Futuristic The Explorer's Privateering Regime: Character Sheets

[The Mechanist]

BASIC INFORMATION
Name:
Aliases: (Other names, titles, nicknames.)
Age: (Biological age and/or total time of functionality if not a biological entity)
Gender: (if applicable)
Species: (any and all life forms allowed, aliens, robotic creations, or even a spectral form or type of sentient creature. Please be as creative as you’d like! I’m interested in seeing what you have to make! If you don't know what your species is called then use "Explorer"
No more humans will be accepted, or anything closely resembling a human)

PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: (Organizations, or groups that your character is a part of, Privateering ranks count as well)
Personality: (A brief description of the character's demeanor, nature and behavior)
Backstory: (At least a solid paragraph do not make it long)
Hobbies:

PHYSICAL
Appearance: (A Picture would be preferable but if a picture cannot be used and/or found then feel free to leave a text description)

Gadgets, Weapons & Items: (Any items, gadgets, weapons, armor or resources the character uses. Please be humble, don’t go over the top with weapons or else I’ll be forced to have you edit the sheet. No heavy explosives or giant mini guns and the like. Literally something your character can CONVENIENTLY carry is what im looking for)

Skills & Abilities: (The traits that your character has and their capabilities)
Biological Traits: (If applicable)
Negative Aspects: (your characters weaknesses, negative traits, fears or crutches)

 

[The Mechanist]

Alright So here is where you post your characters, I will be looking them over and accepting them, if I happen to have any issues I will Pm you directly so as to avoid spamming the Character sheet thread. In fact I only want character sheets here, discussions should be taken to the Futuristic - The Explorer's Privateering Regime: OOC

If I leave a cookie or heart in your CS that means it’s accepted and I will leave a threadmark saying “accepted”

oh and feel free to make as many characters as youd like!
The Explorer's Privateering Regime: IC

 

[The Mechanist]

Name: Valen Corevious
Aliases: Captain Core
Age: 34 synthetic years
Gender: Male
Species: Explorer
Organizations\Affiliations: Captain of the IEV (Intergalactic Exploration Vessel) The Red Moon
Privateering rank or roles: Captain
Personality: Valen Corevious is the type of individual who is all business while at work (officially anyways) while completely calm and relaxed when off duty. He has earned his rank through many years of exploration and work done for the EPR and pretty silently demands respect from his crew and subordinates.
Backstory: Valen Corevious, an Explorer species meaning unknown due to his heavy modifications, was part of the merchant navy many years ago. But during a shipping operation of delivering goods in between space stations a massive pirate attack took place with the ship that Valen was on being badly damaged and scuttled as it drifted into a nearby planets atmosphere. Valen himself was mortally wounded during the attack, an explosion causing shrapnel to be sprayed into his body causing major lacerations and organ perforations, he was only able to survive as well as he did by crawling into one of the storage containers which had an active stasis field inside for the more fragile goods. Floating inside he stayed as the ship entered the planets atmosphere and began its descent, slowly being torn away as it fell towards the planet, the mighty frigate crashing and being demolished further after impact with the planets surface. The local species sent a group to investigate the crash site and found Valen unconscious and barely alive in the stasis cargo crate.
Taking him out they took him back to their great city and performed an extreme operation on him, removing his vital organs and placing them within a chasis to keep him alive. Upon waking up and finding out what happened Valen was left mortified and depressed for a while before deciding to go back to working for the EPR who were very surprised to see he was alive and in a new form. Reinstating his license he was promoted to the rank of captain for being able to even survive such an event and given his own frigate. Now he was at a space station looking for a crew of his own.
Hobbies: Likes to document the native fauna and flora of undiscovered planets, keeps it all in a journal on his Matrix computer.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:

Spoiler: Captain Valen Corevious

Front View

Side View

Backview

Equipment
Gadgets, Weapons & Items: An A-180 pistol that comes with modifications and attachments to change its weapon mode

Spoiler: A-180 Blaster

Pistol form (default form he usually uses)

Blaster rifle form

Longrange form

Skills & Abilities: Due to his synthetic body Valen is able to think and remain calm under extreme pressure, even if the threat of death his high his new body will not allow him to panic and keep him called with chemical stimulants and suppressors. His new chasis does lend him enhanced strength but not as far as to be able to punch a bulkhead door down. More like bend metal pipes or struts with no issues.
Biological Traits: Not Applicable
Negative Aspects: Due to him not needing sustenance anymore he does need to stay charged which is achieved by standing in direct sunlight or utilizing his UV chamber aboard his Frigate. Since he only has one optical port he risks temporary blindness if his "eye" gets damaged. At certain times he holds onto the feeling of having lost his body and feels short bouts of depression, luckily his body on average keeps him happy.

 

[Sir Fungus]

Name: Haindhiazhia
Aliases: Haind
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Species: Zabrak

Organizations\Affiliations: N/A
Personality: Rebellious, Because of her talent at thievery, bribery, and Total disregard for the law. She’s built up the reputation and personality of the rebellious type
Backstory: Born on the streets of Omega, Haind was raised by small groups of rundown thugs, they taught her things like how to shoot a blaster, How to pick pocket, and how to sneak around without being noticed. After the death of her parents at age 17, Haind was forced to live alone using the same techniques she was taught to survive, Now running away on a simple cargo ship, Haind hopes to live her dream of becoming the greatest bounty hunter in the universe
Hobbies: Stealing, Threatening, Drawing and Bounty Hunting

Spoiler: Appearance

Gadgets, Weapons and items:
Haindhiazhia Wears a standard issue of Light weighted but protective armor that she stole from a cargo ship on its way to deliver a variety of weapons and supplies. She always has a pair of blasters, one that fires normal rounds and another that fires concussive rounds. Decorated on her belt are different types of grenades of plasma, and concussive for her small jobs, Unfortunatley, she can only carry about 5 at a time, And even then she’s vary scarce about using them.

Skills and abilities: Although she doesn’t have much, Haind has near great perception when it comes to firing a blaster.

Biological traits: Tattoos across her face as well as horns growing out of her head since birth

Negative aspect: Considering she’s an excellent shot in combat, this causes her to be extremely slow because of her needing to focus her aim.

 

[Archie]

Name: Uric vo Dunha
Age: 32 years - early adulthood for a Nakal
Gender: Species is unisex
Species: Nakal - a spacefaring race, formerly a young, primitive species before privateers enslaved some of them two centuries and Shanghai'd them onto ships. Due to a combination of warrior's cunning, political instinct, and physical strength, they were used as slave warriors in outer rim planets similar to the "Mamelukes" of the old Earth. Over time, coups against ruling dynasties and the installation of puppets made the Nakal a political force in the outer rim in their own right, splintered into numerous warring dynasties, who were just as prone to internal as external conflict. The Nakal were smaller in number than their subject peoples, so they lived in space stations in orbit of planets while giving those planets autonomy, threatening any revolution with antimatter and nuclear weapons, instead of committing precious Nakal mercenaries on the ground.
Hobbies: None except playing cards and gambling.


PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: Tal Marian Combine, Former Purser aboard Invisible Hand and the Asternia
Personality: Like most Nakal, Uric is terse in speech, a lover of tension in conversations as a bargaining tactic, imposing, self-assured, and capable of enduring great workload and suffering. Also like most of his species, he has few pleasures and keeps his emotions to himself. He is a great believer in the Eternal Recurrence, the Nakal concept of reincarnation. Unlike his species, however, Uric is more than willing to engage in taboo activities. He only pursues interspecies relationships, drinks alcohol, has no problem working with and fighting with other species. He has lived in the bubble of the Nakal bureaucracy and corporate environment his entire life, and relishes the breath of fresh air.

Backstory: Uric was born on the Nakal space station orbiting the mining world of Tel Shabir. The Khabar Cluster which Tel Shabir was located in had been divided into two warring governments until the year of Uric's birth, when the flag station of the Korvanic Directorate was wiped out by the Tal Morian Combine's antimatter warheads, so his birth-parents named him "vo Dunha", or "of the triumph". Uric started his apprenticeship to Stag vo Khalla at the age of 8. Stag was the chief engineer aboard the battlecruiser Divide and Conquer, and took four apprentices, one of which would inherit his position after his death. Stag, however, broke Nakal tribal law by attempting to seek sexual favors with one of his apprentices, so Uric and one of the others conspired to murder Stag. They were rewarded for bringing "justice through strength", and Uric was given the "privilege of claimant" as a result, being able to choose any officer of the crew to apprentice to, willing or not. He knew the money in any Nakal dynasty was in the department of the Purser aboard the ship. While unpaid, the Purser had the ability to control the flow of goods on board and sell goods at a commission rate. Uric chose the purser heading Invisible Hand, the Tal Morian Combine's capital ship, who he worked under for 5 years. That purser was accused of corruption by the master of marines on the station, so they agreed to duel, in which the Purser was killed. Before anyone else could take over the post, Uric began monopolizing the files, documents, and business connections of the Invisible Hand purser office, until he became the natural candidate for the succession. Overnight, he had propelled himself into potentially the highest financial office of the admittedly small, one-cluster Tal Morian Combine.

Prosperity was not to last, however. The combine had been fighting a losing war with the much larger Tacar Corporation, which operated as a legal Nakal business entity in the Intergalactic Republic, and was the dominant Nakal combine. Their flagship, Hostile Takeover, completely outclassed Invisible Hand and destroyed most of the Tal Morian leadership overnight. Uric escaped aboard a shuttle, and was able to smuggle himself aboard a mining float. He arrived inside the centrally administered region of the intergalactic republic days later, and performed privateering work. He was the Purser aboard the frigate Asternia, performing exploratory expeditions that devolved into raiding, before the decommissioning of the Asternia. Finding the next opportunity he could, he sought a commission on the Red Moon.

PHYSICAL
Appearance: 7', muscular. His eyes glow red in the dark.

Gadgets, Weapons & Items: Blast pistol, Kr-117 Standard issue. Concealable inside a jacket or belt. BT-661 Plasma knife, used for all purposes.

Skills & Abilities: Martial arts, negotiation, marksmanship with smaller weapons. Some experience piloting small craft, but not in combat.

Negative Aspects: Obsessive about respect, violent and impulsive. Sharp instincts, but book dumb and uneducated. Boring and humorless by the standards of most species, and highly paranoid.

 

[Birdsie]

Technician-42342"Fixer"

Universal Studies

"Some say that technology, in of itself, can be advanced enough to mimic magic. I say that technology, no matter what field, is magic. The wonderful quarks, bosons, mesons, gluons; the subatomic particles our universe is made out of are distinct yet the same, and together they create a statistically improbable whole seen nowhere else that came about only by statistical chance: a simple, metaphysical roll on a nonexistent d-twenty. If that is not magic, then what is? Truly, the Omnissiah blessed this wonderful world!"

BasicsName: Technipriest, Engineseer Designation, Technician Unit "42342" of Sector 12
Aliases: Fixer, "42342"
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Species: (Scientific) Homo Mechanicus (Social) Human Cyborg
Organizations/Affiliations:
Techpriests of Mars - Member
IEV - Self-Volunteered Engineer / Technician

• Appearance
• Personality
• History
• Equipment, Skills & Abilities, Negatives

• AppearanceHeight: 185cm
  Weight: 98kg
  Hair: Brown (naturally) White (following conversion therapies)
  Eyes: Brown (naturally) Robotic yellow (following conversion therapies)
  Body: Slim
  Attire: Red-yellow decorative Techpriest robes, equipment harnesses
  
• PersonalityUnit "42342," nicknamed rather plainly if accurately, "Fixer" is a true believer in the dogma of the Techpriest organization.
  
  He believes that there is a grand deity living in all technology, (note: their understanding of the word 'technology' is broader than ours, both literally and philosophically,) called The Omnissiah, sometimes called The Machine God. He works through and manifests in machines, which are seen by his worshipers as the ultimate expression of his order. His sacred language is binary, which pretty much every single techpriest is fluent in.
  
  Fixer is a cheerful existence, living his day-to-day life applying coolant lubricant to processors and circuit boards and embalming old grav-bike engines in holy oil, or trying to commune with Machine Spirits (AIs) to gain deeper insight on the glory of technology. He loves the world he lives in and relishes every meeting with a new person or having a chance to collect new data samples, although he does like more radical data and can be bored by mundane measurements like reading the outputs of a planet's magnetic field.
  
  Although he is insistent on that technology is the only way for people to ascend, he never pushes cybernetic augmentations on others and respects their free will and capacity to choose, and neither does he condemn them for what some more radical techpriests would believe to be sin, though he does love to go on rants (or in his own words, "sermons,") about how certain technologies work.
  
  Destroying valuable equipment or wasting precious resources is a sin in his eyes, and he will be greatly disappointed to see it happen.
  
  He sees tinkering or creating technology and machines to be a combination of careful artwork and profoundly philosophical ritual. Every time he creates a new weapon, adjusts a cybernetic augmentation, helps create a gene-code for genetic therapy or modification, he does it with immaculate care, precision, passion, and perfectionism. He is never happy or settles for second-best, and tries to work with the best materials available whenever possible. He respects technology much in the same vein as a modern hippy respects nature.
  
