Sander "Sandy" Lorraine

17

6’1’’

170lbs

Tall and gangly, Sander does not seem sure of his limbs, yet his movements are hardly awkward. He moves slowly, tentatively, talks softly, and always seems like he’s trying to making himself as small as possible, though it is a little bit hard with his tall frame. In his younger years, an interest in track and field has given him some definition, but he still looks quite unhealthy with his fair complexion. His hair is a dark brown mess with blond strands mixed in, which he grows out. From the way it looks, it is obviously he spends far more money on hair products than he cares to admit. His eyes are blue, dull and frozen not unlike the winter sky. Other than that, his other facial features remain unremarkable, albeit a little bit sharp on the eyes. When socializing, Sander wears a plain smile, though it hardly ever reaches his eyes.

However, there are also days when he has gone without violence for too long and his Stigma gets bad, Sander found himself in an almost homicidal mood. He retains his smiles, mostly because they have become almost second nature for him, but his eyes flickered and his limbs twitched as he reined in the violence. It is best to avoid him when he is in these sort of moods, but it is likely that he would go out of his way to avoid others as well.

Sander’s choice of apparel can be best described as ‘casual’. He wears comfortable t shirts and jeans on each and every occasion, putting on shorts and tank tops when he’s feeling sporty, or a hoodie when the weather turns cold. Despite the informal tone of his apparel, Sander is not sloppy about his appearance. His clothes are always freshly washed and immaculate, and it is rare for him to wear the same clothes twice in one week.

At his core, Sander is an idealist, likely due to the influence of his family. He sneers at the term ‘subnaturals’, firmly believes that his people deserved the recognition for all the sacrifices they made. This somewhat dangerous belief, combined with events of his past and his Stigma, became the fuel to his unrelenting yet directionless rage. However, with his keen sense of observation, he is no fool. He had seen how far the government was willing to go to dispose of troublesome subnaturals and what his people were capable of when left to run amok with their powers. The need for order is clear.

So to survive, he learnt to play their games, and he played it well. To most, Sander seems even-tempered and approachable for an Aberration. He buries his emotional baggage deep, with the occasional outbursts that mostly result in the destruction of nearby furniture. Many would probably notice his compliance to most of USARILN East’s rules. Some people might perceive such obedience as weakness, to Sander, it was a way to rein his rage in. While not as moody and melancholic as many of his fellow Aberrations, Sander does have his own way of keeping people at arm’s length. For all his friendly demeanour, he remains a deeply private person and hardly ever voices his true opinions.

There was not much to say about Sander’s early life. He grew up in a regular middle class family in North America, had brother 5 years his senior and was blissfully ignorant of his power for the first 12 years of his life. However, the tentative peace shattered once his brother’s power and involvement with a powered crime organization became known. Eventually, the government came for him; their modest family home was soon surrounded by armed men. However, Mr and Mrs Lorraine was not inclined to give up their eldest son, and his brother was not keen on surrendering either. The situation soon escalated into violence, then Sander couldn’t recall much more after that. From what people told him, he took three bullets to his side and spent the next month in the nearest hospital. However, once the staff found the large X on his throat, he never got to go home again.

Ever since, Sander moved back and forth between facilities, undergoing various assessments and tests. His record wasn’t exactly pristine, there had been instances when his rage got the better of him, which always resulted in damages to himself and others. As his behaviours slowly re-adjusted into the realm of the acceptable, Sander finally got transferred to USARILN East.

Exsanguinate

Through the consumption of blood, be it human or animal, Sander gains enhanced physical capabilities as well as heightened senses. The more he consumes, the more potent these augmentations becomes, though it takes a couple of minutes after feeding for the physical effects to fully activate. Once a limit is reached, he gained invulnerability, however, if this limit is then ignored and overcame, Sander will enter a state of frenzy, losing his ability to reason, his invincibility as well as his sense of self-preservation. The fact that he found the crimson fluid impossible to resist does not help in the slightest. While he does not need blood to survive at all, he just feels the urge to consume it. It makes him feel strong and vibrant, not unlike the effects of some conventional drugs. When he’s on one of his blood high, his irises glow a haunting crimson.

Unlike many of his fellow mages, Sander does not find it easy to distinguish between his ‘good’ dream and the bad one. They both started with a sea of blood and the fume of scorched flesh. His eyes stung as he waded forward, but he was not alone. Allies dogged his steps, both strange and familiar faces at his side as he pushed forward. He felt their blood pulsed as clearly as his own heart beats, and he couldn’t help but smirk.
“What will it be?”

