[CHAR] Garden of Shadow (Horror, Human Mutations, and Monsters)

[Little Kitsune]

N A T A L I E K A P L E N - M E A D O W S

F e m a l e ● T w e n t y - F i v e ● B - N e g a t i v e

M U T A T I O N S

● Enhanced Speed and Reflexes
Nat's never really been much for athletic routine, that was always her sister's thing. So it comes off quick ironic that her mutations grant her inhuman speed. Specifically, the ability to achieve speeds higher than any human could, or should. Not just in the physical sense either, but her reflexes, her reaction times, and her overall speed of though. This also alters her perception of time, dilating it to the point where she can see things in slow motion, or even at a near standstill.

At first glance, this seems like a passive, natural reaction. She could potentially respond to things faster than a normal human being could with her accelerated process of through and neural signals. However, if she were to concentrate on exactly how fast she needs the world to move, she can control this dilation. When moving at high speeds, she can also perceive things at high speeds, only slowing as needed when an obstacle presents itself through her brain's sub-conscious system of detect, identify, and respond. Ultimately, when moving at high speeds, this would feel almost as if there were no change at all, rather moving as a reaction than a processed thought.

● Shock Absorption and Energy Release
Nat has two very important mutations that coexist with her powers, without them she wouldn't be very useful at all. The first is the overall density of her body, she's not exactly heavier or lighter, nor is she really anymore durable than she regularly is. What this does is orients her body to be able to absorb, and release the force of excessive impacts (e.g if she throws a high speed punch). What this means is that her body converts the pressure from force and velocity into heat and steam, which is released from her back.

The bony plates protruding from her back along her spine not only offer her the same protection a regular bone would, but also serves as a way for her to vent this buildup of heat energy, in great clouds of steam. Without this the friction generated by her body would lead to spontaneous combustion. She also has smaller rows of similar bony protrusions along the outsides of her forearms between her wrists and elbows, and along the back of her calves between her ankles and knees.

● Nature's Velcro
Nat has a slick, oily black substance creeping up her hands, forearms, feet, and shins. Her skin in these areas is very soft, cool, and slippery—Much like that of an amphibious creature. More importantly, this change in texture comes with another important benefit. Her hands and feet are covered in hundreds of tiny, microscopic hairs called setae. Each seta splits off into hundreds of even smaller bristles called spatulae. These hairs, lying more at a horizontal angle, increase the Van der Waals forces between themselves and a surface. In Nature, this allows a creature such as a gecko to climb porous surfaces. Natalie can't climb surfaces, but these setae give her considerably more traction and grip.

A P P E A R A N C E

^{Nat's Arms | Nat's Teeth | Nat's Spine}

If not for their age gap, Nat could almost be her sister's twin. Sharing the same theme of features inherited from their mother, Nat has a softer face but with more angular sculpting compared to her sister's rounder structure. She has the same button nose and pert mouth, but her eyes lack the warm of their mother. Rather, she has her father's hard stare, an icy coolness reflected in those ocean blue pools of color. Her hair is a stark contrast to her pale complexion and bright eyes, being a black so dark as if to seem all color has been washed out—The same as her sister.

Nat fairs a bit better in the womanly department, standing a little taller and leaner at 5'8 (176cm) and weighing 124 lbs (56.2 kg). Her chest is also a tad larger, as Nat sports a duo of firm C-cups. Nat, being the girl she is, does sport a bit of ink and a few piercings here and there.

● Yin and Yang tribal band inked around her left bicep.
● A Blue Lily tattooed on the back of her right shoulder.
● Rose and Compass tattooed on the left side of her torso and hip.
● She had a semi-colon tattoo on her wrist, but that has been covered by her mutation.
● Pierced ears and tongue.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Nat is a hardhearted, self-centered realist. To her, the world is a cruel place that doesn't give two shits about her, so she might as well make the best of it. Her activities seem to end her up on the wrong side of the law, or at the least running from it. She's a shutout, hiding herself deep within layers of calm coolness and cold apathy. If not very trusting at first, Nat is very loyal and will stay that way as long as you do right by her and her family.

Speaking of family, there's only one person Nat really cares about in this world—You guessed it—her little sister. Though one may not realize what deep affection Nat has for her sister, Anybody who fucks with Makiah is going to see the violent side of Nat real quick. Though she cares less for her loser parents, Nat hasn't completely disowned them.