  The reason he set out for his pilgrimage across the stars was to collect as much data and technology as possible, to prove himself in the eyes of the Omnissiah and the skeptical fellow clergymen who thought he'd never be good for anything other than fixing microwaves.
  
  Hobbies- Tinkering: Fixer enjoys collecting bits of scrap and junk and trying to think of inventive ways to put it together to create a usable device with some kind of application. His years of solitude spent on a lonely research station on the natural satellite of Gimel-2 alone with drones and androids has taught him the worth of every bit of unused scrap one can get their hands on.
  - Study: When he arrives on a new planet, he has a compulsive habit of immediately assessing things like its mass, gravitational pull and volume with special scans. When he meets an android whose model or mark he's never seen before, the first thing he does is excitedly greet them and ask them the specifics of their hardware and software.
  - Worship: Call it talking in binary to a computer or praying. It's the same thing.
  - Priest Things: He's still a priest, you know. Just a techy one. Instead of absolving you of your sins, he offers tech support, and instead of blessing your egg-basket on Easter he covers your computer's motherboard in sacred coolant fluids.
  
• HistoryLike all of his people, Unit 42342 received a number and designation, as well as a Complex Design Key upon birth, rather than a 'name' as we understand it. His parents, much like their parents before him, were a pair of techpriests from various designations and divisions. After birth, he was baptized in oil according to Mechanicus custom, and then grew up normally with his parents, going to a school on Mars (the focus of which was scientific, as you may guess,) and learning until the age of thirteen.
  
  At that point, Unit 42342 went through the "conversion therapy" and received his first cybernetics: the Mind Impulse Unit (MIU), a chip that allows for fine-tuning the brain's operations, acts as a small-scale life support, and helps integrate other bionics and cybernetics into the user.
  
  At sixteen, he wrote a tentative thesis on the creation of a hydrogen-based thermal power source, which could convert water and/or biomass into energy, while at the same time creating oxygen and being environmentally friendly (not exactly, actually, but it'd be more environmentally friendly than a coal furnace.) His thesis was graded with a subpar D+ and he was assigned a function based on his average grades, where his thesis took up a 66% of the grade. His parents and teachers were disappointed.
  
  As a result, he received an unsatisfying job in a research and monitoring station on a moon of the planet "Gimel-2."
  
  Quickly, 42342's mental stability dwindled and he fell into depression and insanity, even by techpriest standards. He started very desperately trying to create some device he didn't bother defining that would "take him to the top" by impressing his superiors. It started off innocent, with an electromagnetic emission device that could transfer simple messages from orbit to planet in less than a second to a genetically modified cat (Felis catus) outfitted with two dozen tools for attack, defense, propulsion, life support, spyware, technological interfacing, and even data gathering.
  
  One project after another failed to impress, except for the cat which his superiors thought was actually quite sophisticated, but the fact that he put the technology in an animal was considered strange and unethical.
  
  One day, something weird happened. Red alarms turned on in the station. Turning on his HUD, 42342 saw that a vessel has crash-landed on Gimel-2. He contacted it immediately: the vessel that its captain had dubbed "The SS Stargazer." After the vessel failed to pick up his hail, 42342 instead attacked its systems with his malware and tried to force open a link, but what he found astounded him.
  
  The SS Stargazer had been taken over by a boarding party of pirates, who were in the search of an STC (Standard Template Construct), an extremely rare type of ancient, alien technology created thousands of years ago and forgotten.
  
  He didn't hesitate. 42342 downloaded the coordinates of the STC, took the cat-cyborg with him, and landed on a tomb of the planet. The pirates followed soon after him. Having no other choice, 42342 sicced the cat on them, took the STC flashdrive and ran away to his shuttle.
  
  The next day, after his superiors perused the data, he was given the chance to have any one wish.
  
  The choice was obvious.
  
  His file was forwarded to the Captain of the Red Moon, the Techpriest General-Fabricator personally recommending Unit 42342 for an engineering position. Truth be told, this was an excuse to leave Gimel-2 and explore the universe in search of new experiences and data.
  
  
• Equipment- Tools: A wide assortment of tools, some carried underneath his robes in space-efficient compartments or built into his body. His image contains a back-mounted industrial-grade claw and a mechadendrite with a camera and welding-type thermal beam generator. He also has a wrench, screwdriver, multi-tool, swiss army knife, and others.
  - Cybernetics & Bionics
  -- MIP: Mind Impulse Unit. An advanced chip between the brain lobes, allowing the user to more easily interface with technology built into their body and control their own cerebral cortex, allowing them to alter the flow of body chemicals and hormones. Part of the reason why 42342 is so cheerful is that he set his brain to excrete more serotonin and dopamine. In addition, his brain has a sustained life-support system. Fixer delegates his memory and central processing to the MIP, so the brain is mostly there to preserve the original consciousness and what little humanity techpriests have.
  -- Bionic Organs, Limbs & Senses: Most of Fixer's organs and his limbs were replaced by sophisticated cybernetics. They show an increase in efficiency when compared to a baseline human, allowing him to take more damage and carry more weight without straining himself. His lungs automatically filter air toxins, removing the requirement of a gasmask, and they can close off in a vacuum to allow limited survivability for several precious seconds without a protective suit. His five senses have been augmented; his eyes can see in several electromagnetic spectrums, his ears are capable of echolocation, his sense of taste can analyze chemicals through contact, and his sense of touch allows him to sense changes in air pressure to the point of predicting the weather. He has a radio and interactive HUD built into his cranium.
  
  Skills & Abilities- Highly Skilled Engineer: Much like any techpriest, once he gets a good look at a technology, he can repair or maintain it very easily. In addition, he is capable of building new software and hardware, as well as mechanical implements and tools of a diverse array. Although blueprints are appreciated when told to work, he is inventive and creative enough to figure things out on his own, given time.
  
  Negative Aspects- Non-Combatant: Hell, give him time. He'll make combat drones, combat androids, or even modify a cat and pack it full of weapons. The problem lies in that, on his own, he is terrible in combat and abhors the experience as stressing, as there are "too many variables" for him to "process." If he goes onto the surface, he's mostly there to provide insight into technology, assemble translation codes for alien languages, or to collect technology of his own accord. Don't rely on him for combat too much, especially direct combat. He can fix your arm by replacing it with a mechanized plunger, though, so there's that.
  - Electromagnetic Pulse: Although Fixer lined his own body in protection from EMP's, enough electromagnetic interference can fizzle out his augments. At worst, it can make him short-circuit and lose hours of unsaved memory, demanding a reboot which has a boot-up sequence that goes on for a minute on average.
  - Abhors Barbarism: If faced with a civilization primitive enough that they do not have access to "basic accommodations" such as wireless area networking or refrigiration, he will do his best to amend that problem and expedite their scientific progress in whatever ways possible. If faced with a civilization so barbaric and brutish that they openly hate technology and destroy it, he will most likely respond in kind and ask for permission to exterminate them with orbital bombardments.
  -- tl;dr: be nice to your Alexa or he'll sicc a drone on you.
  - Virus: His augments contain software, which makes them a target to malware attack. His anti-virus is strong and pure, but a diabolical and well-placed trojan is as the messenger of the Nine Hells themselves. DDoS is particularly invasive.
  
  

Theme Song

 

[Noble Scion]

BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Ami Llya'na (Ah-mi eel-yay-na)
Aliases: Ami
Age: 23 years old
Gender: Female
Species: Quarian

PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: Member of the IEV frigate, Red Moon
Privateering rank or roles: First Mate
Personality: Despite her cheery appearance, Ami is surprisingly hard-going when it comes to work, being particularly strict on both herself and others to get a job done. She usually maintains a refined level of composure similar to a noblewoman, while seeming rather stiff when it comes to socialising, finding humour particularly difficult to understand. Strong-willed and with a seemingly endless amount of determination when given an objective, although a bit unethical at times. Somewhat spoilt at times.

Backstory: Ami Llya'na, a name known through all of the Quarians of her planet due to being the lone daughter of one of the head families of the planet, achieved the highest scores of her race in a variety of tests and exams throughout her life, theoretically the most capable of her species, the only thing keeping her back being her lack of experience due to her sole focus on education until eventually finishing up on her planet and being elected to leave as a representative of her world to help spread good word of her people amongst the universe.

The daughter of the famed Llya'na and hailed as being talented in many regards was given the best opportunities any planet could have given, and she most certainly leapt at the opportunities. Where some pursued social life and joy, Ami forewent such luxuries and focused her entire life on study and exercise in an attempt to prove her superiority complex true, and to truly believe that she was above all others. Her achievements eventually brought her to wanting to earn the one thing she lacked: experience in work on the field, this lead her to the famed IEV in the hopes of earning fame throughout the entire galaxy, and to allow her achievements to speak for themselves, continuously being pushed by her parents to ever greater heights.

Hobbies: Creating plans, learning, reading, practising with firearms and completing tasks

PHYSICAL
Appearance:


Gadgets, Weapons & Items: Her suit, which is somewhat resilient so as to not break or tear easily, that also filters the air she breathes so as to not contract a disease due to her incredibly weak immune system by separating dust particles and airborne diseases from the air she breathes.
Her standard pistol

Spoiler: Pistol

Skills & Abilities: Good marksmanship, knowledge of various strategies and history, good knowledge of engineering and experienced use with computers, as physically capable as the average human
Biological Traits: Weak immune system
Negative Aspects: Incredibly weak immune system, to the point of living inside of her suit, if her suit is damaged, too much exposure to air could result in fever, superiority complex. Despite her expansive knowledge, she does lack experience in almost every regard

Theme:

 

[Fable]

BASIC INFORMATION

Name: Nécole Wyrick
Aliases: Né, Star Lady
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Species: Cyborg-Human

PERSONAL

Organizations\Affiliations: Former crew member of the Opal Star.

Personality: Necole should not be considered as an overly serious person. She can easily separate business from pleasure. If there is a need to be serious she most likely will put aside her humorous side, though sometimes she can't help but let a bit of sarcasm leak out at times. She naturally tends to seem like a sarcastic ass, which might work in her favor when cutting deals. She isn't really bothered by violence, but it generally isn't her go-to solution for problems, unless she's drunk, then it solves everything.

Backstory: Nécole was born on some podunk colonist planet called Opthea as your average human. Those that resided here weren't exactly considered of a high social class as they mined for various natural ores the planet provided as a means of work. It was pretty much how 90% of the population earned their currency. They worked to make the rich, richer. This was not a life she dreamed of, but she was born into. She was a rebellious youth as well, constantly getting into some kind of trouble. Hacking into the school's mainframe and causing all sorts of chaos is one of her favorite stories to share.

She spent the first 16 years of her life on that planet until there was a small opportunity. She decided - on a whim due to a classmates dare - to stow away on one of the freight that came trade. What she didn't know was out of all the freighters that were parked, she went and chose the one that was home to a smuggler crew. Now, they could have sent her back home, but Nécole threatened to expose them (stupid, but she was young) if they returned her. She had been with them for the next few years until there was an awful day with bad luck.

They had been trying to smuggle out some black market items and upon inspection Nécole was used as a distraction and ended up getting arrested. She took a deal and accepted being conscripted for privateering ventures, it was better than rotting in a cell for the next few years of her life.

Hobbies:

• Collecting items, from oddities to trinkets
• Card/Dice games
• Drinking
• Inventing words that sound vulgar
• Theft
• Getting upgrades

Gadgets, Weapons & Items:

• "Mech" Suit - A skintight suit that gives her a bit more bodily protection. It has a few perks, such as better shock absorption, so punches don't hurt nearly as bad as they normally should. Intuitive for things like dexterity and balance. The helmet provides other goodies, such as night-mode, tracking, about 30 minutes worth of oxygen if stuck somewhere without air, and general analysis purposes.
• The "Guns" - her cyborg arms. Stronger and more dexterous than an average humans.
• Real Guns - Two standard pistol sized blasters.
• Portable Personal Interface Device - "PPID" which is this era's version of an advanced tablet device which she can use for surfing the internet or hack into vulnerable systems.

Skills & Abilities:

• Hacking - She's not an elite hacker, but she's able to get around the less protected systems.
• Gun Proficiency - She can hit a target.
• Unarmed Combat - Why waste good cyborg upgrades?
• Sleight of Hand - Protect your pockets.

Biological Traits: Nécole is mostly human with a few cyborg enhancements, most notably her arms and hands.

Negative Aspects: Nécole's doesn't do well with emotions. She sucks at comforting others and is volatile when she is emotionally distressed. She tends to drink too much resulting in her often getting caught in bar brawls. Her arms can "short" out if they are damaged too much.

