationships. His ADHD drives his need for constant stimulation, but it also makes him restless and impatient, qualities that can be both an asset and a liability in his line of work.
Though fiercely independent, Ver harbors a deep-seated need for connection that he rarely acknowledges, even to himself. His small stature and youthful appearance once made him the target of mockery, earning him the nickname “Runt,” but he has long since reclaimed the name, wearing it like armor. Those who underestimate him because of his size quickly learn their mistake. There is a feral energy to him, a sense that he is always poised to strike, and this intensity makes it difficult for others to get close. Even those who might call him an ally would admit that there is something unnerving about him, a feeling that he is always a step away from either greatness or disaster.
The apocalypse has only heightened these qualities. The trauma of the chemical burns and the loss of everything familiar have deepened his paranoia and exacerbated his erratic behavior. At the same time, they have made him more resilient, his scars a testament to his survival. He is haunted by what he has seen and done, but he refuses to let those ghosts define him. Instead, he channels his pain into his work, creating ever more elaborate and devastating devices. He is a man of contradictions: brilliant yet reckless, intimidating yet vulnerable, a destroyer who longs to create.
Ver’s presence is unforgettable. Whether it’s his scarred face, his sharp humor, or the faint smell of explosives that seems to cling to him like a second skin, he leaves an impression on everyone he meets. To some, he is a monster; to others, a misunderstood genius. But to himself, he is simply Verrück—a man trying to survive in a world that has always been at odds with him.
Mutation
Verrück had always been drawn to the immediate satisfaction of destruction. Explosives were his canvas, and the world, his gallery. The loud, deafening roar of a bomb going off, the blast of heat and pressure, the way the ground shook under his feet—it was his kind of beauty, chaotic and fleeting. Precision, timing, and the artistry of it all were his focus. There was something deeply satisfying about the way everything could be reduced to rubble in a single moment. It was clear, clean, and final. But then came the power he could barely understand, the one that was about as far from his core as he could imagine.
At first, it was subtle, a strange sensation in his chest, as if something alive had stirred deep inside of him. He couldn’t explain it—he had never been one to dwell on the bizarre, given how bizarre his life already was—but it wasn’t long before he began noticing the change. It started with the smallest things: a tiny seed sprouting in his hand when he focused too long on it, or vines tangling around his legs when he wasn’t paying attention. His brain, which thrived in chaos and unpredictability, was suddenly confronted by something slow, deliberate, and living. Plants. A superpower, they called it. It made little sense to Ver.
He was an assassin. A destroyer. A master of annihilation, not a gardener. He wasn’t about life. He was about ending it, quickly and efficiently. So, when the first vine shot up from the ground, wrapping itself around his wrist in a gentle yet unyielding grip, his reaction was immediate—he panicked. He yanked his arm away, watching as the vine recoiled, only to grow stronger, more entangled around his limbs. A part of him found it amusing—the absurdity of it—but another part of him, the part that cherished control, recoiled in disgust. Why plants? Why now? Why this?
In the days that followed, the power grew more insistent. Ver could feel it humming beneath his skin, a latent force waiting to be wielded. He learned that he could make trees bend to his will, their trunks twisting under his direction, or cause the ground to tremble as roots crawled beneath it, alive with movement. But it didn’t come easily. The power didn’t respond to his impulsiveness or his desire for fast results. He had to nurture it. Focus on it. He’d always been good at precision, at careful timing—but that didn’t help him now. Plants took time. Time that Ver didn’t have patience for. There was a strange disconnect between his need for chaos and the slow, deliberate growth of nature.
At first, he avoided using the ability. It felt wrong, alien to his very nature. His bombs, quick and destructive, were his preferred method of causing chaos. Plant life was... slow. But in his more desperate moments, when escape seemed impossible, when there were no explosives to be found, Ver had no choice but to rely on it. And that’s when he began to understand the weird, twisted potential it held.
He could make vines grow thick and fast, winding through walls and windows, wrapping around enemies to incapacitate them. He could cause trees to bend and snap, their branches becoming jagged and dangerous. He could summon the ground itself to open up, creating traps for those who underestimated him. There was a certain kind of beauty to it, he realized. But it was a different kind of beauty—one that didn’t explode in an instant, one that wasn’t immediate or satisfying. It was organic, growing, a power that took time to truly see its effect. Unlike a bomb, which offered a satisfying release of energy, the power of plants was a waiting game, a creeping force that built in silence before it could be unleashed.
