“There’s nothing more serial killer than an emotionless blond dick called ‘Doc.’ This is Stephen King 101, guys.”

In all seriousness, Lincoln doesn’t like Lawrence, or Doc, whateverthefuck he’s calling himself. Emotionless people unnerve him – which is saying something, since it’s rather hard to unnerve Lincoln. Though, Lincoln can probably gain a lot from Lawrence’s company – what with the whole serenity bullshit – but Lincoln rather not.

“Don’t trust small girls – they have a lot of pent-up hate in them, it’s fuckin’ genetic. I mean, have you ever met a nice, calm five-foot girl? I haven’t. In other news, I don’t have time to discern her fuckin’ mood swings. Jesus Christ.”

Though he says he doesn’t trust her, Lincoln is largely exaggerating. He literally couldn’t give a fuck what Lily was up to. But he especially doesn’t have time for this impulsive unfocused BS.

“Too nice – she seems fake. She doesn’t like me so I automatically don’t like her. Other than that, she’s forgettable. Heh. She seems a bit shy – might try fucking with her later, but I’ll probably forget to.”

Emma seems too easy of a target for Lincoln’s assholishness. If she fought back more and bothered roasting him, Lincoln would bother with her more, but since she doesn’t, he doesn’t may her much mind. Not to mention, she’s probably one of the worst aberrations he’s met yet – she could at least embrace the destruction a little bit, for his sake.

Angélique (Angel) Lachance

19

5’09’’ ft.

123 lb.

Screaming attitude yet maturity, Angélique’s style mixes her fan of metal music side with her young womanly self. Her choice of appearance often includes black – of which various shirts of metal and hard rock bands – leather bracers, chains, silver jewelry depicting skulls and other esoteric emblems sported by metal bands, and her trademark shades she seems to wear even inside.

Angélique has always been a kind person who was looking out for others in a more passive way, using music to soothe the mind of others whenever she could. As a matter of fact, music is a central part of her life, having taken a liking to sing ever since she was young.

While she remains someone good inside, the constant nightmares she is having left her with an irritable attitude, always at the edge of screaming at the others, even for the tiniest of issues. Time hearing whispers had eroded her patience and left her very short-tempered. As such, she tends to isolate herself from others, although deep inside herself she yearns to have friends and have friendly discussions. She had her moments she would come out as arrogant and aggressive, but it was always because she needed to vent all the darkness lingering inside her heart.

Angel knows all too well of the darkness that is plaguing her, and tries her best to remain in control. Whenever she is down or feel the rage bubbling up to the surface, she isolates herself and blast music at the loudest possible, singing (rather screaming her lungs out). For an Aberration, she has shown a rather surprising degree of control over herself, most believe because she made it into adulthood and has become somewhat mature.

Ever since she was young, Angélique inherited her parents’ love for music. She loved music so much that she had taken singing into being a main part of her life. Because she worked so hard on that aspect, Angel never had been one with the highest grades in school, but she had become someone noticed in the domain of music. Reaching her teenagehood, her golden voice made the young girl quite famous over the internet, at some point she would be invited to shows and even a few concerts as a guest star. However, she had always felt that people only liked her for her sweet voice, not for the person she is, and that was always something that kept gripping her heart whenever someone spoke to her. Even her parents felt so distant to her. They seemed to care more about the popularity of their daughter and the money they could make from her rather than simply loving the caring little girl she had always been.

For many years, until she turned into an adult, she took upon making music as her career. She was quite successful, but her perfect life as a musician took a turn for the worse during her latest concert. On that day, she wanted to give a go at a new kind of genre she was getting into, something darker and more “metal” than usual, and something that seemed to have gained popularity on the younger audience these recent years. The result ended in a carnage, literally. Her voice had killed most that had been standing at the front rows, while those further in the middle ended up deafened permanently, and the people at the back felt nauseated. Broken in tears, Angélique never resisted the city’s authority that had come to take her into custody.