R E F L E C T I O N S : P A R T O N E

Natalie

An office becomes shrouded in haunting gloom as the glow of evening turns into the veil of night. A haggard face, pale with day old stubble, stares at a thick book that he had drawn from one of the many shelves lining the room. Ice rattles in a stout glass as he tries to sooth his nerves with the foul brew of straight whiskey, there was no time for mixers tonight. A sad smile plays across his face as he leans back in the well kept leather chair, its oiled hinges not letting off a single squeak. Still, that would have paled in comparison to the chaos erupting outside. He glances to his phone, still no response from his wife. His heart nearly leaps out of his chest as gunfire erupts outside. His shaking hand moves across the hard cover of the book, peeling the cover back slowly. As he does, the world outside seems to fade away.

His eyes settle on a picture, simple titled "Natalie". A young girl, dressed in a bright sundress, a daisy in her hair, and smiling back at him over her shoulder. He remembered that day fondly. An outing at a local park, eating ice cream, feeding the ducks, and toting around their new born: Natalie's sister. He glanced through the pictures of the early years. Birthdays, friends, her first bicycle, An array of different photos each invoking a hundred different thoughts of memories. And each one pained him, wrenching and twisting his heart into knots.

The first day of high school. He could still remember kissing his daughter goodbye, and trying to sooth the rather envious youngster in the background of the photo. Makiah had insisted she was old enough for high school too. Arcturo smiled in fond remembrance. More pictures flashed by; Natalie trying out soccer, softball; Natalie driving her first car; Wearing a shiny black dress adorned with sequins at prom; Natalie smiling with her rather uncouth friends.

She had always seemed to find her way into the rougher crowds, as if she just... belonged. Acturo knew she had started smoking early, started experimenting with drugs and getting into trouble. He'd done the same thing at that age, who was he to judge? She didn't come from poverty, she wasn't spoiled, she didn't steal from them and she didn't act like some tweaked out addict. She was a little temperamental, but level headed for the most part. He had always trusted that he'd be there to guide her onto the path of being a successful, functioning adult. He'd told himself the same thing all the times they fought about her particular choices, her shady friends, her sneaking out at night. Even this, made Arcturo smile. She was more rebellious than he had ever been.

It seemed now he'd never get the chance to finish guiding her. The world was falling apart and he couldn't even bring himself to step outside. It was pure madness out there, the only thing that awaited him was death, and surely for his family too. Tears spilled down his cheeks as he choked back a sob, taking another drink from his glass, turning to another page. Natalie's first boyfriend, a punk really. A small laugh echoed from within him, she reminded him so much of himself sometimes—His first girlfriend had been a shock to his parents too. She'd always defended him, said he treated her right, respected her. Arcturo had this inkling that the poor boy found out the hard way not to get on Nat's bad side.

Another page. Natalie on stage, rocking out to.. what was it, bass guitar? She looked so happy, and she was smiling right at him, picking him out of the crowd. That thought alone made his heart flutter quietly. Her "Rocking Out" wasn't really a career, and he had wished she'd at least tried to get into college, but he supported her. He never was one for the heavy, ear splitting kind of music she liked. And he felt so out of place in a crowd of teens all sporting chains and piercings and rebellious hairstyles. But, Nat would always be his little girl and he'd done everything he could to make her happy. Even if that meant he wasn't around enough.

It was only now, sitting in this silent room punctuated by the reverberating echoes of hollow booms, the cacophony of people yelling and screaming, that he regret not spending more time with his family. For not strengthening his relationship with his little Natalie. Ironic really, he'd always thought that stereotype wouldn't apply to him, and yet here he was, sitting in an office alone and missing his family. Still, he'd managed to make it to most of the games and performances, never missed a birthday, that had to count for something. He had been a good Father, right?

The book whispered softly as the pages brushed against each other. Natalie smiling with her sister, hanging on her with one arm. Ever the visage of the older sister, the protector. Natalie had always been really close to her sister, and Arcturo was glad for it. They'd have each other long after he and his wife had passed away. At least, he had always hoped that it would be that way. Now, he wasn't so sure. Natalie, always so strong and fierce, always so quick to resolve problems her way. The sadness of his smile became an overbearing weight on his heart. A pain so deep, and so empty, he felt that his heart may actually break apart.

He glanced again at his phone. "New Message."

E Q U I P M E N T

● Cigarettes and lighter.
● Smartphone.
● Black pocket knife.
● Wallet.
● Multi-tool.

P R O F I C I E N C I E S

● "Hey, FUCK YOU." Natalie isn't exactly the most calm person. In fact, she can be a tad hotheaded and violent at times. Always quick to action, she's learned how to fight the hard way. "Scrappy" is the right word when thinking of her personal style. She fights fast, and dirty. Fighting to her isn't about class or elegance, it's about winning. Sometimes it's better to win before the fight even starts, Which is one of the reasons she carries a pocket knife. Fortunately she's only had to use it a handful of times.

