Name: Asche Stauss

Alias: Smoker

Appearance: Asche is a tall, muscular man with noticeably broad shoulders, short cut black hair, and black eyes. He has a strong, square jawline and pointed nose with extensive scarring on the right side of his face; including faint traces of corrupted tissue above his eye, in the form of three thin black streaks.

Some components of his preferred clothing are salvaged from his EDENPOL armor; namely the pauldrons, shoulder pads, and boots. The rest of the outfit consists of olive green cargo pants, a black synthetic leather vest reinforced with scrap metal plates (including a knife holster mounted to the right shoulder), and a dark grey t-shirt. In addition to his clothing, Asche wears thick brown bandages wrapped around his arms at all times to hide his ritual scarring and blackened flesh.

Personality:

Asche Stauss is a complicated man. He retains an outward attitude of cold indifference and rarely expresses himself; but this is simply a mask. In truth he is deeply caring, and assigns more value to the lives of others than to his own, preferring not to bother others with his own troubles if he can avoid it. These troubles have been magnified tenfold since the incident that removed him from EDENPOL; he is perpetually plagued by alien thoughts from a mind that is no longer solely his own, thoughts which pushes him constantly towards the abyss from which it was born.

Spending so much of his life as an EDENPOL operative supporting his family, Asche has developed a strict personal code which can be summed up simply; never leave a man behind, always protect your brothers in arms, and the ones you love are more valuable than your own life. Informed by this philosophy he has isolated himself from his sisters, only further compounding his inner turmoil.

History:
Asche Stauss is notoriously private about his past. The only known details are that he has two sisters and worked with EDENPOL for an extended period of time.

He did not leave EDENPOL by choice. During a raid on a group of suspected terrorists, Asche’s was separated from his team when he fell through a rotted out floor in the run-down building where their targets had set up base. Knocked unconscious by the fall Asche awoke to find himself stripped of most of his armor and strapped down to a stone slab, a cultist standing over him and slicing arcane symbols into his flesh. When he awoke, the cultist panicked, unable to finish as Asche struggled against his restraints and called out to his team.

The incomplete summoning had far different effects than they had planned. In their haste to finish a different rite had been performed, rather than ending his life to call forth a monster, the cult had merged Asche’s physical body with the essence and will of that same beast.

After slipping off the blood-soaked restraint on one arm, he seized the knife which had been used to mutilate his body, using it to kill the cultist who had done the deed just in time for his team to arrive and finish off the others.

Upon seeing what had become of their brother in arms, Asche’s squadmates reached a decision. They would return to EDENPOL with his ID tags and what remained of his armor to report him as KIA and spare him what was likely a far worse fate than simple execution.

In the two years between leaving EDENPOL and his recent recruitment into Ultralight Asche lived as a scavenger, surviving on stolen food and wearing clothes liberated from waste processing centers; never spending a night in the same alley twice as he desperately evaded discovery. He spent that time learning to control his newfound gift and coming to terms with the twisting of his psyche, until a chance encounter with Cider ended in his recruitment as a member of her cell.

As a new recruit Asche has not yet been deployed by Ultralight, though he has prior experience in covert operations from his time with EDENPOL.

Capabilities:
Asche possesses the ability to enter a mysterious dimension, traveling instantly between points in the real world. This dimension -dubbed Shadow Space- exists between the corners of our world, and within it neither time nor distance have meaning. It is an alien realm the geography of which is incomprehensible to any mere mortal, and only as a result of his corrupted mind and body can Asche traverse it. Even still, this carries the risk of further wearing down his humanity.

Equipment:
Modified EDENPOL magnetic combat rifle: the weapon has been stripped down to the minimum of parts, removing the stock and shortening the barrel; while it lacks in accuracy and power compared to a stock model, the weapon is lighter and no longer recognizable as an EDENPOL issued weapon.

Carbon fiber combat knife: A simple serrated combat knife made from next-gen carbon fiber and polymer materials. It is lightweight, razor sharp and nearly as hard as diamond; but with greater resilience.

Athame: A traditional ritual dagger made from common steel, with an ebony handle and silver inlays. Used for mundane purposes such as preparing his own personal meals.

Body armor: Asche retains only the minimum of what once constituted his EDENPOL issued armor; his boots, pauldrons, and shoulder pads, all of which have been stripped of identifying markings and integrated with clothing typical of a scavenger.

