Given Name: Unknown, adopted the name Templeton Drake Hero Name: Sanction Occupation: Financial analyst for Wayne Group, LLC. Theme Song: "Save me," Remy Zero Precis: Victim of the sciences or messenger from the deep future, Drake uses his hazy and confusing 'future-memory' with an unexplainable and radically advanced wet-ware brain construct to stop crime and tragedy before it was to occur. Description: Templeton Drake is a thin pale six-foot-tall bald man with no hair save for thin blond eyelashes and brows, and a pair of blue-gray eyes often hidden behind a set of glasses. He does not need glasses to see, they are just for disguise in his 'civvies.' His dress usually reflects his social stature as a financier of some repute about the Gotham city center - a uniform of expensive suits and high-collared shirts and amazing ties. In casual dress he always wears a shirt with a collar, in an effort to hide the strange connector near the bottom of his braincase hidden under a fold of flesh near his neck joint. The connector is not actually visible unless you try to poke around and find it, but Drake isn't taking any chances. His hands are slightly oversize in comparison with his body, and anyone who has wrestled with either Drake or Sanction comes back with the same perspective - he is stronger than he looks (i.e. not a gangly push-over), but not an overwhelming force per se. There are a few points about Drake that are highly unusual that anyone who knows him well or has studied his two guises will discover. Could these clues indicate his true origin? You decide: * Drake is not bothered by smoking, or fumes, or pollution unless the toxin is specifically designed to debilitate such as tear gas. In fact, he seems to shy away from outings that would take him away from the city. A simple study of his blood will show in increased tolerance for toxins, almost to the point of a need for their presence to metabolize sugars. * His hair loss seems to be related to exposure to radiation, but it is concentrated near his head. Occasionally other parts of his body will try to grow hair, but it eventually falls out. Young Lisa Esperenza suffers from a very similar condition due to her exposure to a meteorite fall during the meteor storm last year. * Cats really like Drake. Like, to the point where it's a little unsettling. Some obey him like a dog would, and even come when called. He is known throughout his new up-scale neighborhood for walking his black cat, Dira, on a leash in the morning to the local Espresso Zone. * His fingerprints had been burnished off to form a sort of complex pattern. * Drake craves Vitamin C and potassium pathologically, though he has no physiological reason to do so. His suit coat pockets are filled with citrus drops, gatorade gum and the like. Medical testing will show he does deplete water-soluble vitamins and minerals rather quickly. * For the most part, Templeton doesn't dream. His sleep is totally absent of images except for the rare occasions where he has a recurring dream in black and white. There blurry white forms standing over him. Later, he hears a distorted and unintelligible voice on some sort of loudspeaker as he is being loaded into something like a torpedo tube, and then "shot" somewhere into nothingness. Many images in the dream do change, but the general flow is consistent. Drake is also known for his recent philanthropy for the homeless and destitute, as well as the children of single parents and orphans. A frequent contributor to the Gotham City Diocese soup kitchen, he has become an icon of the old idea of the Puritan work ethic so convenient to excuse the corruption of the rich and powerful. Ironically, he has become an example to the people who's avarice had made homelessness in Gotham worse than prison, if not actual torture all those months. Background Summary: "Girl saved from meteorite by stranger; police offer reward for identity of mysterious hero." - Gotham Tribune, Cover section A-3, September 2, 2000 "Who am I now? Amnesiac goes from rags to riches thanks to on-line stock tip." - Gotham Daily Post, Personality, section B-2, May 5, 2001 There was no Templeton Drake before just over a year ago. Searches of fingerprint databases, birth and death certificates and DNA databanks return nothing until September 2, 2000, a day referred to by those who know what little truth there is about Drake's origins as the "Birthday." On his Birthday, a meteor storm turned some buildings of Gotham into burning ruin as shooting stars struck all over town near the old Templeton Hotel on Drake Street. Lisa Esperenza, a child Drake narrowly saved from being struck by a meteor that very evening, unexplainably lost her hair due to proximity to the crater - Drake himself has no hair, except for thin blond eyebrows and lashes. The loss was diagnosed as radiation burns, though the meteorites themselves contained no radioactive material. It was not the only time that first evening that Templeton Drake remembered something was about to happen that would kill or