And that was her story. Instead of ending up executed like most of the Subnaturals, it was decided after deliberation by a jury that it would be most beneficial for her to be shipped to the USA and be under surveillance in one of the specialized schools over there, as she was convicted of accidental murders by manifestation of her powers after much investigation. Canadian Government also didn’t want to create an uproar because of the angelic singer’s popularity by sending her off to USARILN instead of applying the death penalty to her.

Angélique’s power is her very voice, capable of unrelenting destruction. Using various high-pitches, Death’s Metal Little Angel is able to cause confusion to one’s brain or blur their vision should they get caught up in the range of her sonic blast. AS for the moment, Angélique is able to emit a 20 meters cone of sonic wave or a weaker 10 meter radius blast centered on her. People caught in the cone are deafened temporarily, confused and unable to see clearly, while those caught in the radial blast are only slightly deafened and slightly disoriented. Her voice is just enough to shatter glass and any other fragile material and even weaken structures, however still not strong enough to affect internal organs or utterly destroy matter.

The downside of using her actual voice as a power is that Angel’s throat gets sore really quickly. After a dozen of shouts without resting her voice for a few hours, Angel overexerts her vocal cords and can suffer from bad laryngitis for the next days, making her almost unable to shout during that time period, or doing so would come with great pain. Going over that limit or shouting during a laryngitis can even result into a permanent loss of her voice.

A huge crowd had gathered on this gorgeous sunny day, comparable to how AC/DC and Metallica had their most successful concerts. Standing on stage, tall and proud bearing an enthusiastic smile, a young woman accompanied by her band was holding a microphone stand in one hand, with an electric guitar in the other. Sounds of cheer and excitement filled the air all around her, chanting in unison “ANGEL!”. Even the young girls’ parents were standing by the edge of the stage, embracing each other and smiling, radiating pride and joy to their daughter.

Various songs were sung in a perfect harmony, telling tales of how the world came to peace as the monsters stopped attacking after the Dreamcatcher’s “barrier” had crumbled, heroic tales of those who had sacrificed their lives for the welfare of the entire world, and ballads invoking unity among Earth’s numerous ethnics. Everyone were singing in harmony the hits that had made Angel famous on to this day, and it was with a huge roar of exhilaration the concert came to a close.

”Nobody cares for what you are. In you, they only see a fleeting voice that captivates others and a gold mine to exhaust for as long as they can. Nobody loves you, little girl.” A voice echoed constantly in the young woman’s mind.

Flying high above town, there stood a metal-feathered angel, watching down below as citizens ran off in panic when faced against a gigantic monster. The metal angel simply stood there witnessing the slaughter happening, waiting for the Regulars to finally kneel in front of the mighty Archangel and plead her to save their lives. It was only then that the winged woman reacted. Without even moving, she opened her mouth to let out a terrible shriek, tearing apart both the giant monster and all of the surrounding buildings with it.

“They all deserves it.” A wicked grin and tears of blood could be seen from the angel’s face.

Aberration

Either her nightmare reoccurring every night, or the memory of the carnage she had caused in her last concert.

Whispers at the corner of her mind speaking just loud enough taunting words that would fill Angélique with anger.

None

16

5'7"

115 lbs

Where does one start with an oddity like Siena? Probably with the fact that she's a grade A nerd. It's rare that one can find her without a book or an e-reader on hand in some way, and rarer still are the moments when she hears a subject that she doesn't look up more about. Curiosity burns strong in Siena's mind at all times, and it shows in how she devours new information without a hint of hesitation. It's fortunate for Siena that she was born into the realm of privileged wealth, for her quest for knowledge was never impeded by lack of resources.

Much like others born to the wealthy, Siena has never really been in want of anything in the material world, and it can show. She rarely thinks about money as a problem (never, really), and while seemingly generous, is only so because she doesn't know what it's like to not have the funds. Her idea of normalcy is what most people consider a luxury, and honestly? She is aware of this to some extent, and even tries to dial down her usual lifestyle with conscious effort--something not helped by the way that her parents treat her. One would think that knowing that she has no monetary concerns would make her carefree, but they would be off base. Siena frequently gets anxious, usually assuming a worst-case scenario when left to her own devices. Better yet, it's easy to tell when the stress sets in--just keep an eye out for trademark twirling and tugging at the ends of her hair.