Other: Carries a locket containing a picture of two identical teenage girls bearing a strong resemblance to himself, and one of a middle-aged couple whose faces have been scratched out

Name: Thomas Dempsey
Alias: Nailgun

Personality: Dempsey is a nervous wreck. He’ll jump if you talk to him and his eyes always seem to be roving, searching for an escape route. He carries a nervous, building energy about him that tends to make other people uncomfortable, particularly in combat situations where the order is to remain calm. Too bad, since Dempsey is never calm. He seems constantly convinced he’s going to die and hell, you can’t decide if he’s terrified or excited about the possibility. He speaks in fast jumbles, panics when he lies, and laughs to cover it up. Dempsey doesn’t like to be touched and will physically flinch if made contact with, which his official file blames on PTSD. He spends most of his time modifying or fiddling with his weaponry, which is both creative and compulsive. The man is surprisingly intelligent and has a lot of knowledge packed in under all that pent-up anxiety. He’s very much a follower, doing what he’s told and cowing to the whims of others in a disagreement. If there’s one thing Dempsey can be counted on for, though, it’s a steady trigger finger. He might be terrified, but he’s no coward—he’ll stand his ground and deliver when the going gets tough.

Appearance: Dempsey appears to be about thirty years old. Average in height and weight—lean build if not for extensive combat training, which shows in broad shoulders and wiry upper body strength. Probably the first thing your eyes would be drawn to would be his hair, which is… large. Thick reddish-brown curls spring at least to his shoulders, which he typically keeps tied back or under a hood/helmet on jobs. When unbound, the sheer volume of hair becomes something like an afro, dwarfing his long, narrow face. His complexion is pale and slightly freckly, with an outthrust jaw and patchy red stubble. He has very light gray eyes. There’s some kind of scar visible on the left side of his face, but it’s not clear what caused it.

History: From a paramilitary family, Thomas Dempsey Jr. never had much resemblance to his father. His father was a high-ranking officer in EPOL and was widely respected by others in the ranks for his leadership and other abilities. From the time he was born, Dempsey was trained and groomed to enter EPOL. Before she died, his mother desperately tried to cultivate other options for him, forms of self-expression or trade that didn’t require such a violent lifestyle. For a mediocre child with little natural ability in any one field, however, combat training won out. You didn’t have to be talented to shoot a gun and do what you were told. Skill would come with time.

He was young when he was officially accepted into the academy (via connections, not by merit) and began going out on EPOL missions, and (while nobody dared tell him or his father) the general consensus was disappointment. He was no prodigy, despite his origins, and Dempsey had to work twice as hard just to satisfy the sergeants and instructors. Even now, the rumors that he wasn’t actually his father’s son began to spread as those in the paramilitary force sought a reason why he fell so short of the mark. Embarrassed and disappointed, Thomas Dempsey Sr. effectively disowned him, claiming his wife had been unfaithful and turning his back on his son.

Trapped in the system nonetheless, Dempsey was a solid long-range sniper and his first unit began to specialize on raiding illegal weapons caches in the south Wards. Exposure to seemingly every kind of bootleg gun available seemed to spark some creativity in Dempsey’s mind and he began to modify his own weapons, which he got in major trouble over once the officers found out. There was no room in EPOL for ingenuity from a nameless scrub. To punish him—or maybe to test him—he was reassigned to “front lines” in supposedly the most dangerous territory. Gang members and civilians all blended together, and sometimes there was no distinguishing between the two. He risked his life every day in often radioactive territory, and though they never saw him behind the EPOL helmet, he saw every one of their faces, which still haunt him.

It wasn’t through compassion or sympathy that he left his new squadron, however, even after he was moved back to weapons cache raids. Strange things had been happening to him, and people had started to take notice. Incidents where they were under fire and an invisible force would suddenly sweep his squad members off their feet, or a gun would shatter in his hands. It took a raid where a surprise assault in a weapons locker blew out every wall, crate, and gun except the one in Dempsey’s hands before he realized it was him. He was ejected from EPOL as a loose cannon, volatile, someone developing signs of supernatural ability without control. It didn’t take long for Ultralight to find him.