injure someone - and acted to save them, almost from instinct. On the far end of the city, the Gotham University Astronomy department detected strange radio emissions within the city itself and from space near Earth at unusual frequencies unrelated to the meteor swarm overhead. To date the phenomenon has been written off as an equipment failure, in spite of the equipment in question not being connected to an antenna when the signals were recorded. The meteor storm was never linked up with a comet or asteroid in our solar system, and did not re-occur the next year. During his time among the homeless, Drake saved many lives, arriving in the knick of time to push a sleeping drunk out of the bus' path or finding a murderer while he still stalked his would-be victim. The memories became clearer as did the impetus to stop the chain of events they revealed. After several months of being homeless (eating out of the kitchen door of Sue's Coffee Shop), Drake remembered that a prominent business was going to announce record losses after a disasterous human trial of a viral infection treatment. With styrofoam cups filled with change he collected pan-handling, Drake bought stock options using a free library computer and made thousands. After several such successful plays, Wayne Group noticed the account's wide success in margin trading. Eager to recruit rising talent in the equity market, the director of margin accounts emailed an invitation to Drake for an informal interview and possible job offer based on his track-record picking companies in trouble. Much to their surprise, when he arrived for an interview, he was dressed in rags still without a home. After a stiff scrubbing, he was hired and became the Gotham society pages' latest poster-child for the myth of upward mobility. During a routine interview for a society column, Jessica Langley stumbled into the strange sequence of events that spelled out Drake's life so far - including the unexplained rescue of Lisa Esperenza, the radiation burns and the fire at the Templeton boarding house during the meteor storm. After proving she could be trusted as an ally, Drake shared his burgeoning heroic identity as Sanction, and the conflicting clues as to his actual origin. Now, with resources from his nascent career with Wayne Group, and a growing sense of purpose about his 'future memories,' Sanction is ready to begin changing the future he remembers. Powers: Templeton Drake has sporadic visions and premonitions that can be best explained as memories of the future. He can usually access memories when they are "necessary," but other times he remembers bits of the future that he didn't try for. The scope of this 'future memory' varies wildly and at rare times is totally uncontrolled, though Drake has developed the ability to focus on a particular place and time. Most memories, though, have to do with crimes that will occur shortly, or tragedies that will soon befall the unexpecting or suffering. He also feels a burning desire to use these visions of dark futures to right wrong before it can occur. These memories may be carried within his brain from the future, or perhaps within the wetware implant found knitted around his brain. They also make it difficult for him to be surprised at times, though it varies with time and location. The most important fact in all this is that Drake, being a logical and strong-minded person at heart, does not believe he is from the future, or from outer space. He doesn't know where he comes from, and in many ways is afraid to find out. One thing becomes clear - there is a long term feeling to this struggle, as the stakes were truly grave for his failure to act on the memories that come back to him. More disturbing and less useful are general long-term premonitions about the deep future. At times these come in the form of an instinct as to things that are somehow 'wrong,' or 'out of place.' This particularly stands out with individuals who have strong connections with death or have suffered from near-death experiences. Drake gets a feeling at times that his reason for being here has to do with averting some series of events, but other than a burning moral desire to use his premonitions to save people, he has only guesses as to a possible 'mission,' whether or not it is guided by the equipment in his head. The technology to create, yet along implant the wetware construct in Drake's head does not exist, and will not be invented for decades to come. Although brain implants may come to pass, there is something radically advanced about the construction and installation of his that are beyond even the most advanced technology of our day. It's much like a switching transistor made by Bell in 1956 and one made by Seimens in 2001: both work the same, use the same science, and are in many ways totally interchangible. They use the same voltage, current, and provide the same amplification. Look closely at the one from 2001, though, and it is totally obvious that it was created using techology that was decades away in '56. So