But it also left Ver feeling vulnerable. He wasn’t used to feeling vulnerable. Plants didn’t obey him in the same way his bombs did. They needed tending. They needed care. When Ver tried to force the plants into submission with his usual impulsiveness, the results were often unpredictable. The vines might snap back with wild aggression, entangling him instead of his enemies. The roots might grow too fast, too far, causing destruction in ways he hadn’t intended. It felt like fighting against his own nature. Every time he used the plants, he had to fight his instincts to destroy quickly, to end the moment before it became too messy.
There was also the problem of how he felt when he wasn’t using his explosions. There was a deep frustration within him, a restlessness, when he used the plant-based power. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t what he was meant to do. He was a master of chaos, not cultivation. He was a destroyer, not a nurturer. Yet, the power hung in him like a seed that refused to die, impossible to ignore, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
He came to realize that while bombs were his preferred way of creating chaos, the plant power had its uses in this new world. It could be used to camouflage, to create traps, to bend nature to his will in ways that were just as deadly as his explosives—if not more so, given the element of surprise and stealth. But Ver couldn’t shake the feeling that, deep down, the power didn’t belong to him. It was like a sick joke, a cruel twist of fate. He didn’t want it, but he couldn’t get rid of it. The plant life would always be there, creeping up in the corners of his mind, ready to strike when he least expected it.
So, he made peace with it in the only way he knew how—by twisting it to his advantage. He learned to control it, to use it when needed, even if it felt wrong. And every time he used it, there was a part of him that resented the power, but another part that appreciated its versatility. It was strange, it was foreign, and it didn’t belong to him. But just like everything else in his life, he learned to make it work. And in that way, the plants and Ver became something of an odd pair: a reflection of his own internal contradictions. He would never love it, but in a world of devastation, sometimes a power that grew could be just as deadly as one that exploded.
Type of Neurodiversity
Undiagnosed ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder)
Undiagnosed ADHD (Attention-Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder)
Dyscalculia
Voice & Accent
Verrück's voice is distinctive, a blend of sharpness, intensity, and a touch of unhinged energy that immediately captures attention. His voice sits in a slightly higher tenor range, with a raspy edge that gives it an almost gravelly quality. It's the kind of voice that seems born from years of shouting over explosions and breathing in chemicals, lending it a rawness that makes every word feel charged with potential energy. There’s a certain unpredictability to how he speaks; his tone can shift quickly from calm and calculated to frantic or manic, reflecting the chaos within his mind. He often speaks in quick bursts, his ADHD evident in the way his sentences can trail off mid-thought, only for him to suddenly pick them back up in a completely different direction.
His German accent is unmistakable but not overwhelmingly thick. It’s clear that Ver has spent time adapting his speech for the various circles he navigates, particularly as a member of the mafia and a private assassin. He enunciates sharply, with clipped consonants and a certain precision that betrays his upbringing and training. However, his accent grows more pronounced when he’s agitated or distracted, with guttural R's and harder vowels slipping through. Post-apocalypse, this roughness is even more pronounced, as though he’s stopped caring about masking his origins or smoothing the edges of his speech.
When speaking German, his voice carries the distinctive cadence of someone from a rural village, though the edges of that regionalism have been dulled by years in urban environments and his exposure to different dialects. He speaks quickly and often uses slang or shortened phrases, giving his German an informal, almost reckless quality. His favorite curse words are muttered under his breath, often in Bavarian or regional dialects, which adds an earthy, rebellious flavor to his speech.
When speaking English, his accent remains strong, but his vocabulary is surprisingly extensive, owing to years of working internationally as an assassin. He has a habit of emphasizing the wrong syllables in longer words, which, combined with his gravelly tone, can give his speech a disjointed, almost haunting rhythm. His English is peppered with German idioms and phrases that he doesn’t bother translating, especially when frustrated or amused. For instance, he might say odd German phrases like “That’s sausage to me,” meaning “I don’t care” or exclaim “Oh my goodness!” with exaggerated sarcasm.
For a voice claim, think of a blend between Alexander Scheer as his character in Babylon Berlin (for the raw, raspy timbre and subtle German accent) and Cillian Murphy in Peaky Blinders (for the intensity and slightly haunting quality). There’s also a touch of Christoph Waltz in his more controlled, calculating moments, with an almost disarming charm that can quickly turn sharp. His voice is distinctively German, but with an edge that feels universal—a voice born from chaos, resilience, and the art of destruction.