Five years have passed since Dempsey became a contractor for Ultralight, and he’s become somewhat of a weapons specialist. His kinetic bursts remain unstable and inconsistent, so he’s seldom assigned to the field anymore since the initial trial period where he attempted to master control of his ability and came away so shell-shocked that some weren’t sure he’d ever leave the safe house again. In that time he’s recovered some and subsists off of frequent small jobs, essentially “pest” extermination of smaller youkai and monsters. He’s never stayed with a cell for long, but frequently acts as a resource for contractors who need special mods to their guns or to pick his brain for his weapons knowledge.

Capabilities: Dempsey is excellent at long-range combat and is most useful (and safe) as a sniper, far away from actual danger. It’s not that he’s not skilled at a more melee range as well—he’s trained with pistols, shotguns, etc, and he makes pretty good snap decisions in a fight on the spot. He’s definitely a more “defensive” fighter at closer range. The problem is actually his more supernatural ability, which specialists estimate has been developing slowly over time spent in the more radiation-heavy wards (or possibly in response to some emotional turmoil, though that’s just the psych evaluation’s opinion). Dempsey seems to build up and then semi-randomly discharge kinetic energy, which bursts from him in a kind of shock wave. The size and strength of this wave varies, doing anything from simply shattering people’s glasses at a party to blowing out a building. He really has no control over it, but analysts note it seems to happen when he’s scared (always) and that taking stress in combat seems to amplify the effect.

Equipment: Sniper rifle (magnetic, modified scope) Pistol x2 (cartridge) Shotgun (cartridge, experimental model taken from Los Lados warehouse) Protective vest, light body-armor. Wears a lot of black.

Name: Ambrosine Dumortier

Alias: Stim

Age: 48

Personality: She is opinionated, independent, and very much into exploring more options than those presented to her. Many people find her a bit charming due to her confident but slightly off-kilter sense of humor and speech. She appreciates humor and wit. Her freedom with her opinion leads her to expect others to share their opinions. As such, Ambrosine is a large proponent for free speech and directness. She is an introvert but is not unsociable by any stretch of the imagination. She can and will jump into the line of fire to move injured to a safe place for treatment. She is an atheist, but she tends to be unobtrusive with it. She is heavily driven by ambition to become a better medical provider and save those around her.

Appearance: Ambrosine stands at 5'4" and sports a well muscled, often called amazonian, build. Her hair is light brown, and her eyes are an icy blue. Her skin has absolutely no imperfections due to her regeneration. Her features are moderately sharp, lending her a default stern appearance. She also tends towards an eternal small scowl as her default expression. Nothing about her is delicate looking and instead follows the amazonian style of being muscular, strong, and lithe. When not working as a doctor, she will wear comfortable athletic wear or, if she can fully relax safely, a set of sweatpants and a t-shirt. If needing more formal attire, she goes for a simple and elegant button up blouse and dress pants. Over the blouse, she wears a dress jacket or vest that allows her to hide her pistol if she expects trouble. On missions, she wears standard gear or clothing. To conceal her identity, she prefers to wear a balaclava and goggles. Her medical bag is essentially a modified messenger bag, so it slings over her shoulder easily.

Capabilities: Ambrosine, following a supernatural encounter, has ceased to exist within the bonds of what most know as fate. As such, she regenerates wounds slowly and is effectively immortal. She does not age, eat, drink, breathe, or sleep. She can choose to eat or drink for the purpose of medication or pleasure, but she cannot naturally fall asleep. This does not prevent knockouts or drug induced unconsciousness. Due to her regeneration, she metabolizes drugs, toxins, poisons, and other chemicals at an increased pace, so for her to self-medicate, she must reapply it more frequently, thus taking more doses than her comrades.

She has medical experience equivalent to any degree holding doc, but she has also learned how to perform surgery and medical attention in subpar conditions, with salvaged materials, and with makeshift tools.

History: Ambrosine grew up in the slums. Her grandmother, mother, and father lived in the same lean-to. Her mother worked as a street doc while her father was a baker. Her grandmother was far too old to work, but she did act as a preacher for the surrounding families. Due to her hefty faith, Ambrosine's grandmother gave her a St. Christopher medal. This was to both protect her granddaughter and spur her to faith. Despite this and her grandmother's constant push to talk about scripture and faith, Ambrosine grew up as an atheist. She found the ideas to be irrational given the societal situation. Then, she read the Bible. From there, she grew to reject the entirety of religion. In addition, in her journey to atheism, she learned from her mother as well as studied anatomy and biology from any books and scraps she could find or steal. That started her initial push into the medical field.