too it is with Templeton's head. Physically, the wetware looks like a sort of carbon-titanium-arsenide filigree net spun like a spider's web all over his brain, gathering into a connection node near the base of his skull. It is easily detected with any sort of X-ray or brain scan, has no modern medical explanation or analogue and in the words of the first doctor who ever examined Drake, "took some serious shoe-horning to get that thing in there, son." It cannot be removed without causing brain-death, and it is unclear that it could be removed without damaging the wetware itself. It terminates in a sort of recessed, waterproof optical connector above the hairline near the atlas joint of his skull. The terminal is only accessible if a fold of flesh is moved out of the way, and is not obvious to a casual observer. Some things are certain: the implant ensures he cannot kill a being by action, including himself. Study by his underground doctor Peytr Koronovich confirms that the implant is active when he is unable to take an action that would cause a fatality. It also has connections into some parts of his memory centers, though they appear largely dormant now. There are indications that Drake's urge to fight crime and set future wrong's right may follow a memory pattern which is not linked to the implant at all, but it's not entirely clear. Without explanation for how, Drake once made a unique non-lethal weapon using some sort of advanced muscle memory. He is unable to explain it's specific function or the principles it uses, and has been unable to produce one since fabricating the one he currently uses. It appears to be some sort of beam-weapon, producing an incapacitating effect even on grounded or armored foes, and is fairly effective at range. Drake has other inclinations to put things together, but to date he has been unable to assemble many other interesting things using this diffuse memory. Contacts: Jessica Langley, Junior Reporter for the Gotham Daily Post Miss Jessica Langley is a recent graduate from the exclusive Athena School of Journalism. Her writing and investigation is excellent, but her taste in stories to present to her editor are awful. She has very little credibility with anyone, particularly after the investigation that turned up some of the data on Drake had to be promptly discarded to protect Sanction's identity. Jess works for the most read semi-tabloid in the city, the Post. A rag that equates sales with the number of exclamation points on it's cover, the Post clings to a long history as one of the oldest continually published papers in the United States. Recent financial trouble caused the Post, and many its reporters, to trade legitimacy for sales in an overnight metamorphosis into a tabloid of the worst sort. And this is where Jessica's problem begins. Her editor, "Shakey" John Thompson is one of the old guard, still convinced that they Post can provide both a vehicle for sales and a legitimate news source in the same pressing. Jess is on probation with her editor after a series of stories about masked heroes, time travelers, alien abductees and encounters, and a bat boy living in the limestone caves outside of town. She manages to get the stories in past her editor's nose every time, and the screaming match that follows the start of the press roll is legendary. Jess Langley is one of Sanction's best protectors, and a solemn believer in both the mission Drake must be on, and the possibility that he is from outer space, the future, or maybe both. Ruling out nothing, the fact that someone went through a lot of trouble to bring Drake here is clear to Langley, and she is excited to help in averting future calamities - more so if she gets a sweet scoop in the process. Vincent "Dice" Cordone, Former Enforcer, Parolee and Short-order Cook Vin is best known for three things: luck at craps, caramel-glazed pancakes, and participation in one of the most ruthless underworld conflicts in history. Out from an 8-year bid in prison, Dice is semi-legit now as a cook at Sue's Coffee Shop near the docks. When people don't want to be seen talking with someone, Sue's is the place to hit. The breakfast is also to die for, making it a slumming joint for a select group of the rich and powerful who tire of souffle and eggs Benedict every morning. After Drake's "Birthday" during that meteor storm over a year ago, the homeless Drake stumbled around near the back door of Sue's. Vin felt sorry for the well-spoken and confused Templeton and gave him something to eat out the back door and some clothes out of his gym bag. For several weeks, Vin's kitchen philanthropy was all that kept Drake alive, and the two became friends. When one day Drake walked in through the front door in a new suit, Dice knew his kindness was well placed. Vin and Drake scratch each other's backs on a frequent basis - Drake helps Vin maximize the return on his "equity situation" from the money stashed in his back yard, and Vin keeps his ear to the ground on mob news for Drake. Plus, Vin's cooking is