 

[The Dark Wizard]

• Normal
• Smoke Form

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Basic Information

Name: Oliver Hunt
Aliases: Prisoner #262468, Genetic Experiment: Smoke Man
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Species: Human

Personal

Organizations\Affiliations: Security Officer in The Explorer's Privateering Regime
Personality: Oliver used to be a rebellious youth before his encounter with the law and his experiment. Now he is a dutiful Officer in the EPR, requiring respect for the system and for himself and his superiors. One of Oliver's dominant traits is still his curiosity though.
Hobbies:

• Video Games
• Working on new security tackles to keep field agents safe.
• Working on finding wanted people.
• Card Games
• Working out
• Smoking
• Vehicles

Backstory: Oliver Hunt was a rebellious youth during his teens, the light and magic of an age of "exploration" not hitting his broken family like it did others. He watched with resentment as others led better lives and even joined the EPR and got to explore the stars. He in the meantime by the age of 16 joined a local street gang back on Earth that had been getting popular with the Youth. By the time he was 19 the gang had been dispersed with memories from all over being captured, the Police did not discriminate whether they were high or low like he was. He would spend the next years 19-21 in what he would realize was a Maximum Security facility.
He thought that such a reaction for a low ranking thug like himself was a bit overkill as he had heard that more dangerous people got less extreme locations, but it would only be a week in before he realized what this was all about, he was secretly screened and selected among all the "Trash" that were these people, people that were assumed to not be missed by anyone in society. Oliver had been selected for Project Genesis, an experiment that had begun with good intentions years ago, now run by corrupt and mysterious people and their goal was simple: to advance the Human State and regain the superiority that they feel was "lost" when other species had become known and entered the universal ecosystem. For the next 3 years, he would undergo grueling experiments and torture that only grew in risk and pain as the people working on him grew in frustration, people whose name except for a mysterious logo on their coats he never gathered. He had heard them discuss him as a "Failure" on more than one occasion, for whatever reason, he wasn't showing signs of changes and this made them more curious and further emboldened them but before they could really get to the bottom of it, this project had been "shut" down and as quickly as they came and took them, they vanished. He had been offered a small amount of money, not enough to live any meaningful life and a shortened sentence that would end when he was 23.
All he had to do was keep quiet, it's not like anyone would believe him after all nothing ever really came of it, short of the traumatizing memories but those weren't really important to anyone else and those were in his head. Immediately henceforth he was transferred to a minimum security facility where basic quality of life things were restored, things like Occasional Internet Access, mingling with other Prisoners, even had a cellmate. What changed Oliver's life forever was the Penpal system, something he thought was dumb and ignored for a while until a letter showed up. It wasn't necessary that he picked a penpal, for there was a site that showed all the inmates and if someone from the outside world felt so inclined, they could send a letter to one of the inmates. Now participation wasn't mandatory and he didn't have to reply but after a few days of mulling on it, his curiosity had won. A curiosity that was an underlying part of his personality, a curiosity that had always gotten him in trouble, and first led him to join a gang, a curiosity that he was shy about, one that was appropriate for this magical age of space exploration.
He had replied back and learned that it was a Young man named Alexander Marshall, someone who would quickly become his best friend and future lover. Alex regularly wrote to Oliver and even came to visit as often as he could, something that made Oliver feel warm and special even if he did not show it through all that rough exterior. Come around Oliver's 23 birthday and he was released, and the first person he got to see was Alex who picked him up, nowhere to stay and hardly any money to his name, except the pitty hush money, Oliver moved in with his now Boyfriend for what turned out to be the best year of life. He had always been fascinated by Alex, someone who wasn't scared of him and his crime record, someone who knew he had once done Assault, Robbery, Grand Theft Auto and did not look at him in disgust, someone who accepted him, both his past and physically for he was filled to the brim with tattoos. It was all bliss until one day he got into an argument with Alex about meeting his parents, he was nervous and scared that they'd force him to separate because of Oliver's past.
After a long day of that, he decided to give something a try, something he had to give up in prison and something he had not thought about in several years since before he was first imprisoned. He thought about a smoke, a cigarette, and a cigarette is what he went to go find. Sitting across from Alex, he lit it up and took a puff and that was where his life truly changed for the second time. It wasn't that Project Genesis failed on him unlike other test subjects, its that they had not found the correct catalyst. Upon taking a puff of the cigarette, Oliver's sensors were overwhelmed with pain as his shape exploded and expanded into smoke, covering the room instantly and suffocating Alex almost instantly as Oliver filled his lungs and that of their pet dog with his form. Vaguely aware of what he had done in this taste, unable to control it, he lingered here for days with the body of his dead lover before eventually reshaping and turning himself in. It was eventually deemed that it was an accident and that he was not to be held responsible for the change in his body which he could hardly control. He would spend the next few months until his 24th birthday hopping from motel to motel in depression until he came across a flyer to join the EPR, something he always thought was outside of his reach until he released it was a program for Criminal Forgiveness. Signing up, he soon left after to train and learn about his powers and join the EPR, rising up the ranks until he became a security officer in what is now the present day of his history.

Physical

Appearance: Oliver Hunt is covered from head to toe in Tattoos, his most significant one being that his face is covered with a skull tattoo. In prison and in the EPR he had nothing but time to work out, so he is lean with a Wrestler's body.

Gadgets, Weapons & Items:

• Standard Issue Dual Pistols for a Security officer.
• An electric net to stun dangerous creatures or runaway convicts.
• Communications Device
• Necessities (Clothes, Cigs, other basic things)

Skills & Abilities:

• Oliver has dabbled into mechanic work, it was why he was good at stealing Vehicles when he was in his late teens before he was arrested.
• Brawling was required before he later had firearms training in the EPR
• Firearms
• Intimidating
• Tracking
• Security Tactics

Biological Traits:
Project Genesis made Oliver into a smoke man. That isn't to say he isn't a physical functioning human being, but when he starts to go under stress, like in a dangerous situation he can expand the molecules and turn into an ever-expanding smoke cloud, over the two years in the EPR, he's learned to control this significantly to avoid things like bodily injuries (because letting knives for example pass through you is useful) or expand limbs into smoke and learn to safely suffocate and force people to pass out for extraction and capture. These abilities have also become useful in Field Work in terms of keeping his team alive from dangerous creatures and lifeforms in unknown environments.

Negative Aspects:

• Anger Management (The more his emotions fluctuate, the harder of a time he has maintaining his form).
• Curious
• Loves tracking people to an unhealthy degree. (Think stalker or masochist in regards to this)
• Cold Environments mess with him. The Colder it is, the more he quickly shuts down. He almost died once during one of his first missions when he first started and his suit got punctured.
• Extreme Pressure. The initial pressure of going from an atmosphere to empty space can disperse and kill him at the violent rate that happens. This was also found out during another mishap with his suit and his arm was exposed to the vacuum of space when his suit tore, and he lost his arm, causing him to be unconscious and on life support for a week until it reformed.
• Chain Smoker
• Doesn't know how to swim, or rather can't fully submerge himself without a suit, his body disperses.

 

[Deathkitten]

BASIC INFORMATION​

Name: Azaea-Id
Aliases: Blue, Techie
Age:
Current Form - 15
Total - 313
Gender:
Current - Female
General - Ambiguous
Species: Explorer (Species explained in biological traits.)

PERSONAL​

Organizations\Affiliations: Has worked alone much of her life, but is currently looking for a group that both she can tolerate, and that can tolerate her.
Personality: Generally aloof, creative, curious, and rather technologically savvy. Her personality can change somewhat based on the concentrations of elements comprising her form at the time. The nobler the element, generally, the more stable her personality. Stable with stable, volatile with volatile. If she is comprised of a number of compounds or if she is comprised of liquid, then the resultant change in personality is not as clearly tracked.
Backstory: She's a little ball of hyper... and also a nice mix of nitrogen and oxygen. Literally a star-person, she has a stellar mass at her core that allows her to have her own selective gravity that gives her her form. This one, in particular, a more "humanoid" one, she has had for around 15 Earth years. At the moment she's pretty stable, nice, all smiles, and as curious as always. When her form comprises more volatile elements, however, she becomes volatile same as what comprises her. It makes her a little difficult to be around. Sure, she could handle that uranium situation for you by adding it to her mix and expelling say... oxygen, but... are you SURE you want her to? Are you sure you want her to have a half-life like that?

She's been spending a large majority of her time simply hopping from group to group, trying to find a group that will put up with her mood swings and potential for fires or explosions. She wants to learn as much as she can about as many compounds and elements as she can, to an obsessive degree that has gotten her in a bit of trouble in the past.
Hobbies: Various arts and crafts, experimentation, research, and inventing.

PHYSICAL​

Gadgets, Weapons & Items: Elemental scanner device, just in case she can't tell what she's looking at. Small tool/gun akin to Dead Space (though not as bs), primarily used as a laser cutter or laser pistol.

Skills & Abilities: Extremely intelligent, tech-savvy, and fast.
Biological Traits:

• She is quite literally made of star-stuff. A minuscule star, no bigger than a golf ball, sits in the center of her “chest”, giving her her own centralized, selective gravity which is how she creates her form. This is also why her form can be as dense as it tends to be.
• She has the lifespan of a star, and as such is actually incredibly young for someone of her ilk.
• She can take in elements and compounds into her form, that being what her form actually is... the bits settling as either liquid or gas, depending on what she prefers.
• She can discern compounds and elements in something as long as she has actually incorporated that into her being before.
• She does not sleep, breathe, or eat, and is not overly affected by the vacuum of space.
• She runs rather hot, a trait attributed to her star core, and if she is comprised of particularly volatile elements or compounds, she could catch things on fire or explode if not careful.
• Her composition also dictates her density and speed.

Negative Aspects: She has a somewhat laughable and generally amusing fear of vacuums. She is difficult to get along with all the time as her personality is liable to shift dramatically. She is unendingly curious, and as such, it can be difficult to stop her from running off if she is comprised of more volatile elements or compounds. She is very young for a being like herself and tends to act like it. She doesn't know how to fight and when comprised of stable materials, she is quite the pacifist.

 

[Noble Scion]

BASIC INFORMATION
Name: The “C4T4STR0PH3” unit (C4T for short)
Aliases: “Cat”, “Kitty”
Age: 5 years since being repaired
Gender: N/A
Species: Robot

PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: Battle-bots & co., The IEV
Personality: C4T is an often confusing person to meet, short attention span, incredible over-excitement that can come and go in seconds, fleeting curiosity towards everything and anything and a laugh that seems to find everything funny. The droid could be considered insane by some, but really its simply the cat-like traits that were passed on to it from its original life. Cat is very much an eccentric personality, and seems to lack any logical thinking, making her incredibly spontaneous.

Backstory: C4T was once just a simple cat, one of the normal four-legged felines known as a "tabby cat" to be specific, but a cat all the same, living life to the fullest by walking around, meowing at things it liked, hissing at things it didn't and other standard things of its species. That was until a strange mechanical being it remembered not the name of took her in and began strange experimentation on her body. Such things included: being outfitted with two dozen tools for attack, defence, propulsion, life support, spyware, technological interfacing, and even data gathering.

The battle-ready cat grew to like its owner and continued living on with the strange little mechanic, that was until the duo were caught in a rough spot, and where her beloved master elected to save himself after a rather unfriendly meeting with a bunch of pirates, leaving her to fend off against the horde of armed evil-doers. The cyborg cat tried her hardest to fend them off, but in the end, failed. Defeated, deserted and destroyed, the once-housecat was now no-longer, that was until a small group of scavengers found the corpse and took it back to their local smuggler for a fair (unfair) deal.

The destructive kitty was passed on from owner to owner until it reached its end destination of "Battle-bots & co.", a company that focused on the rental and selling of mercenary robotics for combat and other purposes, where she repaired and improved, leaving behind the mortal body of the cat and replacing it with much more resilient metals, and a variety of weaponry. The cat was even given a strange AI that the owner had laying around that seemed to fit the origins of the robot that had strangely contained the remnants of a dead house-cat, even settling on a fond name-pun for it, before selling the droid to the IEV as a hired-gun for protection, in which it was placed on the new vessel the "Red Moon"

Hobbies: playing with animals, scratching things, messing with woollen-based products, dancing, staring at food it can't eat, meowing for no reason

PHYSICAL
Appearance:


Gadgets, Weapons & Items: A jump-pack for mobility and repositioning in combat scenarios, along with a rifle for mid-range combat

Skills & Abilities: Marksmanship with AI targeting, could be repaired if broken
Biological Traits: N/A
Negative Aspects: Robotic and needs to charge on occasion, weak to EMP effects, could be reprogrammed, unable to heal aside from being repaired, forgetful

Theme:

 

[mausedpotatos]

BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Albert O'Harris
Aliases: Albert.
Age: 50.
Gender: Male.
Species: Human.

PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: None.
Personality: Albert is a roughneck who has grown quiet and resigned. He is stoic most of the time, but not angst-y. He likes to live a quiet life of mopping floors up and doing short contracts as a short shift miner. He is slow to anger and has a long amount of patience as a result of some events in his life leading him to reconsider his more redneck-y ways and try to be a better person.
Backstory:

Summarized backstory:
Albert Greer was born inside of a habitat dome in the nation of Aucharia. Aucharia is a medium sized colony located nearby to the Proxima Centauri star. The ship landed on a planet with a toxic, sweltering atmosphere. The surface was grey and barren. The air was thin and sulphery. The colony was created from a successful ark-class ship that landed on the planets surface. Albert's family was situated inside of an outpost dome. The colony was decentralized, meaning that each dome was self-sufficient but was within the same colony of Aucharia. Aucharia was primarily invested in underground mining and excavation, the fruits of which were shipped out to local refineries and shipyards that were within the system. He lived a normal childhood and spent fifty years working on the colony. Eventually, he got into trouble with the colonial administration and had to leave the planet.