Another notch to the odd? Siena is effectively a chuunibyou in an odd sense of the word. Beside the fact that she's wildly creative (so much that she often feels pain for her own creations), she suffers a few delusions as a result of her powers creating emotions that were never hers. Emotions that went unresolved until Siena created events to match them out of desperation. In all honesty, a large portion of Siena's belief in her past events are inaccurate at best and completely fake at worst. The girl frequently loses track of herself, telling others a history that never quite matches up with what she's said before. Though her power is real enough, much of her supposed angst is not. The fact that her ability to both empathize and sympathize makes connecting to people easy enough isn't exactly a boon in the situation either. How do you tell someone about your emotions when you're not sure which ones are really yours?

Siena Santana was born into this world with a silver spoon in her mouth. Her family was rich, her family loving, and she was never left wanting for anything. To her, the world was set behind a rose-tinted lense, and her playpen was just another realm where she could dive into fantasies that her sunshine-filled life couldn't provide. (Yes, that was familiar. That had to be right.) Even before she had been chosen, Siena fully believed that her life was magical.

Her sister was the reason for that. Chosen and blessed with magic, and no wonder why. She was lovely, sweet, and beautiful, and the warmth of her magic even more so. Siena had hazy memories of warm lights, hazier memories of screaming not to be taken away when that sister vanished for good. (Wrong. What was her face? Her name? There was no sister.) Perhaps that was why her family panicked when Siena's own abilities began to come to life. They didn't want a repeat of that event. They didn't want to run the risk of her powers surging, wild and uncontrolled. Her mother and father reassured her that everything would be okay, even when she lashed out. Even when their sweet daughter had struck them hard enough to scar. (No...Siena Santana never raised a hand against her family. The scars came from a boating incident, but the emotion of horror felt so real.)

There was never a question on whether Siena would present herself to the government. Never a question on where the girl would end up. Her family promised to keep in contact with her, to send her supplies and care packages filled with their love and affection while she was surrounded by her own kind. (Correct.) Siena only regretted leaving without her farewells to the sweet neighbor boy that had stolen her heart. (Wrong. There were never any real feelings for him. Only remnants of someone else's grief.)

She can only pray that USARILN East is what she needs to stop the lines from blurring.

If she's formed an intimate enough connection to a character in printed media, Siena can literally assume their name. That's not just taking on a name and living as them, it is dragging the name out of the print and taking it on herself. In this state, Siena can mimic one attribute or ability from the character in question--the one most prominent to her. Need a deductive mind? She can take on Sherlock Holmes and bring his keen eye to the scene. Need someone that can run real fast? How about Barry Allens? Useful for a variety of situations, assuming that Siena cares about a character enough.

On the flip side of the usefulness of her ability, Siena's magic is limited by a number of rules. For one, she has to have a source available. Though she doesn't necessarily need a physical book thanks to the advent of technology, while she's taking the name out of the book, the name of the character must be visible. That means closing a book or turning the screen of her e-reader off will effectively disrupt the casting. More than that, Siena can only imitate one attribute from a given name at her current level. What gets imitated is likely to be only what Siena finds the most prominent, and may not be the best thing to imitate. To take things further, if the character should be particularly willful or powerful, they can potentially overpower Siena's own consciousness, effectively turning her into a possessed puppet of said character for however long the effects last.

And what, exactly, dictates how "powerful" a character is? Once again, that's Siena's perception of the character. The stronger she perceives a character to be, the shorter the amount of time that she can take their names for. This perception extends to the point in time that she is drawing them from as well--a character that is out of their prime at the point in the work she takes their name is not going to be as powerful as the same character at their peak. Even assuming she could take a character's name at their prime, control it safely, and maintain the effects for a long enough time, Siena can't push a character past their limits. Did she take the name Achilles? Shoot her in the heel. She's still going to go down, even if she's not vulnerable herself.