truly out of this world. Peytr Koronovich, Underworld Surgeon and former Soviet Navy Physician When Vin told Peytr K he had a guy he had to see, he was angry the gangster was spreading his name around; when Koronovich saw the MRI Templeton swiped of his wetware, Peytr was hooked. Years of pulling bullets out of enforcers and closing up internal hemorrages had left Peytr K with little love for his profession, but since his first visit Drake has challenged him, not only as a doctor but as a logically thinking man. Is this man really from the future, as the young woman Jessica says, or perhaps another world? Or both? And, most interesting of all, if any or all of those things were true why is he here now at this horrible time in history for Gotham? Something about Drake is different - the implants are only part of the story, though to Koronovich there are the most interesting part. His 'future-memory' is certainly uncanny, and the inability to perform fatal acts triggered by the wetware seems to presume some foreknowledge of what each blow or shot would do to an opponent. Jim Goodby, CEO Pan Asiatic Alliance, Inc. Jim is arguably one of the more powerful figures in the world of back-room deals and high finance, and one of the few legitimate businessmen who are Catholic. His acquaintance with Templeton was casual yet friendly, until one night after an expense account dinner when Drake remembered a gang of thugs was to abduct Jim and take him hostage for ransom, only to kill him after robbing his family at home as well. As the thugs struck Jim on the head near his car, Drake arrived on the scene and disabled them all, having called the police before the attack even occurred. Although Jim suspects there is something odd about Templeton, his gratitude and change of heart after his life was saved has cause the two to become genuine friends in a field where real trusts are far and few. Most recently, Jim has asked Templeton to be godfather to his infant son. One day, Jim might be a friend to Sanction but for now their business world is simply too small to risk the revelation. Father Patrick Donoleay, Clergy at the Gotham Cathedral Father Pat met Drake at a soup kitchen almost a year ago and was immediately taken by the man's story. Over many cups of hot stew and bread, the two talked about what it means to do good works, and in those conversations Donoleay got a hint of the impetus that burns within Drake to set things right, whatever the reason. As quick to shake the hand of the homeless as a Don, Father Pat represents the sort of conscience that keeps Drake focused during his rags to riches rocket-ride. Perhaps it is only Donoleay who knows both Sanction and Templeton Drake as halves of the same man. Although Drake is not Catholic, he often attends services at the Cathedral and makes generous contributions to the soup kitchen program that once saved him from a hungry winter. Patrick is the second brother in a pack of 4 ne'er do wells from an Irish neighborhood. His other three brothers have all had brushes with the law, the eldest, Michael, going on to represent mob interests as their "exclusive legal representative," after the Gigante's paid for his education. What Michael says outside the confessional often makes it's way to the ears of Drake, not as an informant, but as a friend commiserating and expressing concern for his family. Over the months the two have become genuine friends, both in and out of the church family. Happy Birthday "New comet originated farther than any seen before, scientists say." - Gotham Tribune: Science/Nature, section E-1, September 2, 1999 A man without a name awoke in room 2D of the Templeton Boarding House on Drake Street to the sounds of sirens and crashing above him. The Dominican housekeeper, going from door to door to get people out of the burning building, appeared shocked to find him, naked, on the floor. So was he. There was an itching in his head, behind his adam's apple somewhere, and a stunning headache. Suddenly aware of his nakedness, he pulled a blanket off a nearby bed and wrapped himself in it. "Is no one here. You no be here, get out! Fire!" she yelled. Her broken English was almost unintelligible through the soup of confusion and sirens outside. Something was groaning, then crackling above him. Without a sound, unable to make sound, he grabbed another blanket, wrapping it around himself as the smell of smoke shut his nostrils to the acrid stench coming from the hallway. In a flicker of comprehension, he covered himself with another blanket as well and moved, dazed, out the door. "No, no you! Stair is this way!" The change in direction left him stumbling like a drunkard, yet his faculties were becoming sharp. In a rush of motion, he is in the stairs going down flight after flight until the cold breeze indicates a way outside. A policeman rushed up to him, bellowing orders to someone and then taking him aside, speaking in soft, forceful and quick cadence. "What is your name? Was there anyone with you? What room are you