Jeffrey Jones


Powered Armor



Place of Birth:

Tucson, Arizona

Date of Birth:

2 April 1979

Hair/Eye Color:

Greying Black/Blue


6' 0" / 235 lbs


Member of the Global Guardians


What child hasn’t grown up, at one time or another, dreaming of flying? Of barreling through the clouds, carefree and without worries or problems given to those bound to the ground? Of climbing into the cockpit of a small craft, of finding wings on their backs, or of simply raising above the level of it all and taking to the skies with speed and with might? There are few who can claim they’ve never felt such a way, but even fewer are those who’ve carried those dreams through their adulthood and beyond. Jeffery Jones is one of the latter. A dreamer, a pilot, and a child at heart.

Jeff’s career in the skies began when he first took to the fighter jets of the United States Airforce. Like so many others of his type, Jeff rose up to challenge after challenge with that organization, making himself into the pinnacle of the Airforce’s developments, of their wonders. He was their brightest, their youngest, their best; dashing good looks, charm and charisma to boot, and a ladies man at every possible turn. Jeff’s life was perfect by his own ideals and by the army’s. By day, he lived out those old childhood dreams, soaring in the skies in a few tons of American-made premier technology. At night, he hung out at the local clubs and fought the women off all to vigilantly. Perfect.

Such things were not to be his way for too long, however. Jeff’s career as a pilot saw little or no combat action; serving with air wings that were assigned minimal defense missions, working here or there to simply do scout missions but, all in all, never fighting. The times of classical airborne combat seemed to have been a passing memory. Jeff’s time logged in the air was heavier than most other pilots, and yet he – like so many other American fighter pilots – felt like his talents were being wasted. Like there was something else for him in the skies that he wasn’t seeing. Not that he had a warmongering spirit that wished and lusted after the days when dogfighting was a warrior’s pursuit. Not that he had a deep, burning desire to be a hero of the skies. Not that he wanted to kill. Rather, simply because he’d trained all his life for air-borne fights that he was no longer convinced he’d ever see. What was the difference between being in the world’s premier pilot group, or flying a commercial airplane filled with tourists, if combat were no longer an issue?

When the Air Force announced that they’d be cutting back action time even more, pulling in foreign air bases and taking more of a defensive posture on the home front, Jeff’s ideals suddenly started to shift. He wouldn’t find action with them, he knew. He’d have to go elsewhere. He looked, and he found that "somewhere": the Diamond Corporation and one of their quietest, most secret projects.

Always on the cutting edge of all things, Diamond Corp had developed what they’d hoped would redefine the role of the soldier and the pilot at the same time. A small aircraft in it’s own right, and in another simply a suit of armor, the Personal Air Combat Device – PACD – was designed to give the simple, common man the ability to fly without a jet. A suit of powered armor with repulsor jets and weapons systems that would allow the user to soar high in the skies, to fight with jets and to fight with planes without having to be in their own. A development that would revolutionize weapons technology, but that had to be built and constructed with ignorance to the common mainstream eyes that usually watched Diamond Corp. The project would’ve made a smaller company rich, or ruined them, but a company of Diamond’s size simply saw it as a departure – a rare one – from what they typically worked with.

Jeff signed on to be the test pilot, to live out his dream of flying on wings but without a plane under him, and was accepted quickly. What a perfect specimen for the project? A pilot, disenchanted and willing to risk it all on a test.

Other forces were at work, however. Concern had developed and festered within the Diamond Corp about the nature of this particular beast. The company was benevolent to the last, and had never, ever gone to any lengths to hide their work from the public or the press. Such was simply not in their nature. While the PACD was hardly in the public’s eye to the same degree as most of their other projects, they hadn’t really hidden it either. The public wasn’t likely to be as accepting of the idea once it leaked into the mainstream, and accountants and board-members alike had watched vigilantly for such a shift to take place. Sooner or later, a slip-up that would ensure that the project could be safely scrapped would occur. When it did, they’d be able to tuck Diamond’s dirty little secret into the history books, and to forget it ever happened. PACD wasn’t Diamond’s style, after all, and any chance to scrap the project and return to their glimmering golden cup image would be welcomed by their types.

One scientist working on the project - who knows which one – apparently took offense to the idea. Unwilling to let the board and their watchful eyes be anything less than dazzled, that unidentified figure increased the output to the PACD in a bid that he hoped would make it even more amazing, more fantastic than it already was. When Jeff climbed in for the first time, he and the other scientists hardly took notice of the difference. They had no reason to.

And when the suit powered on for the first time, Jeff’s life changed forever...

The steel chassis, the metal warheads and the laser-powered energies all suddenly coalesced, joined and intertwined as the power spiked again and again. The batteries pumped out energies, leaking from the seams and creating great sound and light indeed. Jeff immediately knew something was wrong, as did the rest of them, but was powerless to intervene; his own man-made muscle was no match for the thousands of pounds of pressure that the suit’s pistons could give out. It moved of it’s own accord, twitching uncontrollably and thrusting anxiously about. Containment was the only option; one shortly explored, as the suit continued again and again to pass thresholds and failsafes until finally, the output reached critical levels. The room sealed off, hopefully in the ideal that the suit’s weapons wouldn’t destroy the onlookers. Inside, the metallic clasps fused, the joints locked, and Jeff wailed in pain from the power churning and bolting through his body.