When she was old enough to help, her mother took her in as a nurse. As she grew in medical knowledge, Ambrosine elevated over the years until she and her mother were both full doctors when she turned 18. However, even two doctors in the slums could stop age from taking Ambrosine's grandmother. On her death bed, the grandmother told Ambrosine to keep making her proud and to rise above the slums. Ambrosine, as the last thing she ever said to her grandmother, said that she would leave the slums and become a doctor for anyone in need. Unfortunately, she never got the chance to leave the slums before Ultralight found her.

On her 23rd birthday, Ambrosine managed to secure a place as a nurse in a hospital in the better part of town. Excited for the next step, Ambrosine practically bounced through her patients that day. Her last patient got dragged in by two oddly dressed people. The man introduced himself as Boomstick. Being used to odd nicknames, Ambrosine paid little mind and looked at their companion. He had multiple stab and gunshot wounds, but he was still alive and might pull through. Without delay, she set to work, having the companions stand outside to wait and be out of her way. While removing the bullets, weird black goo started to ooze out of one of them. It made her nervous, but her commitment to save her patient kept her in place. She opened the wound some to inspect it, but the incision almost explosively expanded. From the incision, a hungry blackness consumed the patient and corner of the room. Ambrosine tried to run away, but tendrils of inky blackness shot out and began to drag her towards the hungry maw. She couldn't resist the dragging, but she did manage to grab two things: a bottle of silver nitrate and a pair of surgical scissors. Once pulled through, she discovered that the place was some sort of alternate dimension. There was a constant low light that allowed just enough vision to see somewhat, but it gave no ability to see minute details. Something writhed just beyond her sight. More tendrils moved forward. Using her scissors, she tried to fight them off, stabbing any tendrils that came close. Unfortunately, the number of tendrils overwhelmed her and dragged her deeper into the darkness. As she was drawn closer to the creature, Ambrosine was met with black orbs that probably constituted eyes. Seeing some sort of target, she reared back and threw the silver nitrate bottle as hard as she could, assuming the glass might cause some damage. To her surprise, the liquid inside caused more immediate effects. A mixture of sickly glowing ichor sprayed all over her. The creature let go of her, roaring in agony. Ambrosine took the opportunity to get on her feet and run towards the light of the tear in reality behind her. The creature was preoccupied, thus letting her leap back through the tear. Once out, she noticed the tear had been slowly closing the whole time. Knowing silver nitrate seemed to affect the creature, she grabbed a spare bottle and threw it on the edge of the tear. It seemed to have an effect and closed the rest off the tear almost immediately. Boomstick and the other companion ran in to see a black, oozing corspe of their companion and Ambrosine on the ground, convulsing from the ichor that had started to seep into her body. Ambrosine was essentially stuck in her own head and locked in the grip of pain. She didn't notice the two standing over her, guns drawn and ready to shoot her. She came out of it a few minutes later, the ichor gone. She felt unusual, an odd heavy and alien feeling permeating her body. She looked fine and looked up at Boomstick. Her first words were, "I copuldn't save him." Boomstick rolled his eyes and hefted her up, convincing her, rather easily, to follow him. They took her to some run down and out of the way building. There, they ran her through test after test and interrogations galore. They determined her sanity intact, if shaken by a brush with the supernatural. They also determined that she no longer had physical needs and her "blood" was essentuially a modified version of the ooze that came from their companion. Despite being tainted in some way from an alien realm, Ambrosine was cleared to exist. Boomstick immediately sent in to recruit her into Ultralight since he needed a new recruit and her being a doctor was gravy.

From there, she spent years developing her field medic skills as well as learning what the ichor caused. In addition to not having physical needs, Ambrosine learned that wounds healed automatically, even going so far as to regrow or reattach limbs. An unfortunate headshot made her learn that she would eventually even come back from fatal wounds. She also ceased to age. She never grew a wrinkle, gained a scar, or even got a gray hair. She was effectively an immortal.