He was on a transport shuttle when, due to a series of events, he was infected by a symbiotic alien organism that has merged with him and now lives as a part of him. In an effort to remain subtle and not attract any attention, Albert has signed on with a vessel where he hopes to be far away from centralized society and start a new life.

FULL BACKSTORY:

Spoiler: Backstory

Albert lived a quite average childhood. His mother and his father were both workers within the shaft mines, and though they didn't have much, they were proud of what they had achieved. The family lived a more or less happy life together in a small apartment block. Albert was sometimes sad that he had no siblings, though he understood that fewer mouths to feed meant more for the rest of them, as well as a less-tight budget every month. Four days a week, Albert would attend school for five hours. The education was excellent, but as it was sponsored by various companies there were certain unspoken agreements between the benefactors and school administrators. Cameramen occasionally turned up and prodded the sleepy children into energetic and enthusiastic positions, gleefully holding up their school-issue decade-old tablets with their news outlet stickers plastered on the back, with a coerced thumbs up and smile. Still, an education was an education, and if newsmen wanted to make their hollow companies seem family-friendly by occasionally pestering his classmates, Albert felt he could hardly complain. Weekends were alloted to the Aucharian children, four days were given to them for schooling, however the fifth day was work-day. Work-day was a five hour long, grueling experience. It was justified by the colonial administrators under guise of giving the children work experience and valuable soft skills. In reality, the children were used as a cheap way to make the adult miners work smoother. The adults would go about their tasks as the adolescents weaved their way around mine shafts, carrying metal drums of water, picks, cables, and generally fulfilled a role as all-purpose supply movers. The older kids were usually taken under a miners wing and shown how to actually do a lot of what went on in a mine. No one complained to the administrators about the children being made to work. Working in mineshafts was what the oblivious colonists had done since the time of their grandparents. Company scrip, company rations, company housing, company intranet; all were just facts of life that they were grateful to have. It wasn't hard to justify to themselves at all. 'Besides,' the parents reasoned, 'It's not like they're going to end up working as some hoity-toity doctor or get any other job on this planet.'

And so life went on. Albert went to his school and learned about working in the mines. His parents continued to be a positive influence on him.
Albert eventually reached the age of seventeen, and was legally an adult by colony standards. He picked up a job in borehole seventeen when the biannual workers lottery came around. Borehole seventeen, which was a deep industrial borehole that had been picked clean, and then had branching shaft mines dug every story down until the hellishly hot and unlivable bottom was reached. The bottom of borehole seventeen, or as Albert learned to call it from the veteran miners, 'ole widower, was so deep that the original machines massive drillbit had nearly melted off when it approached the bottom. Only specially built mining exosuits with industrial cooling equipment could be used at that depth, and even then the users needed to stay within their sealed pressure suits and have their temperature module hooked into the exosuits systems. Miners in regular pressure suits without an exosuit would boil like an egg in a pot. Albert got his certification in using an exosuit, and got a regular shift working on the lower levels. The pay was better than what was given to normal miners due to the hazard of the work. More than one miner had been killed in a collapsed shaft, or slowly cooked to death as his exosuit sunk into a steaming pit of magma, desperately banging against the exosuits canopy for help. Albert even saw a few of these, and all of those times he either had a quiet cry before bed or vomited up his tin of re-hydrated eggs and ham while dwelling on their expressions. Still, it toughened him up somewhat and let him face the realities of life.

As with most roughnecks, Albert was an obnoxious roughhouser. He spent his twenties trawling through honkytonks, stripclubs, bars, and less-reputable establishments in search of fun and a way to blow through his paystub for the week. He spent his thirties slowing down and trying to enjoy life a bit more. He read e-books and trawled the galactic web. Company parties were a favorite pass time, and it seemed that every week someone in the labour department was having a birthday. Less time was spent at his favorite drinking spot, and more time was spent reading the news and trying to get as dressed up as an Aucharian redneck could get to attract a lady friend.
Sadly for Albert, and not for a lack of trying, finding a nice wife to settle down with just didn't work out for him. He continued to work in the 'ole widower, maneuvering his exosuit around the dark passages for hours on end. The days seemed to slowly blur together. A small benefit was that as he got older, the miners that had once seemed old to him as a child began to retire. Some of those that retired managed to save up enough to spend their days in a nice retirement neighborhood off-planet with other similarly-aged individuals or go traveling. Others who had no spare credits were sent to mercy homes which were subsidized by, you guessed it, the mining company. Albert began to see the writing on the wall that the mining companies and the Aucharian colonial government were hand-in-hand, and that the company executives weren't that different from the colonial administrators who arranged kickbacks, gave paycuts to workers to feed more credits to the company stooges, and were known to abuse the security teams and their own authority for personal gain. Albert wasn't surprised that he hadn't noticed this during his childhood or through the drunken party-filled haze of his twenties. He picked up smoking, and eventually got up to a pack a day.
All in all, however, he wasn't dissatisfied with his life. He purchased a package of watercress seeds for an exorbitant price and cultivated them within his hydroponics tray. He resold the watercress on the down-low to other hungry families to make a profit, never mind the fact that black market sales were forbidden by the administration. Eventually he was caught, and fined heavily, after a dissatisfied mother alerted the security team. They were none too gentle in barging into his house in the middle of the night and smashing the growing tray against the floor. The security team left, but not before grinding the plants against the floor under their boots, and cleaning out his stash of dehydrated fruit while the other guards pushed Alberts struggling form into his bedroom. Alberts complaints went unheeded no matter who he turned to. Eventually after further harassment by a lone blonde man on the security team who in no uncertain terms used his baton to bash Albert in the gut during break time, and also hissed a warning about how he should know his place in life. Albert took the message and clammed up. Good news did eventually help to cast a shadow over the outrageous actions that the security team took against him; his exosuit got upgraded from the old clunker model that he was used to. Originally, he drove a PHE Model Two. The PHE stood for 'power hydraulic exosuit'. It was a clunky and unwieldy beast, but it had come to him easily. He knew its every nook and cranny, and the tough burlap seating had eventually softened under his decades of sitting in it. It was familiar to him. The new exosuit that was phased in for general use, however, was sleek and new. The PHE Model Two's canopy was made of temperature resistant ploy-carbonate and enamled glass. The new exosuit was entirely enclosed in metal, and relied on advanced scanners and cameras to provide the user with a full range of vision. It had more displays, and a greater ranger of motion, not to mention a longer battery and lift support charge retainment. This did serve to cheer him up for a while, but he had still been changed by his experiences.

Cautious and overall less cheerful, Albert continued with his life.
The decades trudged on. He went through his fourties. Work. Eat. Sleep. Repeat. The monotony began to gnaw away at him. He felt trapped and woefully isolated. No amount of books, booze, or movies could distract him from the fact that he felt inadequate. He felt less-strong than his coworkers, as much of his time was spent cloistered inside of his exosuit. In an effort to feel more like a 'real man', Albert enrolled in a boxing course and weightlifting class. He did good work, until his areobic training suddenly had him coughing and spitting up wads of thick grey phlem. He went to see the staff physician. The staff physician was a grey haired old man who had served the colony in a quite selfless and un-corporate-like fashion for as long as Albert could remember. His name was Greyson, and he seemed to know almost immediately what was wrong with Albert. The x-rays confirmed that he had bronchitis and some scarring in his lungs. He was advised to drop smoking altogether. Albert did so, eventually switching to nicotine patches. The coughing became only an occasional fit, though it did never seem to go away entirely. The scarring, however, was untreatable. Albert was told that although modern medicine was capable of repairing serious tissue damage with vat-grown organs, attempting to replace the damaged sections of his lungs could just make the scarring worse long-term. He was told to take his exercise at a relaxed pace and to focus more on stretching. Again, the symptoms of his ailment eased considerably. Albert passed through this worrying stage with a lighter-heart, happy that the scary moment of illness hadn't been something more serious. He continued to use nicotine patches, and eventually slid towards using dip as a substitute.

Albert turned fifty. He felt old, and little useless. His work in the exosuit had given him an ache in his back. He was constantly being moved to the back shifts to let younger miners move into the more dangerous and unseen areas. This was fine with Albert, but he began to get subtle pushback from the site manager of Ole Widower and the pay manager. It was small at first. His rig wasn't maintained as well as the others, so he'd always have to track down a maintenance staff member to ensure that a fissured hydraulic line was immediately fixed instead of put on a wait list. He found his locker marked up, and his pressure suit covered in cooking oil. At first he surmised that another employee was just being obnoxious, but it didn't take him long to figure out that it was the management trying to push him out. He'd been working the mines for almost fourty years, and in that time he'd been collecting serious pay grade benefits. He took a look at his retirement and benefits coverage, and found that it was very high compared to the younger miners. Those younger miners must have thought he was some old geezer who was sucking up all of the juicy paystubs and best assignments, or must have been given some extra scrip to get in on the nudging by the management. Perhaps both. The next thing Albert knew he was being threatened by the younger men routinely, both physically and verbally. The men who were harassing him seemed big and broad enough to go through with their threats, and soon. Albert was tough and mean, but he was no mans fool. He knew that management wouldn't do anything to make the other miners back off. As Albert recollected, it used to be said that one needs to know when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em. Albert sagely chose to fold. He decided that he needed a vacation; a long one. Perhaps he'd never come back. 'Yes,' he thought 'Never sounds like just the right amount. It's time to see some stuff before I kick it. To hell with this place.' So he packed his one suitcase and prepared a small feast the night before his shift began. He maxed out his company credit card purchasing expensive deserts and meats from the commisary. He gorged himself like a tick on blood on fine food, until his stomach hurt. The fine wine and, as much as it embarrassed him for liking it, chocolate milk, flowed like a river going downstream that night. He waddled to bed and slept his food induced stupor off for five hours. Thirty minutes before his regular shirt was scheduled to begin, he scrawled out some transport authorization papers, and took a shuttle ride towards the nearest spaceport. He decided that for once, he'd like to wander. He knew he'd find where he was really going soon enough.

Eventually he did. His shuttle swung into orbit around an abandoned space station as the shuttles pilot came over the microphone. The pilot was the very essence of composure as he gently quipped, 'Attention passengers, we're currently making an emergency stop. Retro-trusters two and four gave out a few hours into our journey and we lost a bit of liquid fuel. Nothing to be alarmed about, but we're going to take a little pit stop and assess the damages at this depot. Due to the nature of this event, we are providing you in-flight entertainment, snacks, and drinks at no extra charge. Remain seated, we should be back on-course in a few hours.' Albert, however, did not hear any of this. He was snoring loudly in his seat much to the annoyance of his fellow passengers.

The space station was a massive hulking abandoned thing, orbiting a tiny pulsar star that was nearing the end of its life span. The station was previously an exotic gas refinery that sent advanced probes to investigate passing asteroids and stars for the gas so that a skeleton crew could quickly extract it, refine it, and shoot it off towards a different station in a probe so that it could be sold. The station had fallen onto hard times as the gas had became less and less needed, eventually able to be replicated cheaply in a laboratory. The station was mothballed and left to orbit the star since it was too far out for anyone but a junker to take interest. It floated silently, slowly falling apart.

While Albert slept, two technicians who normally were gruff stewards stepped out of the shuttles airlock while wearing orange EVA space suits. They were older models, but provided the wearer with great protection and life support system capacity. Creed, Tweed's supervisor, touched a hand to his wrist comm. 'T, check number four. I'll go see what's left inside this wreck.' Tweed nodded his assent and gave Creed the 'okay' hand sign, before jetting off towards the rear of the shuttle, past the windows where the passengers were watching their movies and clamoring for more popcorn.

Creed shot towards the station. It's steel corpse loomed closer and closer as Creed shut off his suits thrusters and drifted slickly towards a docking platform. Tweed took no notice of this as he fiddled with the number four engine, thinking to himself that it looked like a hydraulic tool of some kind had intentionally clamped shut all of the waste gas ports.

Creed, or as he liked to call himself, just C, landed on the gas platform. He bypassed the many dozens of gas tanks, heading inside of the station and disappearing into the darkness, irregardless of Tweeds increasingly more urgent calls to Creed, once he had realized that his friend was no longer answering comm's, was nowhere to be seen, and that he was alone.

Albert could tell that some time had passed when he woke up. He was not expecting to be shaken awake and look right into a gruff mans face. A man in an EVA suit stared down at him. His electronic name tag read 'Creed'. The other passengers were still enamored with their movies and popcorn. One man in particular let out a resounding 'Yeeeeehaw' as one of the movies bearded main characters produced a flamethrower and burned a monsters still-moving severed head. Creed hissed down at Albert, 'Listen. This is important. You got EVA training?' Albert nodded in the affirmative. Creed hauled him up and started marching his still sleepy body down the aisle towards the staff-only area.

They passed a blue security door and entered the ready-room. More EVA suits hung from the walls here, and to the left was a large airlock that Tweed and Creed had used earlier. Creed began to pick up an EVA suit from the deck plating where it had been dumped, and stepped into it. He pointed to the wall, and went back to suiting up. 'Get a suit on, stranger. I need your help.' Albert dumbly stared at Creed. Creed shot him a withering look, cursing under his breath before exclaiming, 'I have a missing tech and I can't tell the pilot. You know why? 'Cause then we're stuck here for days waiting for a rescue shuttle like company protocol says, and then I don't get my bonus and we're all stuck here. Get it? So you're gonna help me find my guy and get back here before that awful goddamn movie is over and people start asking questions.' Creed pointed to the cockpit door. A fat man with a doughnut resting on his large belly was half-asleep in the cockpit while the same movie that the passengers were watching played on the canopy of the cockpit. 'See him? My supervisor. That stupid asshole is waiting for us to report progress, so I can just bullshit my way through it until we get it and we'll be in the clear. Got it now?'