● "Criminal Scum." Nat's own personal take on "Rules were meant to be broken", she's no stranger to winding up in places she shouldn't be. Usually this involves a bit of street style acrobatics. Breaking and entering is sometimes an art, and Nat's been at it for years. Fortunately all this fence hopping, slithering through crawlspaces, and running from the law have helped keep her in decent shape. She's practically an amateur free-runner.

● "Maiden of the Green Lady." In some regards Nat couldn't be more different than her sister. Especially with the things she does and the people she associates with. Like frequenting obscure hangouts playing grunge music and serving drinks like "Dead Butterflies", with hazy air full of smoke and moshing bodies dressed in muted colors. The kinds of places with back rooms where you can go to just, "chill out", and possibly lose your shoes while you're off on some wonderland trip in your own head. Fortunately, being a connoisseur and a merchant of the Green Lady has made Nat a likable person in these sorts of crowds. She knows what she's doing in the rougher parts of American culture.

L I M I T A T I O N S

● "Sin City." The world is shit, at least to Nat. Everything sucks, so why bother with dieting, recycling, or all that other pointless bullshit? Nat would much rather sit stoned off of her ass watching retro cartoon shows, bad movies, and chowing down on a pile of munchies. Since she works from her phone, she gets to live the sort of lifestyle that would condemn her to hell. Smoking, drinking, gambling, the only thing she doesn't do is "That Hard Shit".

● "Faster than a speeding..." Unfortunately for Nat, her speed isn't as glamorous as television makes it out to be. Though her body has mutated in a way to deal with the extra force of her movements, she can easily surpass these shock absorbers and cause great physical trauma to herself. Additionally, she has to stop using her power to ventilate the built up heat and pressure from the excessive friction she causes. Straining her body's capacity to deal with this buildup will cause her to heat up considerably. Her body will enter an "overheated" state, where she will need to stop using her powers for some time, ventilate, and rest.

● "Vibrato." Should Nat choose to ignore her body's warning signs that she is overexerting herself, she will begin to break apart. When she's approaching the lethal threshold, she'll start to suffering symptoms such as angina, muscle spasms, shortness of breath, dizziness, numbness, and body tremors. In fact, these tremors are a guaranteed sign. As she pushes her limits, her body will vibrate uncontrollably, until she literally destabilizes and breaks apart into dust. Stopping and letting her body recalibrate is the only way to reverse this state. It may be necessary to manually slow her down, such as through cold temperatures or sedatives. This state also negates any additional grip or traction she gets from the setae on her hands and feet.

● "You got a FUCKING PROBLEM?" Nat in two words is simple, and crass. Though she's an averagely smart gal, if maybe a bit more streetwise, she's not exactly the most sensitive or refined. She lacks those finer people skills most people have. More importantly, she's a very straightforward thinker. She can be easy to predict, and quick to action. She doesn't think about how or what would be the best way to punch you in the face. Just that she's going to punch you in the face.

R E L A T I O N S

● Makiah Kaplen-Meadows is Natalie's sister, who is two years younger.
● Elliora Kaplen is their mother of forty-nine.
● Arcturo Meadows is their father of fifty-two.

[NuttsnBolts]

Ｃ Ｅ Ｒ Ｒ Ｉ Ｄ Ｗ Ｅ Ｎ Ｌ Ａ Ｎ Ｋ Ｅ Ｒ Ｆ Ｉ Ｅ Ｌ Ｄ
^{ｆｅｍａｌｅ ✦ ｔｈｉｒｔｙ ｏｎｅ ✦ ｂ-ｎｅｇａｔｉｖｅ}

_{Ｍ Ｕ Ｔ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ}

✦ Enhanced Strength and Reaction Time

The muscles in Cerridwen's body have grown in a way that grants her the strength of a man double her size, and the speed of a trained athlete. The difficulty in this mutation is that her appetite has increased and prolonged exertion of her abilities can tire her out, forcing her to rest more often than normal.

✦ Tough Hide

As the virus slowly takes over her body it has started to leave a series of dark marks, some of which have hardened into calluses. While these calluses do not act like a natural body armour, they do present the occasional some resistance to any slash like attacks.

✦ Razor Sharp Claws and Teeth

The nails on Cerridwen's hands and feet have grown into a series of sharp, hardened talons while her teeth have also gone the process of being replaced with a set of razor-edged canines. They both have the ability to slash and tear through skin, clothing and even hard leather.