Some of the squads she worked with over the years tried to figure out exactly why she gained immortality. They knew the direct cause was the ichor from another dimension, but they wanted to know why the interaction caused her specific powers. Over about a decade, Ambrosine worked with many of the occult specialists and veteran operatives. They ran tests, spiritual and scientific. Eventually, they came upon an idea that she was infused with that realm's essence and thus immortal due to that realm's properties. Then, they set out to figure out what realm she actually became a part of. They tried elemental tests to see if she was immune to any particular element. None bore fruit. Then, they tried holy water or profane rituals. Neither worked. Eventually, they tried some experiments involving spiritualists dealing with karma, fate, or any other form of predetermined outcome. Any time they tried to force and outcome, she was not bound to it. Foresight could not predict her next move. Luck alteration powers could not make her succeed or fail. From exhaustive testing, they determined that she was most likely infused with pure chaos, thus being an opposite to the order of fate and most of reality. This hybridization of her made her immortal as it would be orderly to die or change state according to damage. Thus, as a being of chaos, she could not suffer lasting damage. At least, that is what she was told.

Now, with the knowledge in hand that she is not bound to a set of determined values or endings, Ambrosine threw herself into missions and more learning, striving even harder to defy her upbringing. Until now, she has been simply an Ultralight field medic. Her end goal is to rise above being a street doc and become an actual clinic operator that can provide high quality care to the slums around her.

Equipment:

Medic Bag: While normally worn as a backpack, this pack contains supplementary tools, drugs, and materials to treat wounds in the field.

Bullpup PDW: She managed to get a bullpup PDW chambered in 5.7mm armor piercing rounds. She keeps it in the nearest safehouse for missions and relies upon Ultralight to keep her stocked up on ammo.

10mm Subcompact Handgun: This is her personal sidearm for daily wear. She keeps it in good condition and tends to buy her own ammo for non-mission use.

Knuckledusters and Sap Gloves: Ambrosine keeps both on hadn at all times in case of a brawl. She prefers to use the sap gloves to disable an attacker, but she uses the knuckledusters to kill as necessary.

Large security flashlight: She carries one of these at all times for the sake of being able to use it for light during treatment as well as light at night. It makes a handy club.

Other: She is a native English speaker and fluent in both French and Mandarin. She has a St. Christopher medal from her grandmother as a keepsake that she flips through her fingers when thinking or needing to occupy her fingers. Her blood is a black ichor that behaves exactly as blood but smells like a sickening mixture of honey, sulfur, and mold.

Name: Tracey Morgan Elmore
Alias: Bear
Personality:
Tracey’s alias is both her moniker and adequate description of her personality.

Inverted- She is soft-spoken in general and unassuming, but has a strong personality underneath. Actions are her preferred method for her expression. This can make it hard to get to know her immediately by others. However, when she’s found a long lasting friend her personality has its warm and gentle side. Whenever that friend is in danger, her aggression will surface in the form of a furious bear-like protector (figuratively and sometimes literally).

Isolation Recharge- Tracey sometimes needs to go off on her own in order to recharge her batteries. Mostly she’s locked heavily in her own thoughts or sleeping away, enjoying the lack of distractions. It is nothing personal. Everyone needs some me time to actually relax and let loose.

Modest- While Tracey knows she can hold her own in a fight or could be the strongest in a group, she won’t brag about it. In fact, she only mentions her skills when she thinks it might help in a situation. Any other time, she will shrug it off as unimpressive.

Values Actions over Words- Tracey holds little value in words. Actions, in her opinion, speak volumes and their outcome often reveal the true intentions of someone. It’s these she silently judges. If someone’s actions indicate harm or ill-will toward her, she will go to extreme measures to avoid them. On the other side of the spectrum, she will accommodate best she can to their wishes or demands. Sometimes it is easier said than done though.

Flaws

Laziness- Tracey will admit being lazy outside given tasks. Most times she rather eats, sleeps and does something she enjoys than be an adult. This can cause issues with her fellow contractors sometimes. Some fights can become bad enough she vanishes for the night and refuses to reappear until the next morning. Often the reason for the disagreement already put behind her as if nothing actually happened.

Spontaneous Impulses- She doesn’t plan anything. She lives in the moment, letting life take her along for the ride. If a mission comes along that Tracey can join than she’s all for it. During boring moments she will often find something interesting in the surroundings that can distract her. This makes the traditional conversation difficult for her often enough unless it’s critical to know.