Her abilities are also far from subtle too. It takes a bit of time for Siena to take a character's name, and that's nothing to speak of how very unsubtle it is visually. The name literally pulls itself from the page, printing itself neatly across the back of Siena's neck, and using her powers has several visual cues including magic circles (they glow purple), changes in eye color (it varies), even Siena's hair can be affected by the magic itself. In addition, certain characters may have some...unexpected effects on Siena physically.

Also of note, Siena can read fast as a side effect of her magic. When she sees words, regardless of the language that they're in, they transmit their meaning directly to her. In a sense, she's not reading so much as she is listening to the book as she sees the words. However, she cannot listen, speak, or write in languages that she hasn't mastered.

She was a goddess.

A name printed on the back of her neck, blocked by trails of wispy light and strands of dark hair, her hands wrapped around a dusty tome with no title on the cover. A familiar book with a name that she had always been drawn to, but never brave enough to call. Her eyes were green, flecks of hazel and gold visible for the light that dared to peer through them. Trasncendent. She was powerful and confident, sure of herself in ways that the present version of her couldn't understand. A smile crossed her face, her hand pressed softly against the chest of an ailing man, his heart weak from injuries that should have overwhelmed him. On cue, a faint glow washed over the woman's hand, and Siena could feel a soft heat pulse through her fingertips. A warmth that she passed onto the ailing man. She could help people. She could be much more than the girl with a silver spoon.

She could be a goddess.

In the face of opposition, there was an army. Her army stood strong, friends that she knew well from the countless pages she devoured. Friends that, unlike those that she could remember, wouldn't leave her side. Her eyes, a noxious green flecked with shards of black, didn't see the unworthy. A single movement of her hand was more than enough to send a legion of monsters to level her enemies to the ground. The world was at war against her, and somehow, this demon of a woman didn't care.

Siena the devil, she could hear the whispers. She didn't have to separate the two worlds she loved so dearly with pages and words. These worlds were hers for the taking, and it would be worth every drop of blood spilled. Every scream and desperate cry. It was worth it. She flicked through pages of a book, looking unimpressed and uninterested. There was nothing for her in a book found in joy and peace, only monotony and weakness. Dropping the tome into the dirt, she waved a hand, ordering a prisoner to her side with yet another of her rosters.

To bring these worlds under her control, it was worth it.

Arbiter

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.

The Riddle Story - CRANKY
A Bella! - M2U

Samantha isn't the most sociable person. Although she may appear ill-tempered and stern, its just mostly because of her resting bitch face; she can't help it. Samantha isn't that mean of a person, she just doesn't mind keeping to herself. Growing up in an environment where everyone eventually left her, she simply decided that it would be for the best if she didn't get attached to others. When it comes to outlook in life, Samantha is quite practical and realistic; over enthusiasm and optimism aren't really her style. She's open-minded but often speaks her mind, to the point that her words would be considered blunt and personality to be tactless. She doesn't really care though; Samantha's well aware that people are entitled to their own opinion. She's fond of animals and enjoys all things sweet.

Samantha grew up in an orphanage and never found herself a family. Eventually, she ended up simply working at a nearby hospice for terminal patients. Too blunt and unapproachable to make friends, she frequently found herself speaking to the people waiting out the short remainder of their lives in her spare time. Over time the hospice staff noticed something peculiar. The girl - whom they'd begun calling Oscar the Grouch because of her usually aggressive demeanor - always spoke to residents shortly before their death. Before they went to sleep for the last time she would approach them and being abnormally friendly would listen to the person's stories. It was as if Samantha knew the person's time was up. After a few dozen consecutive instances of Samantha's visits heralding a patients last breath, the hospice staff started treating her talks with patients as a sign to call in their next of kin.