✦ A Long, Vigorous Tail

A peculiar mutation, but one with several advantages is the long tail that has grown from the base Cerridwen's spine. This bodily extension has improved her balance and manoeuvrability much like that of a typical animal, while also allowing her to control it like an extra limb. It holds enough strength to be used as a blunt force weapon, while it's sharp spines can leave deep cuts on those who have been unlucky enough to make contact wih it.

_{Ａ Ｐ Ｐ Ｅ Ａ Ｒ Ａ Ｎ Ｃ Ｅ}

_{Witness' sketch of Cerridwen
Cerridwen's facial changes
Cerridwen's Tail}

With long black hair, a thick set of defining eyebrows and a face that can intimidate those around her, Cerridwen was a woman who can resonate authority and submission with a simple look into your very soul. She doesn't have a keen sense of style and instead opts for the more casual look with leather jackets, boots and an old pair of jeans. As the virus eventually began to take over her body, it started to shift, alter and change her appearance into something that resembles more of an animal than human being.

Her skin began to form lesions, blistering into black sores that hardened into calluses; her fingertips slowly turned into beast-like claws as the nails have begun to grow out into long, curved talons; while her bones have started to calcify, causing her hands and feet to mutate, grow, and increase in size and density. The two most unusual of changes are both her spine, to which it has begun to extrude out of the skin on her back and grow into a long, muscular tail, and her teeth, that are slowly falling out to eventually be replaced by a set of long, flesh tearing canines.

_{Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ Ｓ Ｏ Ｎ Ａ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｙ}

Cerridwen can be considered quite a smart individual with personality traits that are are both observant and cunning in nature. During her time in the precinct she was noted to be forceful, dominating and self-confident; attributes that helped accelerate her difficult and demanding career. She was not afraid to push the rules and boundaries and enjoyed seeing justice be served to those who committed any wrongdoings... At least this was how the public viewed her.

Magnify those traits and pay close intention to her inner most desires and you will soon realise that Cerridwen holds a deeper, darker secret. Her hobby is homicide, her skills are in the kills, and she has a craving for watching people suffering time and time again. Borderline psychopath, a nightmare in the making, Cerridwen is a monster down to her very core.

The heart breaking part of all this is that she once had a softer, more compassionate side for others. As a young woman she was loving, caring and playful, but something happened during those years and her mind broke, leaving people to wonder what her true intentions were for joining the police force in the first place.

_{Ｂ Ｉ Ｏ Ｇ Ｒ Ａ Ｐ Ｈ Ｙ}

_{Six Months Prior to the Outbreak}

The room was shrouded in darkness, even with the knee to ceiling window that occupied one of the facing walls. There was a reason for this absence of light and it all had to do with that special coating on the glass surface; a mirror finish that allowed any individual to view directly through the surface without the risk of being seen from the other side. One of these occupants wearily leaned over and place his finger on a rather large trigger button, pushing it down before directing his voice into the microphone piece hanging before his face.

"Can prisoner one-five-five-eight-dash-jay please step through and into the examination room?" The voice acoustically echoed into the brightly lit chamber that laid on the opposite side of the glass. With a silence shattering click the handle of the door snapped opened to allow a certain inmate to enter. Heavy chains rattled around her ankles, her feet shuffled along the tiled floor, all while she was cautiously escorted in by two faceless guards towards a steel chair. They pushed her down into the seat, shackling the cuff chains to the eyebolts on the floor as to prevent her from moving about of her own free will.

"She looks rather familiar, where do I know her from?" one of the younger observers spoke out, curious as to how he recognised the cold expression of the criminal that sat a few meters away from him. His young inquisitiveness drew him closer to the glass, begging him to place his face and hand against its surface so that he could get a closer look at the female.

"Cadet," the examiner opened his mouth as he turned his aged, burly face towards the youngster. The trainee returned the look as the examiner once again pressed the button and expressed his commands down the intercom line, "Will the convicted state their full name."

Silence fell long enough to almost warrant a repeat of the request before the feminine voice responded coldly to the examiner's demands, "Cerridwen, Lankerfield."

"No way? You are telling me that that is Detective Lankerfield?" By this point the cadet had turned his full attention to the other observers, one of them being the Bronx District Attorney, Miss Harper. The DA was currently enjoying the soothing aroma of a two dollar cup of coffee when she gently pulled the beverage away from her lips in order to respond to his query.

"Yes, the woman sitting there before you is former Detective Cerridwen Lankerfield," Miss Harper began as she leaned into her briefcase in order to pull out a thick, heavy case file. Reaching out, she handed it over to the cadet who seemed quite eager to see the confidential information that was contained inside. "What you have there in your hands is four years of hard work; and many, many mistaken arrest. Evidence tampering, forced confessions, and even a miscarriage of justice; all performed by her to cover her own acts of crime, the multiple homicide of case victims."