Albert's head was swimming, but he found himself stepping into an EVA suit and zipping up the internal layer as he wondered why he had ever left home. Creed snapped on his own helmet and gave Albert a not-so-friendly smile. 'Now you're getting it, stranger. This is just business and you're all I've got, so get it in gear.'

In a minute, Albert and Creed were standing in the airlock together. Air rushed out for a split second as the exterior door split in half and slid open. Creed keyed his transceiver and pointed to the station. 'Last read his telemeter heading there before switching off. We need to get in there and get him. He must have been trapped without oxygen for a bit, so I brought this.' Creed held up a blue gas cylinder. The side label read O2. Albert gave Creed a thumbs up, and the pair began to jet towards the station while linking arms. Their combined thrust brought them up to the main deck where Tweed had landed. The pair landed on the steel deck and activated their magnetic boots. Albert wobbled in place, and stood up straight. The staff must have left behind the stations gravity generator and most of the electrical grid. Gravity was still on for the station, weaker than Earth's, but present enough to be equatable to a stations reduced power state gravity mode. It took Albert a moment, but he got the hand of it. The gas tanks were mostly ruptured and old. The meters were large, and while some where broken, those that were still active read that the undamaged tanks were totally empty. The darkness of space had never seemed more oppressive before, and Albert yearned to at least be inside the old station as Creed lumbered forward towards the open access way to the station. Albert hurried behind, looking down the rows of gas tanks as he walked along. Neither said anything until they came up to the access way. Creed switched on his shoulder lamp, and then reached over and turned on Alberts. They shone brightly, but illuminated nothing beyond the doorway. Albert felt a sinking feeling, regretting his wish to go into the station and seriously debating whether or not to just go back and tell the fat pilot what the issue was. Creed seemed to read Alberts face, and wagged a finger at him without keying on his transceiver.

The pair slowly walked forward, past the threshold of the stations access way. The scenery became clearer. This was a maintenence area for smaller vehicles meant for EVA work; haulers, tugs, and the like. Creed touched his transceiver key and broadcasted, 'Tweed, Tweed, come in Tweed. We're here to get you. Are you hurt?' He released the key, and Alberts bandwidth picked up nothing but static in reply. Albert could see Tweed curse in the tiny atmosphere of his helmet. The pair kept moving past the rows and rows of empty vehicle bays and debris. It was very old and dilapidated here, thought Albert. Finally, they came to the end of the hall. Above them, a metal crate filled with I-beams was suspended by a damaged metal chain. The stations gravity was letting the crate strain against the chains, but not enough to pull it free. Albert wondered how long it had been hanging there.

Tweed and Albert walked further into the room. A few left-behind waist-high crates were here. Tweed peered over the crates and froze. Albert stopped just short of the crate. Behind his face plate, Tweeds mouth was moving slowly, like a fish out of water. His eyes were fixated on what was behind the crate. Albert felt a cold sweat break out on his brow as he mouthed a prayer and looked behind the crate, expecting to find the battered body of Creed.

Except there were two bodies.

Creed, or what remained of him, was grey and empty. His eye sockets were empty holes and his mouth was a sunken abyssal slash across his face. The second body's face plate was smashed in. His face was a bloody ruin and little droplets floated just outside of the smashed plastic composite of his helmet, eternally suspended. The bodies name tag read, 'Tweed'. Albert slowly looked up to see that Tweed was much closer to him now. His face was a grinning mad visage. His smile was ecstatic and his eyes were unfocused. Albert screamed and tried to step back, but the person who Albert had thought was named Tweed grabbed him by the collar and hurled him up and over himself. Albert went soaring back towards the entrance to the room, crashing into the floor. It was reduced gravity, but it still hurt, even with the suit on. The Tweed-impostor was still smiling horrifyingly as he ran towards Albert. Albert tried to get up, but the impostor was faster still. He grabbed Albert again, smashing a fist into his suit-covered abdomen, causing Albert to let out a 'Wumph!' noise as his air was knocked out. Albert convulsed in pain and the impostor threw him yet again past the rooms threshold and out into the hallway where the vehicle bays were. The impostors transceiver keyed on as Albert stared dazedly at the ceiling and tried to catch his breath while doubled up in pain. The impostors voice was not like it had sounded earlier. It was discordant and erie. 'You are a fool, Albert. I am Creed. I am Tweed. I am many.' Albert rolled over on his stomach, crawling away from the horrible monster that had killed Tweed and Creed. Suddenly, he saw a panel on the wall with a large lever on it. It reads, 'Release Clamp'. Albert looked up, spying the suspended metal storage crate and a desperate idea came to him. He could hear the creature coming closer. He began to crawl towards the switch, trying to block out what his earpiece was relaying to him.

The monster of a man drew closer. It was walking, its victory assured. It watched as the pitiful human drew itself up against the wall like a small animal that was cornered and felt a gnawing hunger rise up in every fiber of its being. Its throat squirmed and contracted, beginning to secrete potent digestive juices, meant for liquefying prey, into the porous membranes of its digestive tract for later use. His smile was so wide now that it was human. His teeth looked sharp and predatory. His pupils were slitted like that of a snakes. He was within twenty feet of Albert now.

Albert stood up, drawing a ragged breath in, barely managing to ignore the protest from his badly bruised diaphragm and the ribs he suspected were fractured. He grasped the lever. The thing was nearly upon him now. It was terrifying. Albert strained to pull the lever. For an awful moment, he thought the mechanism had been stuck shut and that this was the end of him. Luckily, the lever shot downwards. He could not detect sound in the vacuum of space, but he suspected that the crate would have made an awfully loud noise as the chains finally let it sail downwards towards the monster below it. Albert watched as the crate squashed the man flat, and the giant metal links of the chain pooled on top of the crate. Albert gasped and tried to key on his intercom. He found that it was busted. He realized that it must have been broken when he had been tossed around by the creature. The creature! Albert suddenly realized that it had been killed. He was safe, but he had to get back to the shuttle to tell the others what had happened. He held onto his pained abdominal area, stumbling towards the distant archway with the inky blackness of space beyond it. He immediately tripped and fell forward on his hands. Whatever he had tripped up on, he couldn't immediately see what it was or feel anything through his thick EVA suit. He maneuvered himself around and lost any inkling of cursing in pain at his bruised belly when he saw a web-like mass of flesh attached to his boot. It was moving. It was moving up his leg, and it felt strong. Albert began to howl in fear and tried to kick it off. He was unsuccessful. The mass of flesh wriggled and moved further up his leg, over his groin, towards his chest. Albert began to run on instinct, punching at the creature and trying to tear it free while screaming himself hoarse. It would not let go and showed no indication of being hurt. It wormed towards his suit atmosphere access cap. A tendril reached out towards a valve and began to intelligently unscrew it. Albert felt something in his chest seize up suddenly. This was not his damaged diaphragm or fractured ribs. This was different. A blooming pain erupted behind his sternum. He heard a rushing noise in his ears.

Albert realized that he was having a heart attack.

His vision narrowed to dual pinpricks as his suit chirped out an atmospheric warning. He felt something extremely cold and dry move against his chest. Albert could only think about how unfair it was that he had escaped that creature only to keel over due to his heart giving out, before losing all consciousness.

Albert awoke again. He was in the shuttles airlock, still inside his suit. His brain didn't seem to be sending the correct signals to his body. He took in a shuddering breath and felt his heart beating very hard, but he soon regained his senses and looked around. He really was on the shuttle. He almost felt his heart leap with joy, and immediately realized how wrong the situation still was. How was this possible? How was he here? Albert coughed against the inside of his suits visor, spraying greyish-spittle against the plastic composite. He rolled over onto his knees, coughed again, and took off his helmet, staggering into the ready room. He cast his helmet to the floor, gratefully drinking in the processed air of the spacecraft. For the first time, Albert realized that the pains in his upper and lower body were gone. He felt better than okay, he felt better than he had felt in years. He looked around the ready room. There was no one here. Albert thought immediately about going to the rest of the ship and telling them to call for help. They could get the authorities out here and they could figure out what had happened. He would be taken in for questioning, perhaps even have the murder pinned on him. What would he say? Some sort of monster had taken over a man and killed another, shedding its skin like a snake? That he had teleported back onto a shuttle? He would be thrown into a jail for sure, and even if they believed him, he'd probably be locked up anyways. Albert shuddered, and a new idea popped into his head. Perhaps, he thought, he could merely go back to his seat. No one had seemed to have noticed that anything was amiss yet. Albert peered through the one-way glass that offered a view of the passenger zone. The passengers were still watching their movie, but most seemed disinterested. He still had time. He could go back to his seat and hopefully no one would notice.

Albert thought very hard for a moment. This was clearly a moral decision and someone had died in the process of whatever had happened, but at the same time Albert didn't want to risk the rest of his life being behind bars for a murder he didn't commit. He growled lowly, coming to a decision. He would claim ignorance. Albert quickly stripped off his suit and wiped off his helmet, hanging both up inside of the suit storage alcove. It looked just like all of the other suits on the racks. It was perfect. Albert slipped past the employee only door, back into the passenger zones. No one took notice of him as he unsteadily made his way back to his seat and sat back down.

Albert felt conflicting emotions as he waited. His insides felt strange. Stranger still, was a voice that suddenly spoke inside of his head.

"We are symbiote and mean no offense."

. . .

Time passed. The pilot searched the entire ship for his missing technicians. He found nothing, and tried to track the two missing suits transponders. He found two beacons. Two battered bodies were found floating in open space off towards the station, burned badly and nearly unrecognizable. The passengers could see this from their windows and were sent into hysterics with no movie to distract them. The pilot hurriedly came to the conclusion that there had been an accident while they were working on the engines, and decided that they would not be recovered or brought onboard. This was compounded by the fact that he himself didn't have EVA training and was too round to fit into a suit. The two technicians were listed as deceased due to workplace hazard on the ships manifest, and the transport company quickly informed their relevant supervisory government body, who were used to these types of reports in this day and age of commercialized space travel and shipping. Tweed's family was informed of his untimely death and his life insurance policy was payed out as well as a settlement payment from the company in exchange for dropping the admittedly mysterious matter. Creed strangely had no family, life insurance, and was missing a lot of mandatory details on his company file. The matter was quietly closed and scrubbed from all systems by nervous company executives who did not want such an odd thing being leaked to the press or seen by anyone besides themselves. The incident was quickly forgotten and passed from memory. Except, from Alberts.
. . .

Albert found that the thing that had tripped him was called a symbiote. It had no other name and no other memories. It merely had the instinct to survive and serve. Albert had been unconscious when the organism had settled into his body and attuned itself to his entire bodily system. It had stood him up, and forced him to toss the two space suited corpses into open space after burning them with a torch to make their cause of death seem to have been an engine repair accident instead of a brutal monster's handiwork. It had taken him back to the shuttles airlock and woke him up there. Albert wasn't sure why, but he could not bring himself to panic and scream about the fact that a voice was in his head, or that he couldn't make his legs move when he tried to walk to a hospital to get whatever it was taken out of him.

Albert learned to deal with the symbiote in a few days. When the organism realized that its master would not normally accept its presence, it began to subtly adjust his various levels of hormone output and encouraged his neural center to output signals of calm and acceptance when regarding thoughts of a symbiote. This was highly effective. Within a week, Albert's body began to change. He grew stronger, faster, and healthier. He found that he could now make his body do things that were beyond the realm of science fiction. Albert rented a hotel for a few months and burned through his savings while ruminating on what to do now that he was living with another entity inside of himself. Albert asked the symbiote for advice. Surprisingly, it reported that blending back into society quietly and in a position of much distance from larger society would be beneficial. Albert and the symbiote selected an application for a vessel that required crew, signed on, and awaited a reply.

For better or worse, Albert's life was rapidly changing, whether he wanted it to or not.

Hobbies: Albert likes to read. He has trouble focusing, but tries to force himself to sit down and read because that is what his perception of a normal intelligent member of society is.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:


Gadgets, Weapons & Items: Albert doesn't carry any weapons or sentimental items.

Skills & Abilities:
EVA certified.
Certified exo-space miner.
Certified custodian.
Biological Traits:
Vacuum resistant - Albert will die and his body will enter a death state from which to attempt to regenerate from if sucked into space, for example. He is more resistant to vacuum, but it will hurt him all the same. The same goes for oxygen. His body may have been improved many times over by the symbiote, but it is not immortal.

Enhanced healing - Albert's healing isn't like that of the superhero Wolverines speed-wise, but will heal at a reduced rate compared to it. For instance, it would take him a day to regrow a lost arm. The symbiote will protect him from bleeding out due to avulsion or gunshot wounds, but this is resource intensive and still will damage his body overall. Minor wounds heal very fast. He could even regrow his head and stand up once more if given enough time. However, Albert cannot regenerate if his body is totally destroyed or in small enough pieces. Alberts immune system is neigh-impervious to bacteria, parasites, and virus'.