“Maestro?”

In his nightmare, Sander did not, or rather, could not move freely in the pool of blood. Thick chains encircled his wrists, and the liquid kept rising steadily, its heat choking and curling down his throat. He struggled to no avail, staring helplessly at the single spark of light above as the blood slowly engulfed him. Its last words echoed softly, chafing his already frayed nerves:

“Or Monster?”

A snap, then metal rings came apart. He was torn asunder as he rose above the waves, white knuckles clinging to the cobble wall.

Aberration

xxx

You have none, yet. You will get some as the story progresses. Keep track of them here. Some of them might be really important or something, I don't know.

Grant Rotem

17

5'10"

156 lbs.

Grant has a light tan complexion to come with his usually messy, black hair and dark brown eyes. The only thing of note about his face are some now faded scratched amongst his facial features, but nothing too apparent to distract. He barely pays attention to his attire and hair, usually leaving as many buttons possible open (apart from his pants), and ties incredibly loose. Thus why when someone sees him in a usual, casual setting, he mostly wears t-shirts, usually wrinkled. He wears a tired expression in an everyday situation, even when in a good mood, but that quickly changes once something escalates. He isn't the tallest, nor the bulkiest person in the world. Heck, not even the fittest person, but enough that he can survive.

If it weren't obvious before, Grant is a messy and unorganized person, not having the mindset to be clean in any way, and his power only added to that laziness. He also constantly comes off as a very tired person, slouching and having his hands stuffed in his pockets most of the time. In that sense, he's a slacker. Lazy and reluctant to do anything that he warrants "unnecessary" in his perspective. Emphasis on 'reluctant'. If he's pestered or convinced, he's likely to do that "unnecessary" activity anyways, no matter how grumpy or annoyed that makes him. He is prone to being not so proficient in making conversation, but that doesn't mean he's anti-social. Just that generally, he's a bad talker. Although he is tired and neutral with most people, while he's with any type of parental figure, he has come to lash out at them, usually becoming angry or irritated, and in some cases, just outright yelling at them with irrational outbursts of distrust and betrayal. No matter how nice, bad, or friendly they are, Grant will have nothing to do with them if possible.

When they, the government, found Grant, all they saw was a teen with his hands wrapped around his arms in an alleyway, his back against the building's wall, quiet sobs coming from him. It was the dead of night, and he was obviously cold. Lights flashed on him, and in an instant, his pained face turned into one of panic. His mind told him, 'evil, run, don't let them, distrust, betrayal', and he tried to run, he tried to struggle, even using his power against them. Garbage bags one after the other, even trash can lids were thrown at the men. He'd yell at them, cursing, saying their horrible, saying he didn't want to go. Eventually, they finally managed to catch him. Struggling, and hateful thoughts flowing out of his mouth, he was taken... and transferred to USARILN East.

Feigned Dominance
Through the visual telegraph that of a chain, Grant can use the said chain in order to manipulate and alter the inanimate and nonliving targets. When the chain makes contact with a valid target, thus meaning only physical things, he can control the target as long as it is within his power's range. The range of his power is a 5m radius, and once something is out of that range, it stops Grant's control over it. He also has the use of one chain.

Grant walked down a path. Just a simple sidewalk, and all was white around him. No people. No noise. Just pure silence. He only continued to take each step with stride in the peaceful white void, until the world around him began to shift. Move. The sidewalk under him turned to dirt, then grass, and even the ground moved, creating lumps of ground. He was amazed, staring down at the sight... Then he looked up. The sky had appeared, blue as can be, full of clouds. The path ahead curved up as he followed it. He climbed the rising path and when he reached the top, he saw the tranquil world he was in, the sun rising from the horizon... and then it ended.

Grant found himself in an empty space. Just like before. Yet, everything was black around him. He looked around, confused, panicked. In the distance, he could see his parents, waving. As if they were saying goodbye. He didn't want that. "No!" He shouted. "Don't leave!" He pleaded, running toward them, but he was stopped. Right in front of him, his parents rose from below, but they didn't wave. They just stood there, staring down at him. "D..Don't go... please!" He'd beg. Without hesitation, his parents kneeled down and hugged him. He felt satisfied like this... but when he looked at them, their faces began to crumble, like stone or sand. Deforming. Melting. Right in front of him, and his face was frozen with horror. His parents crumbled into his arms, and slid away. Then it ended.

Arbiter

N/A