The story of the strange girl who could see death was passed to a friend of one of the nurses, a priest who often came to speak to the dying. The priest, who had ties to USARILN, kept a close eye on Samantha. For some months, he kept watch over her without her knowledge. He almost gave up when he saw no instances of her displaying any magical capabilities; it seemed that her frequent interaction with the dying was simply a coincidence. It wasn't until he happened to witness a car accident as he was leaving the hospice that the hypothesis he'd nearly surrendered was confirmed. A man had been shattered by the vehicle crash, broken ribs poking out through his shirt. Quickly the priest organised bystanders to get doctors from the hospice and call in ambulances. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement and turned to see the girl called Oscar lean down over the man. She lay a hand on his head and another slid across his chest. Her eyes were glazed and aimed forward; her hand slowly moved across the man's torso as if it were seeking something. After a moment it suddenly stopped and she pushed her hand down onto his body hard. The man thrashed limply for a moment. Samantha got up from her kneeling position and walked away from the incident.

The man was found by emergency room doctors to have no life threatening traumas; his organs were all in fine shape and he suffered only minor broken bones in his arms.

The priest knew this for what it was; the girl was a subnatural. He immediately contacted the nearest Institute and Samantha's transfer was then facilitated. She was rather open-minded to the idea when it was brought up to her.

Samantha can see "tangled threads of damage" projecting into the air from an injury like a hairball attached to it to indicate severity of the injury. Too big a tangle and a mess and she might as well kill you or ask someone else to give you a quick death. She heals by untangling the lines. It's a slow and bothersome process and once she's touched a "hairball" it becomes visible to everyone else and must be attended to by her personally. If she's interrupted during the process, the damage gets worse and the hairball gets messier and bigger. Once she's untangled the lines, the wound completely heals. Death is seen as disgusting mess of lines that are the size of tall buildings. She can heal herself with this method, too.

It was like any other day as she woke up to the annoying sounds that came from her god forsaken phone; the number of times she just wanted to toss in out of the window was too numerous to count. From the looks of things, it seemed like it was finally the day Sam was going to give in to her urges. Her hand wandered throughout the confines of her bed, looking for her damned noise maker, but instead, her hands had grabbed unto something warm and kinda hefty. To her surprise, Sam found herself a sleeping pug beneath her sheets. She was overwhelmed with joy at how cute it was, causing her to envelop it in a bearhug-like embrace. The now awoken dog simply stared blankly into space before giving Sam a few licks to her face.

After squeezing the life out of the tiny canine, Sam finally realized that the bed that she was on, wasn't hers; she wasn't in the hospice anymore. "Where am I?" she wondered to herself as she started to wander around the room, with the pug still pressed against her chest. However, before she could get any answers, her attention was redirected towards the knocks on her door.

"Hey sweetie, I'm glad your up." she softly said with a smile on her face. Sam had no clue who this woman was, but strange enough, she had the same shade of hair and eyes as her. "Your dad and little sister are good to go. You better hurry up."

The little dog simply stared at Samantha. It was as if it was waiting for her to say something

"...Mom?"

She was in a narrow corridor of pitch black that lead to a single room; a bright luminescent glow escaped through the cracks, hinges, and crevices of the closed door in front of her. It was dead silent, but Sam cared little about this as she reached forward, turning the knob and entering the next room.

Instead of jet black darkness, the room was entirely bright white; it was almost blinding. The light soon dimmed and that's when she say it. All four walls that surrounded her turned transparent, and on the outside, were several individuals, all injured or suffering in some way. They made their way towards same and began clawing on the transparent walls as they moaned out loud their aches, pains, and frustrations. Pleads for help echoed throughout her surroundings. Everyone turned to Samantha and were practically begging her to help them

She couldn't help but smirk at what she saw. Samantha tried her best to stop, but the more she attempted to, the worse it got. A smirk soon turned into a smile, then a massive grin. Soon enough, she found herself unable to contain her laughter. The thought of being needed and sought after fueled whatever it was that was causing her to act this way. She didn't want to be like this, she wanted to stop.

Tears trailed down her face as she couldn't do anything.

Arbiter

None, for now.