Pain tolerance - Albert's pain receptors are turned down by a lot. He could get stabbed and continue to fight his attacker, but it will still be painful. He can still feel pain, just not as much.

Darkvision - The ream of cells coating the back of his eyes have been intensely added to by the symbiote. Commonly referred to as the Tapetum Lucidium, the cells are responsible for reflecting light back to the pupil for humans and other animals to allow them to see in low light levels. Albert can see very very well in the dark.

Supersoldier - Albert isn't really a super-soldier, but the symbiote has augmented his body to the upper limits of human ability. His muscles are flooded with testosterone and myostatin which have given him a powerful build. His white muscle levels are higher. He is very fast and very strong.

Regenerative stasis - If Albert dies, the symbiote will attempt to restart his body once it has regrown his form. Albert regenerates faster when he is sleeping and the symbiote can dedicated more resources to its work.

Devour - Albert can extend a proboscis from his mouth to an extent of one foot, and stab a dead organism to consume it. The symbiote has been unable to convince Albert to try this on a living organism no matter how much behind-the-scenes adjustments it makes or hormones it adjusts. Albert refuses to perform this on even a dead body on moral grounds. Were he to do this, he would be able to take on the appearance and total likeness of the person he absorbed for half of a day before needing to return to his regular form and being unable to do this again for a week, as well as needing something new to consume. When in this state, his teeth become sharper and his eyes narrow to slits. The symbiote has an easier time controlling him in this state.

Helpful Friend - The symbiote is an animistic intelligence that lives as a part of Albert's body. It can speak into Alberts mind and help him, but it has trouble trying to force Albert to do anything. It doesn't remember anything from its past. He will fight against it if it were trying to do something he did not want it to.

Organ doner - Albert's body is filled with redundant organs and blood vessels. Notably, he has two hearts, a spare air bladder, a filtration organ that functions as a super-spleen, massive lymph node pathways, and a totally reworked digestive tract made for digesting tough and normally unpalatable matter. This would make it obvious to a medical scanner that something is off.

Negative Aspects: Fire is very effective against him in combat. Albert has no combat training. Albert has no engineering or technical training. Albert must eat two times the normal amount a human would eat to keep both himself and the symbiote well fed. Red meat is preferred as it contains much iron and protein. He will grow weak if he is not given enough to eat and his healing will slow. Albert has a big fear of fire due to the symbiote recognizing it as something extremely dangerous to itself.

 

[Osuka]

Name: Kurt Shores
Aliases: Zealot
Age: 26, though was cryogenically frozen in the year 2100
Gender: Male
Species: Genetically modified human

PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: Ex-Military, privateer

Personality:
After the experiments had overtaken and shifted his being to one of Anthropomorphic, Kurt had found himself to be very unhappy – to say nicely – with who he is. Therefore, Kurt prefers to be withdrawn from those who surround him and doesn't take too kindly to personal conversation. During skirmishes, though, Kurt's Marine training kicks in and pushes him to fully co-ordinate with his team until either they settle their skirmish or they are defeated.


Backstory: At age nineteen during the year 2093, Kurt Shores had enlisted into the Marine corps to chase his dream of being a recon sniper, having been suckered in by the advertisements the military had been putting out on television and the internet. Of course, joining up wasn't exactly what he thought it was. Grueling training with MCMAP, Rifle Qualifications, then of course the courses he had to take to be qualified for a dedicated sniping position had pushed him past the limits of his lithe, lean body and his mind, but had finally achieved his goal. Kurt had spent one tour with his team and re-enlisted as soon as his enlistment time was up, hoping to stay with his team that had become something more like a Brotherhood than the familial ties he already had.

Only, the problem with him re-enlisting was that he thought he knew what papers he was being given and didn't read the fine print.

Having followed orders and then unceremoniously tranquilized, Kurt was subjected to genetic experimentation, using the DNA of animals in an attempt to "refine and augment" soldiers. When Kurt had awoke from the experiments, changed into something out of a mix between An American Werewolf in London and some kind of anthro-loving dream, one of which he was not, he had to be tranquilized and cryogenically frozen while the scientists and his superiors worked on ways to deal with the new change. His teammates, however, were released to get back to the "good fight," and he would never see them again. Kurt, so deeply attached to the brothers he had made during all the years of combat they faced together, would never know their fates.

Only a few years after being frozen, the facility in which he was frozen and encapsulated had to be abandoned, as well as their experiments, and hundreds, or even thousands of years later for all he knew, Kurt was suddenly falling face-first into the cold tile floor of the facility. Now, alone, Kurt had to re-train himself to learn to use his heavier, leaner, taller frame. Luckily for him, the facilities in the complex were suited for such a thing, and with tons of non-perishable foods at his disposal, he did what he thought was best and took his time. The rifles that were within the facility showed no signs of aging, and he unknowingly re-trained himself with tech that was so outdated that they might as well have been lost artifacts.

Now, having emerged from the facility and made at least an acquaintance who had helped him make enough money to replace his old firears, Kurt finds himself getting ready to enlist in a privateering group, surrounded by a world he didn't understand - something that should've been out of a movie, but was far too real. Aliens, new combat tech, and even leisure tech he couldn't make heads or tails of had been like a vast ocean to him, and he was without even a life jacket to help keep him afloat.

Whatever he was going to do, he only knew that it was either sink or swim at this point, and he didn't intend to drown.

Hobbies:
When not busying himself with exercise and the like, Kurt is an avid reader. He wouldn't call himself gifted of mind, but he could at the very least try to keep up with current events, fiction, new technology (none of which gave him any type of edge in the incredibly tech-savvy world he was now a part of), and the like. Also being the active-and-genetically-changed kind, he found himself enjoying running up tall things and jumping off them without breaking his body into tiny little pieces.
Then of course there were guns. Sweet, precious, wonderful machines that spit lead at hundreds of feet per second with the sound of a ridiculously loud crack were a staple in his old life from the point where he was old enough to hold one in his hands.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:

With Armor:

Gadgets, Weapons & Items: One M-19 Falcon energy-based long-range rifle (14lbs)

One Arclight Energy Pistol

Pre-Cryo modified battle Armor (100lbs), and two knives (one seven-inch blade folder, one ten-inch blade full tang).

The Pre-Cryo Modified battle armor is equipped with kinetic servos which assist the wearer in strength to a slight degree (Enough that his weaponry load-out does not burden him, as well as the armor) while the helmet (because I don't think I want his face looking that way) is equipped with a basic HUD and air filtration system in case of gas attack.

Skills & Abilities: Modified dexterity, but no real augmentation to strength, leaving him about as strong as an average Marine, clever improvisational skills, strategic planning, hand-to-hand combat, gunplay, long-range engagement, and an IQ of 129.

Biological Traits: None save the wolfish traits that were given to him due to experiments (Fur, Ears, Claws, Tail, etc.)

Negative Aspects:
Though intelligent, Kurt is not the technologically savvy type. He won't be hacking or splicing anything until he learns how to throughout the RP. His basic mechanics knowledge is all but rendered entirely useless in a future setting, obviously being much more used to the theory and application of his own time, which is far behind him.
Though Kurt is Genetically modified, the modifications during a fight only give him better vision, hearing, dexterity, and flexibility. In no way does the modification augment his physical strength, and against larger opponents who are as skilled as him, Kurt is set against an enormous disadvantage. Also being entirely ignorant of the new time in which he has been thrust into, Kurt has no other understanding of any other languages aside from English and a very, very rough excuse of Farsi.

 

[Moldie]

Name: Maye

Aliases: Thorn, Ivy

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Species: Parasitically Dryadic Wargolm


Organizations\Affiliations: None


Backstory: Maye wasn’t always the way she is now. Her story begins with a disappearance. A playful girl running off into the woods although she very well knows she’s not supposed to. A daughter of a simple family, in a home of modesty and religion. A girl who’d come to be called a ghost.


Nine years of age. That is what Maye was afforded. She grew up in a small town where most everyone made their monthly check off of the nearby quarry. The planet laid secluded, and so did the town upon it. Most of the planet was as if cracked as canyons and ravines scarred the lands. Lush forest mostly coated all the areas not abrupted by craggy depths. Here Maye grew up. And here she died. At least according to those who knew her. A few months after her disappearance it was concluded she’d fallen down one of the many nearby depressions and disappeared. It was the simple explanation. The obvious one. But in reality it was far more complex than that.


Maye did fall down a ravine that summer day. She also did sustain fatal injuries doing so. But she never died. Parasitic dryadism. Whether it was a blessing or a curse she isn’t sure. Nor is science. With so few studied cases little is known about it except for the so incredibly specific conditions of its contraction. That, and the so incredibly low survival rate. Like a freak seed it mutates the host's DNA. It begins transforming the body, changing it’s very nature. Had it not been a rainy few days after her disappearance she likely wouldn’t have lived. After the fall, she woke up a near month later. Green. Her skin was becoming photosynthetic. She remembered little to nothing of who or even what she was. Ingrained in her mind was the pain of tearing the roots sprawling out of back into the ground where she’d landed. She spent the next few months wandering, without direction or destination. By the day her transformation caused a plethora of different plant like extremities and growths to burst out of her body. She wasn’t worried. She didn’t cry. Her mind was still numbed by the traumatic fall as well as the affliction altering her being.


Eventually, something triggered her mind. It was a spiritual awakening. What caused it was a realization, a connection. With a simple touch of a tree, she became aware. She felt every fiber of it’s live wood, every leaf flaring in the wind and even it’s roots burrowing into the ground. It wasn’t communication. It was information. She felt the tree. With awareness came a multitude of things. Depression. Wrath. Loneliness. Memories. She remembered her parents. In a physical and emotional hurry she wandered homewards. These are where the ghost stories began. People reported seeing a strange figure wander the boundaries of the town, usually during evening and morning times. Eventually someone spotted the resemblance. It was the ghost of Maye, of course. People got scared, naturally. When Maye found out her parents had moved away some time of her alleged passing. She returned to the deep woods. She became a destructive being, filled with resentment and anger. It didn’t take too long before she’d come to reconnect with what had woken her up to begin with. Maye began finding some form of peace within the plantlife. It was like meditating, at times a drug. She spent years living like this off the woods.


All things come to an end. Especially in a time of need. The quarry was to be extended, and the woods stood in the way. It was a large investment, and most of the foreseeable forest was to be cut down. Maye noticed weeks before the machinery was even close to her. She felt it. With little other choice Maye had to try to escape. And as it came to it, fight to do so. She discovered a lot about her new body during the escape. Maye was shot twice, and although she bled, her dryadic body made short work of patching itself up. It was also during this time she’d come to experience the most unpleasant part of being a plant, draught. However, when she eventually made it out of any immediate danger a new challenge faced her. She needed, and wanted, to leave the planet. Her chance came when she effectively smuggled herself out on a shipment of logs and shrubbery harvested during the deforestation. Apparently being made out of bark and leaves makes for great camouflage.


She ended up… Somewhere. She didn’t at all know her way around space and simply had to do with what she was given. It was here, in a medium sized city she began wearing robe to somewhat mask herself. She spent some time trading flowers growing off her body in exchange for pocket change. It was a hard time. As time went on, she was slowly integrated into the underground society of the city. The other homeless excepted her, and taught her many things that would come to valuable. Most of all she was just happy not to be alone. Her story made some weep, but even more so inspire. Due to great weather conditions she was able to save up some money, but she also got a taste of the city pollution. It sickened her. She began to once again long for something else. She wanted to explore, connect with nature again. It took some time, and the bureaucracy of it all made it a struggle for her to obtain any form of papers legitimizing her person. Some of her new friends helped her take a shortcut or two, and eventually she was able to get a hold of an ID under the name Maye Cisil. With the few bills she’d been able to collect a new goal appeared in her mind after hearing about the job as a privateer.


Personality: A meek and calm demeanor best describes Maye’s normal behaviour, but bursts of fiery emotion will seep through her harmonic aura once in a while. She tries her best to stay polite, but insecurities sometimes make her shy away. Just that, shying away is something she’s quite keen on. Peace and quiet are two things she values greatly, but being a person who easily gets lonely creates a need for moderation.
Although she might seem like one not to get involved, she most certainly will when her ideals are compromised.


Hobbies:

Tending to plantlife; She likes to plant and care for whatever green creature she can find.

Learning new things; disappearing out of society at age nine leaves you quite undeveloped.

Listening to people talk; Simply enjoyable.

Exploration; That child who ran off into the woods is still in there.



Appearance:

[IMG='width:267px;']https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/YHv-hYODn-76Wd55DNTyX8jLyEBaVrINE3iPinZKZOOWsb0o_fur1AaMgjA6B-VlOPHPJWjUFA2yw5_4YqVcJnymvt_c_t7gQksxIKrvLBTgkHy16oQ1wOJ3Ae1bvkzW6WHF9NG5[/IMG]

Before the affliction (But of course she was far younger):

[IMG='width:272px;']https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/UiXvuCsdkihs0zORSttWCm9CIVKVdMU_jmQw1CFG1hh4LcAtUZcm2i6wvvWJagF7A6tlBHEovClzo4PLGLObdLiWQnV6KRrLItGZP7NCAL3P60f0n0G4pdmZ6tNp_UUfyX58sxgG[/IMG]
It's also worth noting she stands about 1.95 m tall, and is still slowly growing.