When finally the power and the batteries reached a plateau, Jeff was weakened and beaten. He fell to his knees, the sound of the powerful and heavy armor dropping to the ground a testament to the weight he now failed to hold up. And yet the gears, the drivers and the pistons all worked their best to support him, enough power still running through the suit to sustain only it’s life support and what little muscle power it could muster. Indeed, Jeff would’ve collapsed and passed out of his own accord, died there in that room filled with the coursing heat of the spent batteries, had the suit not been so generous in cradling him and holding him up in that time of need.

Scientists scrambled about him, poking and prying at the glowing hot metal of the suit. They couldn’t do anything beyond watch, however, as the fused locks and powerful security systems built into the suit prevented them from opening it up. Like a coffin indeed, as Jeff was shortly told that the suit couldn’t be opened, that he was locked inside and would likely remain that way for some time. A few days, at best. He was carried out, unable to muster the mental or physical faculties to make the suit walk out on it’s own.

Within a few weeks, Jeff was still inside the suit, but was healthy of mind again. His body? Still broken, but mending of it’s own accord. Anxious to escape the suit but knowing that it would be some time still, Jeff didn’t hesitate to start testing out it’s limitations. To see if it could indeed fly, to see what it could lift, what power it could project and what power it could absorb. If it were to be his coffin, then he would not simply lay within it and die; he would press forward, he would learn it’s limitations and do his best to make matters better. Day in and out, Jeff – despite the scientists and doctors at his back, begging him otherwise – pushed the suit further than he had the day before.

The first test had been an anomalous failure, but one big enough to cancel the other PACD templates. The bureaucrats had gotten their wish. For Jeff to destroy this one in his need to see it’s limitations would be for him to destroy their whole team’s work, their whole team’s livelihood, and potentially, himself. The scientists literally clung helpless to his ankles, begging him to simply rest and let them examine the suit. Jeff, on the other hand, was quick to remind them that it was he, not they, who were trapped within it’s gunmetal blue interior. If it were to be his home...

As the days passed, the limitations, the strengths and the weaknesses of the suit were learned. Jeff became an aid of the laboratories indeed, as he used it’s powerful pistons to aid where trucks or cranes were simply too cumbersome, it’s defenses to go where they could not. He worked his best to get accustomed to it’s powers and abilities, and indeed, he worked his best to learn how to fly the suit as he’d originally intended to do. Over the skies he soared, free as he’d been, without wings and without need of a jet or a plane. And yet, still confined within tons of steel.

When the suit finally was ready to come off, at the hands of the same scientists who’d built it, Jeff was relieved. His skin had hardly healed, the good looks and beautiful visage that had earned him the attention of countless women was instead stained with the lines and pallor of burnt flesh. His spirit was on the mend, however, and he wasn’t able to relinquish the idea that it was not the suit that was destined to give him the skies. Gunmetal, as he’d become known, was born, and has since become an increasingly stalwart guardian and protector of his ideals.

A hero at first, doing his best to learn his own limitations. Beyond that, a Guardian, in every sense of the word.

Personality and MotivationsEdit

Jeff lived his life free of cares or worries until the first time he put Gunmetal on. From that day, his body was ruined and his mind broken by the ideal that everything he’d built was ruined. He’s regained his emotional and mental abilities, however, and has since taken to the ideal that his newfound armor and the spirit of freedom would be best served at the hands of the Global Guardians.

That isn’t to say that Jeff is a man of unbeatable spirit, of unbroken will or of a defender’s heart. Instead, Jeff still pains for his losses, but does so silently inside the security blanket that is two metric tons of pure weaponry and power. Jeff defends others, not for the rush it gives him to save lives or be a hero, but rather because each life he saves brings him a little closer to the ideals of the one life he feels he could not save; his own.

It should be noted that, unlike most of his teammates, Gunmetal is willing to kill an opponent if the situation requires it. He understands that it generally isn't necessary, however, and seeks to find alternate solutions. But should circumstances call for the death of an opponent, Gunmetal will do it. He'll regret the necessity, but will not deny the necessity.


"What greater freedom is there than flight? None, I figure."

Powers and AbilitiesEdit

Gunmetal, as a battlesuit, is one of the most advanced of it’s kind. Heavy and big, it was biometrically adjusted and designed to suit only Jeff Jones. Beyond that, Gunmetal’s strength and durability have been designed to be on par with many of the world’s best. The suit includes powerful weapon systems, including microlite rockets and concussion lasers built into the hands and shoulders. The sensors on the suit are designed to read and detect all different manners of life or matter, and give Jeff a greater range of sight and hearing. The suit is also completely self-contained, meaning that Jeff can use it to walk through everything from high end electromagnetic fields to radiation or through extremes in temperature. Most importantly, Gunmetal contains jet systems built into the boots that allow him to fly as high and almost as fast as most jets.


Jeff’s skin was horribly burned inside the Gunmetal armor. It has turned a stain of red, with cracks and burn-lines running across it’s face. Since those wounds were suffered many years ago, and the medical sciences have improved, Jeff’s visage has been mostly repaired. Not wholly, but enough that he appears almost as he once did. Tall, well built, and with a smile that would melt any woman’s heart. Gunmetal, on the other hand, is hardly as inviting. Much bigger than Jeff – standing at a good seven feet tall and built from powerful smooth blue and gray metal – it is the image of a humanoid, but more importantly, the build of a powerful, barrel chested man. Wide shoulders, weapons systems seemingly on each edge and side. A faceless expression, broken not by a nose or a mouth, but instead only by two black eye-slits. A dark blue cape, built in only when Gunmetal became a hero, gives him more of a majestic, superheroic look. Gunmetal is an imposing image indeed, especially when the mechanically enhanced words of it’s wearer are spoken through it’s speakers.