from?" Stammering. Slurring. And no patience from the officer in sight. "This one's drunk, get him out of here - I don't care where you put him. And someone get him some pants or something, I think he's naked under there." An older gentleman took the Man from 2D aside and asked him his name. Comprehension reigns, and words fall out of the naked man's mouth. "Where? Who? Am I?" "Templeton on Drake. Who are you? Where you squatting in a room upstairs? Did you do this?" the elderly man replied, fat and quick. The answer came with a sideways scowl. "Is that me? Or where? When?" The bringer of answers was out of patience again. His questions had turned into a growl, "Shit, you're high as a kite aren't you asshole. Get out of my place. Jesus Christ, I don't NEED this! Don't you see? The whole roof is on fire! Where is the fucking fire department?" "Is Templeton Drake me? Or where am I? "Well shit, yeah pal. That's you all right. Now get off my fucking sidewalk before I get you thrown in the tank, understand?" Sirens were building and falling, getting closer. Inside his bald cranium the primitive lizard hind-brain was yelling to get out of here; it was obeyed. The Man from 2D moved down the street, bunching a blanket against himself in an effort to keep the chill out. Looking up, there was a hissing, popping streak of light racing ahead, casting shadow on the street in night. All over the night sky there were streaks of light, and as they faded a distant thud or crash often followed. Walking down the street, a hazy memory, an image formed. Templeton Drake, Man from 2D, spun around with his head turned skywards looking at a storm of meteors crashing down into Gotham city. The smell of smoke was overpowering, changing only subtly as he passed each block, looking upwards at the scintillating flashes of projectiles from space over the city. "I remember feeling something." "I was falling. Backwards." "Falling. Back to... when?" Templeton Drake Goes to the Doctor Shortly after the Great Shower of 2000 had sank into dawn, Templeton noticed a small bump above his neck, hidden in a fold of flesh near the back of his skull. It didn't seem natural, that was certain; he picked at it and revealed a small, round, metal object was stuck in near the joint with his neck and head. Unable to get a look at it in a men's room mirror, he decided it must be from some prior blow to the back of the head. It should come out. Pulling on the slippery metal socket with all his weight, Drake began a series of seizures that landed him in the emergency room. Half an hour later, the seizures stopped and Drake was fine, save an amazing headache. Although strangely alert for a post-seizure epileptic, doctors insisted on a brain scan prior to release, and mayhem ensued: "Can you explain these images to me?" The MRI images were the most difficult to understand; they show soft tissue. In web-like nets around the surface of the brain was some very reflective material. The film was bleached completely transparent wherever it was. Throughout all the scans there were filigree fingers of this material distributed in hexagonal webs, linking together at a single nexus near the back of the skull. There was some sort of socket there that penetrated the wall of the brain cavity. In sympathy of the image, Drake fingered the bump under the bandage at the back of his head. It was still very tender, and pressure on it caused immediate waves of nausea. "That's some very serious shoe-horning, Mr. Doe. And can you see how the socket is implanted from a hole countersunk from inside the brain cavity? I've talked with three neurosurgeons, and we're all a little unsure how to accomplish this without removing the brain entirely. And the material this is made of is very curious, I've never seen medical implants like this. The return from the MRI doesn't get out of them! Can you tell me who did this?" Silence. Drake continues studying the images, gathering each of them in hand as he looked at them. An undercurrent of fear began to grow as the doctor's language grew stranger in pitch. "As your doctor, sir, I am concerned for your well-being and in order to treat you I need to know what this stuff means - what it is. At the very least, I have a friend at LuthorCorp who would like to take a look at this. Can I get your consent to release these images to them? They can try to help you." Something about that name, Luthor, it made Drake panic. With the clutch of film prints in hand showing the alien webbing in his head, he bolted. Orderly's tried to stop him, but he was always ahead of them in his mind's eye - he was on muscle-memory, some sort of autopilot, re-enacting a vague memory that had surfaced the moment he started running out of the examining room. At each turn, he knew the unlocked doors, the one unbarred emergency exit; the outside fire door with the alarm wired off the nurses used to sneak out for a cigarette. Before he was winded from flight, Templeton Drake was back on the street and moving purposefully towards obscurity near the waterfront.