Gadgets, Weapons & Items: Maye owns little more than what she wears, which in this case is a simple robe and her own foliage. She also carries a backpack containing things like a spare shirt, a few neutrient bars, a pair of scissors and a knife for trimming and a large bottle of water.


Biological Traits: Being a plant has its perks when it comes to dealing some damage believe it or not. Things like thorns, skin like a poison ivy and spines help her natural defenses tremendously. Although this might be the case, there’s a want and need to learn her ways around some sort of firearm is there.

Thick skin; Her skin might not be that thick emotionally, but it’s tremendously useful physically. With the ability to have tiny hairs covering it either lay or stand, she can make it hurt worse than poison ivy or have it be as smooth as birch bark.

Thorns; Maye has a number of thorns protruding out her body, most notably around her arms. Her fingers have no nails, instead they simply just taper into a thin sharp edges.

Regeneration; Much like a plant you either need to destroy the roots, in this case vital organs, or deprive the plant of it’s basic needs to truly kill it. You can tear it’s leaves of but new ones will always sprout.


Skills & Abilities: As mentioned, Maye can in a very primal yet intimate fashion connect with plantlife. With little more than a touch she could tell you it’s age, what it lives off of and if it’s healthy. She can sometimes become very emotionally invested in these bonds.

Negative Aspects: Procaryote; Being a plant also makes for a few obvious weaknesses. For example she gets tired and sluggish when going without light for long periods of time. Maye also require a large intake of water and other sustenance in order to live. More than this she is also sensitive to fire and cold, and as such can expect a growth spurt when in a humid and warm climate.

Maye is a bit emotionally fragile. The only thing that have kept her from going insane is her “meditation”. Thus she can get very upset at the intentional destruction of plantlife, a trait that sometimes make it hard to be compatible with society.

Maye isn’t exactly book smart. She knows a lot more then since she was a child of course but still lack certain vital skills. She can’t read nor write certainly well, and any complex math is just a no-no. She can also have a hard time socializing with certain people.

She is, rather obviously, very frightened by large herbivores.

-------------

The Mechanist I hope it's okay, and not too close in resemblance to a human. Tell me if there's anything I need to change, or if you just want me to redo!

 

[Inb4Cloaker]

Name: Zahi Al-Majnun

Aliases: Z, Shades, Holy shit he’s got a grena-

Age: 27

Gender: Male

Species: Urban Tabaxi

Organizations/Affiliations: Atfal Althawra, Insurgent

هذا هو مجرد خط للفضاء خارج كل ما كتبت حتى الآن هذا هو مجرد خط للفضاء خارج كل ما كتبت حتى الآن هذا هو مجرد خط للفضاء

PERSONALITY ​

Zahi is very picky when choosing his words, often mulling over his options before deciding what he wants to convey. He speaks in a very rapid and fluctuating tone, which complements his overall overly animated interactions. His past has forced him to get comfortable or cooperate with beings from all walks of life, enabling him to interact well with those around him. He is confident in his range of abilities, and often views the world around him through an optimistic perspective. Z does, unfortunately, give off a rather shady vibe, and can be easily irritated when not left to his own devices. Simultaneously, he does exhibit a type of curiosity for destruction that is far too intense for his own good, as well as an overly serious attitude when it comes to ‘work.’

BACKSTORY ​

“Move forward, shake the earth, and flee without a trace.” - Guerrilla Tactics and IED Comprehension Training

A boy. ​

Zahi is from a war-torn, crater and bullet ridden region that is well beyond the scope of average exploration. His childhood consisted of seeing explosions, hearing screams, and smelling a ceaseless stream of gunpowder. Every other month he would see new soldiers marching through the streets of his almost annihilated home. New oppressors, new deaths, new chaos, and a new set of rules they had to abide by each time. The tabaxi feared it would never end, and as he grew, his urge to find a way to make a difference did as well. Young, impressionable, and easily swayed, his inexperienced mind was susceptible to an indoctrination he could have never anticipated. At the age of seventeen, he had already lost most of his family or friends. Fending for himself under the boots of soldiers and puppets, Zahi was more than eager to join the newest group who had big dreams of creating a legacy. Many expected it to be washed away by the war just as quick as the rumors it produced about a “unified region.”
They were all shocked when this new organization began to gain traction.

A man. ​

There he was, freshly brought in under the wing of this currently unnamed group. He was preached that order would be restored and the tyranny of the greedy would end. Aside from that, he was offered a type of mindset and training that all his enemies would learn to hate with every fiber of their essence. Gone was the attrition of open combat. Forgotten was the aspect of a single, strict entity trying to dominate the battlefield. Zahi witnessed the birth of a unique style of warfare; insurgency. Much of his training was done in the basements of fellow resistance members, secrecy was a vital aspect of his new life. Slowly, but surely, he began to participate in raids that would disorient any and all armed forces daring to challenge the freedom of his home. After two years, the tide had turned completely. This once unnamed, ragtag force had transformed into a flexible and virulent group of well armed vigilantes as many locals would call them. Their enemies called them something else; “Atfal Althawra.” At first, their goal was to just free the region, but as the fire kindled itself with each victory, they began to focus on a much larger picture.

An Insurgent. ​

When the final push began, at the age of twenty-five, Zahi participated in an attack that would be retold many times on his home planet. The combat continued for days, and when the fighting finally ended, the tabaxi was left standing among screams of victory from his comrades, covered in black soot, and wearing the symbolic beret that his organization adopted. Finally, his home was united. Thus began the reconstruction of his land, and implementation of a final, true form of leadership. The life that his leaders promised was true, and these new rulers did keep up their part of the bargain. At a cost. With the new ideology they embodied, the Atfal Althawra grew to hold a very hostile attitude towards those who were not residents of the planet. They blamed the greed and corruption of others for the chaos that the years of warfare brought upon them. Seeing this as an image to rally behind, the new leaders embraced the hatred, and fed the anger of the people they had united. It wasn’t long before the now abundant rebels shifted their eyes towards neighboring planets. A rebuilding planet needs resources, and they intended on acquiring them somehow. If they couldn’t? They would destroy them.

Morphing to their newly formed style of existence, the planet began to deploy small cargo vessels and insurgents to the neighboring lands. When this strategy yielded significant resources, it was further invested in. Needless to say, Zahi is now one of them, and he has been designated as a forward observer. What better way to scout and plot for attacks than to deploy under the guise of an explorer? The EPR appeared to be a viable opportunity, and with a tactical pause, he was allowed to be temporarily dispatched from his home in order to join. A short while after, he received orders about boarding something known as the “Red Moon.”

هذا هو مجرد خط للفضاء خارج كل ما كتبت حتى الآن هذا هو مجرد خط للفضاء خارج كل ما كتبت حتى الآن هذا هو مجرد خط للفضاء

Hobbies ​

Zahi thoroughly enjoys writing in his native language, which appears to be nearly ancient. Often he refers to it as art, and can spend hours adding more scripture to his journals. He keeps track of many things he learns during his expeditions with his ‘art,’ such as recipes for new foods or just general conversations that he deems interesting. The tabaxi typically strives to maintain a friendly and social environment with those he interacts with, and finds pleasure in learning about the lives of his comrades. Lastly, his most time devoted hobby involves tinkering with volatile substances; yet another trait he brought back from his home. His unorganized journal may show the recipe for a nice pie on one side, but the blueprints for a plastic explosive on the next. This is what he considers “work,” and holds contempt for people who disturb him during this process.
Probably because he doesn’t want to turn his current workplace into a smoldering mess.

APPEARANCE ​

Zahi is roughly six foot two, and holds a very similar appearance to a bleached Bengal tiger. He has multiple black stripes that span around his face and body, along with black eyes and short ears. His apparel consists of dark brown and baggy cloth pants, a lighter brown cotton cloth jacket with several magnetic clips for simple fastening, and cream colored leg wrappings that span about up to his knees. He is forced to sport the putee wrappings since he is incapable of wearing normal boots like his comrades, but they still provide him with adequate protection if properly padded. His outfit is completed by two elbow and knee pads that offer minimal weapon protection, a moderately reflective small arms vest with a laced F.L.C that is capable to deterring moderate to weak laser strikes; as well as low caliber ballistic weapons, and a red-white checkered face scarf that was staple attire for many in his homeland.

Gadgets, Weapons, and Items ​

Zahi sports the rifle of his home, dubbed the Khalaq Alnaar. It is a simple, stubby weapon with curved magazines that support moderate impact, standard issued laser cartridges. Usually, his F.L.C will have a few pouches to support a few extra magazines. The rest of his weaponry consists of a well worn Kukri Knife, and a few pouches around his abdomen for storing the few explosives he carried. Typically, his ordinance would consist of a few fragmentation grenades and several plastic explosives. Finally, he bears a black single-filter chemical and rebreathing mask on his right thigh to ensure he can breathe in otherwise hostile zones.

Skills ​

Social Intellegence- Zahi is capable of blending in with the crowd with ease, and can mimic those he is around to further his inconspicuous nature.

Ordinance Usage and Construction- He is a near expert on improvised and well manufactured explosives, and can operate a large majority of them with deftness.

Contingency Plan- The tabaxi is accustomed to fleeing after his job is done, and will often escape untouched should the need arise.

Guerrilla Combatant- Years of striking without warning have taught Zahi how to use the environment to his advantage, and utilize the very same environment to disrupt the enemy.

Biological Traits ​

Zahi is naturally capable of seeing in the dark, and his nimble figure allows him to perform delicate tasks such a moving with silence or volatile agent interactions with a bit more care than others.

Negative Aspects ​

Haunted- The past of Zahi stills clouds his mind. Reoccurring nightmares of his home and sudden onsets of visions that consist of war occasionally cause him to lose grip of reality.

Jealousy Guarded- Zahi is extremely defensive about his ordinance and journals involving their construction, mostly because he does not trust others to utilize it effectively or safely.

Panic Button- Explosives often solved his past problems, why can’t they do so now? If a situation spirals too far out of control, he may be inclined to simply destroy whatever appears to be provoking him. While this can sometimes be a positive thing, it can also be absolutely absurd when the task at hand is requiring anything but explosives. Like cooking.

Shady- When appearing inconspicuous fails spectacularly, Zahi can appear quite shifty when individually identified or picked from a group. This leads many to assume he is usually up to no good, or at the very least, does not belong.

Fanatic Nature- Zahi can be obsessed with destruction at time, not necessarily the loss of life, just blowing things to pieces. As such, it is best for him to be monitored by his fellow comrades and stopped in the event that he decides to see what would happen if he attached a small incendiary device to X.

_________________________________________________________________________________

The Mechanist There he is, if everything is all good just give me the thumbs up¡ If anything needs to be altered just let me know and I will do so.

 

[MrThe]

BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Pioneer (Original Ship Name)
Aliases: IEV Red Moon, Red
Age: 500 years old
Gender: Spaceship/IT
Species: Machine Spirit

PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: Explorer's Privateering Regime
Personality: Extremely Temperamental and Vain, (a total diva bordering on a god complex) highly curious and very restless, constantly poking into everything it comes into contact with.
Backstory: The Pioneer was built 500 years ago in the massive industrial shipyards of the Backwater 5 system by the very large Brisco-Rose Corporation at the request of the Explorers Privateering Regime, who were looking to purchase a ship that was capable of handling the rigors of exploration outside of known space. It has served faithfully since it's inception as one of the most successful exploration vessels in the history of the corporation. Having had it's previous captain of the last 200 years die a natural death the Pioneer has been awarded to the recently promoted Valen Corevious in the hopes of continuing its valorous career in the service of the Corporation.
Hobbies: Likes to Invade the privacy of the Crew by constantly spying on them in an effort to understand the way meatbags think. Also likes to play pranks on the crew.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:

Spoiler: Floaty Bot Form

Spoiler: Spaceship Form

Gadgets, Weapons & Items: Has three claw arms that can pick things up, and three eyes that shoot lasers. Also has control of a giant spaceship.
Skills & Abilities: Can take control of a Floaty Eye Bot thing, is generally superior in every way to dirty meatbags (in its own eyes),
Biological Traits: Closest description I can think of is the "Soul" of the ship, but it helps to think of it as a self-aware, semi-intelligent AI.
Negative Aspects: Terrified of getting a Computer Virus, Has zero firepower (It can't even glass a single planet),

 

[GrieveWriter]

Belfor
Aliases: The Bell-Chef, Master O' Meals
Age: It has been approximately 78 standard years since he was spawned
Gender: Male
Species: Valgun- A species of humanoids that paradoxically seem to thrive off sustained warfare. Supplemented nearly entirely by the insane birthrate the monstrous females of the race can accomplish, the Valgun seem to always be in some state of conflict with themselves. With the males mostly being fanatically loyal to the whims of the titanic behemoths that are their Queens, the Valgun spent the majority of their time confined to their home-planet of Zylag consistently evolving through war with themselves. It was when the Vox and Terish, two races who also happened to reside in the same System, took note of their extremely aggressive neighbors that the reasoning behind this warfare was made clear, as it was found that the Valgun Queens fuel their birthing rates through a cycle of cannibalism that could only be accomplished through the mass death brought on by conflict.