Weakness for High Calorie or Sweet Things- This list includes honey, nuts, chocolate covered insects, fruit and junk food. If you find any of these in your possession, it’s best to share or you will find yourself being stared down by a lurking Tracey. Often she is ready to snatch up any leftovers, intimidate/guilt trip someone into sharing, or possibly snatch a stray piece from the owner’s hand when they fail to notice. She honestly can’t help it as the scent is attractive to her, even in her normal form.

Appearance:

Tracey has literally two appearances. The first one described is her original form and the second one is named the ‘werebear’ form, similar to the first with only minor changes. Another note is that any wound obtained on her person while in werebear form will carry over to her original one, especially limp removal as shown with her eye.

Original

Tracey stands at around 5’1” in height and of African-American descendant. Her genes give her body a soft curve with notably larger hips and small chest. Make no mistake that with her slight ‘plum’ shape, she is still in good physical condition. Faded scars criss-cross over her dark skin from her past experiences. The eye on her left side appears to have been removed and the skin is sewn closed, making a blind spot for her. To prevent stares or gawking, Tracey had let her bangs and hair on that side grow out. She then stylizes the wavy locks to cover it. Her remaining eye is a deep golden brown that feels more animal than human.

Werebear

When Tracey transforms, most her anatomy stays fairly close to human. Only specific areas of her body change in less than a minute. (Note, I’m not going into the details of her inside changes. I would have to research the differences in biology for man vs bear, and I think it’s just easier to assume the changes happen to allow it.)

Her figure bulks up but the main muscle gain is in her arms and legs, both still retaining most of their structure. Her arms gain about a few inches to match up length with her legs. This feature allows her to walk or run easily on all four when needed for short bursts. Each finger and toe sprouts about an inch and half claw able to rip apart flesh like a well-sharpened knife.

The changes don’t stop at her limbs though.

Around her mouth and nose, otherwise known as the muzzle area, extends into a hairless bear-like snout. The single eye’s inside shift creating a reflective back for night and day vision. Her ears widen into an upside down tear-drop shapes then shift a bit higher on her head, but only a few centimeters from where they originally were. Finally, as if someone flipped a switch on her hair, the sources on her arms, legs, and head grow. The hair on her head reaches to about shoulder length, but the hair on the arms and legs drape down about an inch. Extra hair sheds when she shifts back.

History:

Tracey was born the youngest daughter and raised within the Slums of Eden. It wasn’t all bad as she had a family to shared the hardships of her daily life. Her father and older brother worked long hours for a butcher house located in the business district. Every evening they would trudge home covered in aged blood and entrail bits, their clothes forever reddened by the mess. Thankfully her mother was an expert at cleaning clothes because she did it for a living working under the better off families in Centre. Alongside those duties, her fingers had developed callouses from the scrubbing and mopping throughout the day. It was a surprise they found any time to look after Tracey when she took the time to remember those days.

Since their family had four mouths to feed, rent to pay and other bills, Tracey quickly found herself in the workforce around the age of thirteen. She did simple tasks from rinsing off the blood from the butcher floor to selling papers in the streets, anything possible to earn extra money to support them.

By her sixteenth birthday, she found herself firmly employed in the butcher shop and running a stable job. It still barely managed to put meat on the table though. Walking home later than normal one day, she had gotten the sensation of being watched. It made her unease as she was still covered in blood from rinsing the floors. Pushing it from her mind, Tracey continued home only to see something shrouded in hair rush at her. It tried to hold her down as it managed to bite deep into her defending arm during the struggle. Tracey screamed into the night before the thing, smelling of blood and filth, bolted away. Likely startled by her reaction.

Still shocked and filled by adrenaline, she rose to her hands and knees. Tracey tore off the end of her apron then hastily wrapped her wound. With a wobbly gait, Tracey managed to edge her way home. When she just reached the door, she passed out on the front steps where her brother found her shortly afterward.

For the next week, Tracey gradually recovered from her wound. While she couldn’t identify the attacker, her brother logically concluded it was a starved, feral dog that had bitten her. It wasn’t completely far-fetched she reasoned in her head. However, her thoughts held deep and isolated doubts about the theory. There was no point in arguing the case because she couldn’t even recall it well now. Later on, she would regret treating the incident so lightly.