Strengths
Explosives Expertise: Ver is a genius when it comes to creating and handling explosives. His understanding of chemistry and bomb-making is unmatched, allowing him to create devastating devices from seemingly random materials.
Agility and Speed: His small, wiry frame makes him exceptionally agile. He’s quick on his feet, able to outmaneuver larger opponents and navigate tight spaces with ease.
Unconventional Thinking: His Autism and ADHD allow him to think outside the box, often finding creative and unexpected solutions to problems that stump others.
Deceptive Appearance: People frequently underestimate Ver because of his size and slightly disheveled appearance. This gives him the upper hand in situations where surprise is key.
Charisma in Chaos: Despite his instability, Ver can be incredibly charming in his own erratic way, drawing people in with his dark humor and unpredictable nature.
Survivor’s Tenacity: Ver has an unyielding will to survive. He has endured physical pain, mental stress, and social ostracism, and still continues to push forward, no matter the odds.
Intense Focus: When something captures his interest, he can hyperfocus for hours, perfecting his work and ensuring every detail is accounted for.
Sharp Instincts: Ver has an almost animal-like sense for danger, honed by years of living on the edge. This often allows him to avoid traps or ambushes.
Mechanical Skills: In addition to explosives, Ver is skilled at tinkering and repairing machinery, making him a valuable asset in a post-apocalyptic world where resources are scarce.
Loyal to a Fault: While he is slow to trust, once Ver forms a bond, his loyalty runs deep. He will go to extreme lengths to protect those he considers allies.
Weaknesses
Impulsivity: Ver’s ADHD makes him prone to impulsive decisions, which can lead to dangerous mistakes or unnecessary risks.
Dyscalculia: His inability to process numbers and time accurately causes significant issues, especially when setting timers for his explosives or planning complex strategies.
Paranoia: Ver’s distrust of others, exacerbated by the apocalypse, often isolates him and makes it difficult to form alliances.
Unstable Emotions: His mental health struggles make him prone to mood swings, which can disrupt his focus and decision-making.
Physical Vulnerability: While agile, his small frame and lack of brute strength make him physically vulnerable in hand-to-hand combat.
Social Ineptitude: Ver’s Autism means he struggles with social cues and often misinterprets others’ intentions, leading to misunderstandings or unnecessary conflicts.
Overconfidence in Explosives: His obsession with explosives can lead him to rely too heavily on them, even in situations where other methods might be more effective.
Trauma-Induced Flashbacks: Post-apocalypse, Ver occasionally suffers from flashbacks of the chemical explosion that scarred him, which can leave him disoriented or incapacitated in high-stress situations.
Recklessness in Desperation: When cornered, Ver has a tendency to act recklessly, prioritizing immediate escape or destruction over long-term consequences.
Self-Isolation: His preference to work alone and his mistrust of others often mean he lacks backup or support when he needs it most.
Backstory
Born in 1919 in the small German municipality of Tann, Bavaria, Germany, Verrück’s early life was fraught with challenges. Assigned female at birth, he began asserting his male identity as early as age six, earning the ire of his conservative family. His name, “Verrück,” meaning “crazy,” started as an insult from his father due to his odd behavior almost immediately at birth, but stuck due to his eccentric behavior and relentless defiance of social norms, even with the opportunity to change it into adulthood. Ver was a child who loved patterns, machinery, and the chemical reactions he observed while helping his father on their farm. His Autism was both a blessing and a curse—it isolated him socially but gave him a profound understanding of how things worked. In his teenage years, Ver ran away from home and joined the German underworld. He apprenticed under a bomb maker who recognized his natural talent. By 18, Ver was crafting explosive devices for the mafia and carrying out assassination missions with deadly efficiency. Ver’s role within the German mafia cemented his reputation as a wildcard. Despite his instability, his skill set made him invaluable. He was often called upon for missions that required stealth, sabotage, and ruthlessness.
Quirks
• Constantly fidgets with small objects, like coins or the wires of his bombs.
• Refers to his bombs with affectionate nicknames like "Betty" or "Franz."
• Hates odd numbers (a fixation stemming from his Dyscalculia), often refusing to set timers or arrange items unless they’re even.
• Talks to himself frequently, often speaking out loud while planning or building.
Affiliations
Post-apocalypse, Ver adopts a stray dog with a missing leg, naming it “Lump” (German for “rag”). The dog becomes his sole source of comfort, and he fiercely protects it.
Others Open, PM
Other
This boyo used to live rent free in my head.. glad I can make him do something, finally.
Winter 
Night 
Clear Moon: 