The specific resources native to Zylag also happened to be very useful in the manufacturing of weapons and power, which the neighboring races took note of immediately in their bid to wipe out the Valgun. Putting far too much stock in their technological superiority, yet unwilling to risk losing the resources of Zylag, the Vox and Terish began their conquest, only for the Valgun Queens to unify shockingly fast in order to combat the new threat. Turns out a race that prospers in conflict was quite good at adapting to new forms of it, and managed to draw out the war with their neighbors over the next several decades. In fact, many believe that the war only ended once the Vox and Terish finally dried up their resources trying to combat the increasing number of Valgun.

Now with full control of the system and a myriad of technology and weaponry taken from their now extinct neighbors, many would assume the Valgun Queens would continue rapidly expanding from their home system and become a plague on the galaxy at large. That did not happen. Instead, without their neighbors to unify them against, the Valgun Queens returned to warring with each other over what outside races would probably consider petty reasons. The only real side effect the of the War was that the Valgun infighting was now on a larger scale with larger armies and more complex weapons. It also convinced many outsiders that the Val System was one to stay away from, though smugglers would begin trying their luck at acquiring the rare resources that the Vox and Terish were literally wiped out over. Though many went missing in the perpetual warzone, enough must have survived as Zylag-based materials eventually found their way into less than reputable hands.

Seeing this, the Intergalactic Republic were spurred to attempt to contact the Valgun in order to instate some kind of regulation instead of risking resources getting into the wrong hands. What they weren't expecting was for a subsect of Valgun to not only respond, but immediately set forth brokering agreements. Made up of exiles whose Queens perished in battle, the self proclaimed Scholars Of Mantra set up trade deals immediately. With the Val System now under official quarantine by the Intergalactic Republic, the SOM began supplying them with the rare materials that previous smugglers had to risk life and limb for. Not only that, but it became common practice for the SOM to loan exiles into various Galactic Republic services.

PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: Former Feeder of Queen Nilath, Scarlocked with Ruk Vallas, Queenless Exile, on loan from the Scholars Of Mantra

Personality: Belfor's of a simple sort, he does what he's ordered to and does so to the best of his ability while hopefully being able to fuel his penchant for cooking. Having lived the majority of his life as a loyal drone in service to his Queen, he's got no problems with following orders, in fact he's probably slain more enemies under his Queen's guidance than most people would in their lifetimes, but that's besides the point. Like most Valgun, he's so desensitized to violence that it's almost comedic. If he were ordered to lead a team of homicidal maniacs in the arson and looting of an entire heavily armed military base using nothing but hairspray and lighters, he'd merely raise a single eyebrow at the oddity of the request before heading right in to comply. This simple attitude does not extend to his cooking, though, as only the most beneficial meals are to be produced. Its probably the only thing he can be considered a perfectionist about, as he's far less forgiving of mistakes in the kitchen than mistakes on honest to god battlefields.

He's extremely blunt, unwilling to let anything keep him from getting to the point of a conversation. Dawdling or prattling or just filibustering in general do nothing but provoke him, like many things. Like most of his kind, Belfor's consistently unimpressed with the women of other races in comparison to those of the Valgun, which would probably lead to more trouble in the workplace if it were easier for him to get personally offended. Though his kind are renown for their aggression in battle, Belfor's become more and more resilient to his inherent rage over his time working with the SOM to the point where only a select number of things truly gets to him. Despite this, its still common for him to have to hold back his own rage when the quality of his food is called into question.

Backstory: Born of Queen Nilath near the end of the Vox-Terish Conflict, Belfor was ready for battle when the Valgun forces were still getting used to the new additions to war their victory brought to them. The previous generation of Nilath's forces had contested with Terish forces in the streets of vast residences, and so that became the landscapes Belfor and his kin had to defend once Nilath reignited an age-old war with her sister, Queen Yalok. Unfortunately for Nilath and her spawn, Yalok had taken a Terish military base during the V-T Conflict, and was rewarded with just the weaponry she'd need to outmatch her sister's horde. With a hide which toughened faster than most of his brothers, Belfor found his movement limited compared to the other freshspawns, but it also allowed him to tank the weaponry which slew many of his brothers. Instead of trying to work his way up the ranks or try his luck in the Breeding Arena, this heightened survivability gave him time to focus his attention on what he believed to be the true cause of their lack of success against Yalok's forces: Nilath's diet.

Convinced by his own existence that she had the capability to produce absolutely monstrous warriors, Belfor slaughtered her previous Feeder and served him to Nilath with far different preparations than she was used to. Having prepared meals for his brothers numerous times during battle, Belfor took it upon himself to fuel the next generation of warriors by taking the position of Feeder for himself. Unfortunately, hearing of the grand meals Nilath now delighted in seemed to insult Yalok, who decided to handle the matter personally. Queen Nilath was slain in the resulting battle, and her children saw Belfor's involvement as one of the leading causes of her death. Ostracized by his own kin, and ashamed by failing his Queen, Belfor went into the service of the SOM. Now he uses his time in employment of the Galactic Republic to further his cooking capabilities with hopes that he may one day prove their worth to one of Nilath's surviving Daughters. Since initially being loaned out he's been in several positions over the years from bodyguard to a ground troop supplement, at one point he's even served as the personal chef of a high-ranked CEO.


Hobbies
Cooking- Considering the eating habits of the Valgun, many would think twice before allowing one to cook for them. However, anyone whose tasted Belfor's meals will immediately testify that he is unrivaled when it comes to preparing meat. From poisonous fish to Explorer-eating monsters, Belfor can make any meat-based lifeform taste excellent once he's done with them. Not only that, but Belfor's cooking improve Organic Immune Systems, Energize allies, and some meals can even speed wound recovery.

Hunting- While many wouldn't associate a hunter's lifestyle to someone with Belfor's frame, the Valgun made a point to kill every meal himself during his time serving Nilath. As such, he's gotten used to tracking down beasts, and always enjoys a chance to hone his talents. But due to his understandably less than stellar abilities in the realm of stealth, Hunting to him mostly involves finding the largest beast he can and fighting it to the death.

Brawling- Though his blunt demeanor may suggest otherwise, Belfor always enjoys a chance to put his bulk to use through recreational violence, like most of his race.



Appearance:

He's got a rather large patch of scarring running down his torso where he and Ruk Vallas were once connected

Gadgets, Weapons & Items:
Heated Feeder Cleaver- Though Belfor often keeps a trunk of cooking implements stowed away for when he really gets down to business, the one tool he always keeps on his person without question is his cleaver. More like a large machete by most standards, these cleavers are a trademark of Valgun cooks, and those wielded by Queen Feeders even more so. Modified with thermal attachments after leaving his home planet, Belfor's cleaver can actually cook meat whilst carving, making it a surprisingly useful tool for cauterizing.

Gauntlet Flamethrower- After being faced with enough situations where he did not have easy access to a stove, Belfor finally caved and worked to get his left gauntlet fitted with a compact flame thrower.

Propulsion Pack- Built into his armor is a small propulsion system designed to help him make quick leaps, used mainly to offset his lack of long-range implements.

Skills & Abilities:
Meal Master- Belfor can cook up a plethora of delicious meals capable of providing numerous buffs for allies. Though his methods began simple, he constantly improves his cuisine through exploration and discovery, allowing him to prepare more and more beneficial meals over time.

Melee Specialist- Utilizing his raw strength is a specialty of Belfor's. Even when he was still with his brothers and they were beginning to use the blasters and ballistics left by their Terish enemies, he remained stubborn in his usage of close-range weaponry. It doesn't matter if its a maul, sword, dagger, or flail, if he can swing it at an enemy he's more than capable of wielding it with deadly force.

Thick Frame- Almost reaching eight feet tall, more than most of his kind can reach, Belfor has an immense frame of fat and muscle. As such he's rather hard to knock off balance.

General Tank- A thick hide coupled with his strength allows Belfor to take far more punishment than others, even without armor. Despite it being entirely possible to break through his hide with sustained damage or penetrative weapons, Belfor can take attacks which would push most to their knees.

Biological Traits:
Valgun physiology is odd, but Males much less so than the monstrous egomaniacs that are their matriarchs. Belfor's internal organs are somewhat simple as you've got everything from respiratory to digestion, but what truly sets them apart is the energy in their blood. Due mostly to the large stores of Ruvol energy on their home planet which their females tend to feed on, the entire species has evolved around its inclusion in their makeup.

Thickened with Age: Though gifted with a hardier make-up at birth, like all Valgun Belfor's hide gets tougher with age. It is actually considered a sign of power once elder Valgun begin discarding their armor, having outgrown its usefulness.

Regenerative Properties: Belfor can power through most wounds, from deeper lacerations to bullet wounds and plasma scarring, anything less than actual limb-loss or having his brains blown out will heal within a few days. Though it saves money on medical expenses, healing like this won't do much unless he actually survives the battle.

Powered by Aggression: Like the rest of his kin, Belfor's body contains synapses which stimulate the Ruvol inside him. Prolonged fighting will eventually lead to him growing in speed and ferocity.

Negative Aspects:
Weapons Preference- Belfor seems to just feel uncomfortable with things like blasters or rifles, even though other larger Valgun males like him seem to delight in being able to lug around massive cannons or chain blasters, he likes to keep consistent with his love of the up close and personal.

Sneaking? Pfft!- Do you see this guy? If his sheer brawn didn't alert someone then the sound of his footsteps would. Belfor is not one to beat around the bush and his inability to perform any type of subterfuge reflects that.

Keep it Simple- Though he's by no means unintelligent, Belfor just never sought to make his life more complicated through learning concepts such as mathematics or technological diatribe. Besides cooking and some features of weapons maintenance, his areas of expertise are limited. He's not going to be hacking open doors or siphoning data from any mainframes any time soon.

The Long-Range Option- Belfor's unwillingness to utilize any long ranged weaponry puts him at a clear disadvantage against opponents who utilize extreme range to their advantage. Any form of sniper will have more than enough opportunity to blast away at his exposed parts before he could catch up to them, speaking of which...

Goliath All the Way- Subverted somewhat by his propulsion pack and slight increase in speed over time, Belfor's just got problems pinning down opponents who are small and quick. Usually against foes like this he'll just try to outlast them stamina-wise or capitalize on their mistakes, but really he just doesn't have as many options dealing with them.

Brutally Blunt or Bluntly Brutal?- Most Valgun are extremely casual about their ways, and so Belfor has no problem openly admitting to certain proclivities such as how he would cook someone if given the chance. As such, he wouldn't be able to fit into most civilian social circles, nor would he pretend to. Similarly, he's got no methods by which to deceive others, and is therefore easy to get answers out of.​

 

[Best Trekkie.]

Name: Spartan Jones
Aliases: Demon, Savior, Hand of God, Devil's trident, 055.
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Species: 'human' (He LOOKS like a human but other than that he is a completely different organism. His bones are nearly unbreakable. He has a reaction time so quick that everything else seems to move in slow motion. His eyesight is 5 times better than the normal human. This also applies to his strength, running speed, jump height, intelligence, smell, and even his sense of touch.)


PERSONAL
Organizations\Affiliations: UNSC (United Nations Space Command)

Personality: His personality is heavily influenced by military doctrine. He was essentially brainwashed into only knowing how to be a soldier. His mind operates like this: Mission comes first over EVERYTHING ELSE. Losing isn't an option in the slightest. It is okay to spend lives but NOT to waste lives. If necessary you sacrifice everything... EVEN YOUR LIFE. Protecting the citizens is next to top priority, the only thing more important is the mission. If the enemy shows aggression you are clear to engage. If the enemy is harmless or a civilian of high importance you are to engage ONLY if given the go-ahead.

Backstory: Abducted at the age of 6 and indoctrinated into the military, Spartan 055 was trained in all specs of the UNSC army. Everything from field medical training to military code and even the art of war. By the time he was 13 he was at peak human levels of intelligence, strength, and agility. Then came the gruesome augmentations. He had to get his bones ossified, his eyes, ears, skin, and even heart replaced. He was given growth hormones and muscle surgery. When he was done he was equivalent to the best athletes on earth all rolled into one. Then came the armor. The MIOLNIR MK VI GEN 1 was less of a suit of armor and more of a second skin. The suit took his already near superhuman physical and mental levels and multiplied them by a factor of 5. He was no longer the average teenager... He was now the best of the best of the best in a state of the art technological marvel. He was not a soldier... He was a SPARTAN.

Hobbies: Warfare, Firearm decoration (Despite being against protocol), Workouts, sparring matches.

PHYSICAL
Appearance:


Gadgets, Weapons & Items: The MA5D Tactical Assault Rifle

MIOLNIR MK VI GEN I ADS (Armor Defense System)

Skills & Abilities: Can run at 80kph, lift 10 tons, jump 15 meters with a running start, 'Spartan Time' (Basically slow motion), 10 millisecond reaction time, Natural Night Vision, Skills in most martial arts.

Biological Traits: Ossified bones (Coated with concrete), Increased muscle mass and strength, Enhanced Eyesight, Increased sense of smell, increased sense of hearing, increased reaction time.

Negative Aspects: Himself (What he could become), Is mentally violent, Will push himself to the limit... and past it...