Over the years she had developed a crush Stephen Atkins, a charming young man only eight years her senior. He was charming and better off, but he had one flaw her family couldn’t overlook. He worked for the Sanhehui gang in the North Wards. That association brought nothing good from it according to her father and brother. Sadly, Tracey refused to listen. She met Stephen in secret during her brief breaks at the butcher until one day, her brother spotted them together.

The night that followed would be the last time Tracey would ever remember seeing her family alive.

During the fight over her future, the young woman felt strange and dizzy. Pain ripped across her mouth, ears, and arms. Her nose and mouth pushed out from her face, the muscles twisted into a beak-like snout. Each tooth elongated into vicious looking ones. The forehead sloped slightly while the eyes turned into beady, golden brown ones. Human ears enlarged to twice their normal size as they edged to stick on the sides of her skull for better hearing. Her once thin built increased notably in mass giving her a more burly appearance, especially centered around her limbs. Claw-like nails formed from her fingers with her hand still retaining its mostly human features.

Slowly her family’s expressions turned from anger to fear abruptly, their figures immediately recoiled from her. This was all it took to startle her into attacking. Tracey doesn’t remember exactly what happened next. Just a deep, dark regret over it all. She did clearly remember waking up in the street for the next morning. Confused, Tracey found herself covered in what she hoped was mud and slowly began to head home.

Neighbors had collected around the crime scene causing her to hesitate. As she got closer, she could see EdenPol taping the scene off and talking with a witness. Glimpses of what happened surged into her head causing her to redirect to the only person she hoped could help her. Stephen.

When she arrived, he was happy and pleased to see her safe. That enjoyment quickly left his eyes when she explained what had happened. Oddly unfazed, he reassured her everything was going to be alright. Tracey couldn’t do anything but blindly follow him. He suggested she see a man named Dr. James Schneider, then gave her directions to the doctor’s residence. The place appeared to be a run-down warehouse before she headed inside. It appeared she was expected because the moment she entered, a sharp sting of a sedative hit her neck. Her vision gradually became blurred before she crumbled to the floor.

The next two years were nothing but inhumane. She was forced to transform for live camera feeds, individuals applauding their sick enjoyment and demanding more. Naturally, these shows were blood filled affairs where ‘oddities’ were often prodded into a small, cramp arena and forced to fight each other. Sometimes until the victor ended another’s life at the audience’s whims.

Tracey could feel her humanity slowly die during her captivity, her time spent more in her ‘bearish’ form than out of it. Most nights were filled with licking her wounds, silently crying at her fate and learning about the other captives. Even if many of them looked like monsters, Tracey found most were just as scared and miserable as herself. They were all connected by a single desire: freedom.

One night, she and a few bolder ‘oddities’ plotted an escape. Tracey had been gradually working a few bars in her cage loose over the recent months. Nearly twice the men they called shepherds had almost caught her doing it. This made it dangerous to work on lately until Milo, an elderly man with a wolf version of her own abilities, offered to create a distraction. Tracey didn’t think anything about the consequences when she agreed to it. The man shifted then howled until the shepherds came. Frustrated, she flinched at the beating they delivered on Milo while she worked on her bars.

It hadn’t even registered in her head that they were beating him to death, even after Milo’s howls had turned into whimpers for mercy. When she spotted the men step back, their body gestures screamed something was wrong. The senior shepherd shouted to get the wheel barrel as he leaned down to check Milo’s still body. Tracey silently watched them haul the body away to the nearby furnace. They shoved him in like a dead log then left. The stretch of burning dead renewed to warm their cold dwellings.

With the men gone, Tracey forced her body to shift back into the girl she was once. Cautiously she twisted her unnaturally thin figure out through the narrow gap. From there, she slowly began to release a few of her fellow captives until the shepherd’s light appeared on her exposed back. All hell broke loose. Those who had been freed rushed either for the shepherds or the exit. Everywhere around her, a chaotic scene emerged. More cages were battered and more individuals were freed. During it all, Tracey somehow managed to find her way to Eden’s streets where she abruptly vanished.

A few months later, she was found by Ultralight.

She was rummaging through the trash bins in an area where a series of mysterious murders had taken place. As long as she didn’t become a victim, it wasn’t her concern. That would soon change. A man approached her for questions about the area, but Tracey just ignored him. The man didn’t take no for an answer as he followed her. Frustrated by his persistence, Tracey’s face had twisted into its bear-like appearance when she shouted at him. What surprised her most was the fact he didn’t recoil from her image. Instead, he offered a hand and a way she could find earn a living.

Warily she took it and the rest is history.

Capabilities:

While Transformed her stats are based on a black bear rather than a grizzly because I felt it fits her appearance and was less OP for the RP settings.

Strength- She is about 2.5 stronger than her original form. This enables her to shove a fully grown man out of her way, break a bone or knock down a thin tree easily. She also hopes to break down a door or two in the future. The bad part about this, anything delicate shouldn’t be left for her to do. It’s more likely to break with a slip of her claws.

Durability and High Pain Tolerance- Due to her bulk and experiences, she can take a serious beating in a weaponless fight and keep going. She can take several gashes from bladed weapons before risking bleeding out, but her endurance gradually fades. Eventually, if the fight keeps up too long when she’s critically injured, Tracey risks dying. Even a ‘werebear’ isn’t immortal.

Quadruped Sprinting- Though she can run while on two legs, her additional mass affects her balance and often slows her down. To counter this, Tracey’s bearish form can hit the ground running on all fours. In a clear straight shot at a target, she can run twice fast as a human for a short distance. Parkouring or turning on a dime is not in her capability so running anything down within an obstacle course setting is not happening, no matter how hard she tries.

A sense of Scent- Tracey’s nose is able to pick up individual scents, identify them (if she knows them), and even follow them for a fair distance. She even uses her nose to help cover her blind spots through her reacting speed might be slower. As long as a target has left behind a smell, she could track it. At least, when she’s not distracted by other scents and gets some practice in.

Eyesight- Tracey has sharp and good up close vision, able to see color and even adapt to nighttime conditions. This is because of a reflective layer called the tapetum lucidum grown on the back of her eye, allowing any traces of light to stimulate the cells in the retina. It gives her eye a distinct, bright green shine whenever hit by concentrated light at night. This also means very blinding lights can hurt and distract her for various length of time depending on her distance and its intensity. Farsight is rather poor and night vision doesn’t reach, turning anything beyond a yard into shadowy shapes.

Additional skills.

Brawler-Being forced into ring fights for a good two years has taught Tracey a lot. While her style is ‘freeform’ without any formal training, it suits her brute strength and straightforwardness. It’s best described as bear-style fighting. Close range combat isn’t an issue for her, but range weapons will prove a difficult challenge to overcome.

Body Language- Tracey is damn good at reading body language, even individuals that hide it. In fact, it’s her go-to for first meetings because she can tell how open a person is about themselves, how often they lie, and other needed to know facts for interaction. If she doesn’t like what she sees, her behavior will reflect it.

Adequate Climbing Skills- Though there are few trees, Tracey has developed an enjoyment of climbing whatever she can. As a human, her options are limited and often result in her being unable to get a proper foothold in some surfaces. However, when she goes full-on werebear her feet and hand claws can find little niches strong enough to push her upward easily. If the structure can hold her weight is a completely another story.

World Class Snorer- Tracey can drill a hole into a log when she snores, according to outside sources’ exaggerations. She completely doesn't believe it even when told otherwise.

Equipment:

Brass Knuckles- Due to paranoia about her situation, Tracey carries a set of concealable brass knuckles. Just because she can transform, doesn’t mean she will all the time and these pack enough power to discourage anyone from messing with her.

Other:

Larger bulk equals higher dosage if you try to put her down for any reason while in her werebear form. This also explains her large appetite since shifting requires a lot of calories.

With her left eye gone, Tracey has a blind spot while in human form. This blind spot is less of an issue while in her transformed state because of her sensitive nose but this is subjected to the whims and needs of the story. If a situation hinders that, I’m all for it as long it doesn’t make her look like a fool and is logically plausible. Examples are too many scents in her locations, the target doesn’t emit one she has prior knowledge of, etc.

Tracey has a dislike and slight fear of needles. Try to use one on her and she becomes fully aggressive in a blink of an eye, either threatening to punch someone or shove that needle where the sun doesn’t shine. This stems from her days in captivity where those who didn’t settle down were sedated against their will. Some even die from it.