The cadet looked up as the DA, slightly bewildered with what she was saying. "So she targeted the actual victims themselves?" He flipped to one of the pages, "That means Michael White here was murdered because he was the sole survivor of an armed robbery and—" quickly the rookie flipped to the next page, "—Vicky Walker was killed because she was a rape victim?"

"Hard to believe, but you are correct. At first we thought they were simply revenge killings, but as time went on we soon realised that it was an internal job since much of the evidence presented at court didn't quite match that which was discovered at the crime scenes; and so we fabricated a case in order to entrap our unsub," Miss Harper took a short sip of her coffee, "Lo and behold it came as a shock to many when Miss Lankerfield here was the one that we had to place the cuffs on."

The cadet turned back to the front page and decided to read through Cerridwen's personal details, muttering out loud some of the findings. "Orphaned at 8... Grew up in a foster home til the age of 18... Graduated NWPD Police Academy at 21, top of the class... Promoted to detective at 25." He felt like he had read enough and closed the document folder, turning his gaze back at the woman in the room. "I just don't understand. How can such a valuable member of the force fall from grace so willingly?"

The DA walked over towards the glass, standing between the cadet and examiner, "It's best not to think about it," she reluctantly whispered, looking at the criminal beyond the glass. She could faintly see the smile on the woman's face, a slight grin hidden behind a mess of long hair. "Let's just hope that it's a long time before she has the opportunity to ever walk free once more."

_{Ｅ Ｑ Ｕ Ｉ Ｐ Ｍ Ｅ Ｎ Ｔ}

✦ Police Issue Pistol

Not the weapon that she held while on the force, but one that she managed to acquire from a guard in the Riker's Island prison compound.

_{Ｐ Ｒ Ｏ Ｆ Ｉ Ｃ Ｉ Ｅ Ｎ Ｃ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ}

✦ Trained Enforcer

Years on the police force have taught Cerridwen well. She is a woman skilled in both hand to hand combat while educated in how to use a variety of firearms—most notably pistols and shotguns.

✦ Observant

Collecting crime scene evidence, and learning how to hide evidence of her own, have all been possible through Cerridwen's observant nature. She notices when things go amiss, she can spot the subtle changes and she has very well developed set problem solving skills.

✦ The Alpha Female

Cerridwen has a way to convince and manipulate those around her into doing her dirty bidding. She has a level of charisma and charm that meshes well with intimidation and fear. As a result she feels most comfortable when she is in control of a situation.

_{Ｌ Ｉ Ｍ Ｉ Ｔ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ}

✦ Running on Fumes

The mutations that have altered Cerridwen's body have drastically increased her strength but at the cost of making her prone to exhaustion, and increasing her metabolism to a level where she has to eat more often. Failing to conserve her energy and eat at regular intervals will drain her stamina levels to a point where she may feel tired, weak, but worse of all her natural regenerative abilities will shut down completely. This can pose as a major problem in a world where available food sources may be sparse leaving her to find anything that may be somewhat edible, even if that happens to be the human companion next to you.

✦ Prone to Injury

Cerridwen's sudden changes in muscle mass and bone structure have placed her at risk of easily injuring herself. Pulling a muscle, straining a tendon and even popping a joint out of place are all possibilities when she hasn't had the time to understand what these mutations are changing. By continuing to push herself Cerridwen can suffer some of the more severe problems of internal hemorrhaging and even organ failure.

✦ Not your Friendly Neighbour

The New Windsor news channels all kept very will up to date on the arrest, trial and conviction of Cerridwen Lankerfield, labelling her as "The Victimiser" killer. This reputation, the nature of her mental health, and her time within prison have gradually blurred the lines for what it was like to feel compassion, sympathy and even love. She is confused and conflicted about her own humanity, leaving with very few that she can trust.

_{Ｃ Ｏ Ｍ Ｐ Ａ Ｎ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ / Ｆ Ｒ Ｉ Ｅ Ｎ Ｄ Ｓ / Ｒ Ｅ Ｌ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ}

(Unknown at this point)

[Little Kitsune]

M A K I A H K A P L E N - M E A D O W S

F e m a l e ● T w e n t y - T h r e e ● A B - P o s i t i v e

M U T A T I O N S

● Enhanced Durability and Heat Resistance
Kiah has dark, sooty black scarring that's cracked and split, resembling cooled magma rock and the molten glow beneath. This scarring travels from her hands, up to her forearms and fades out just past her elbows. It also covers her feet,shins, and creeps just up towards the middle of her thighs. There is also scarring around her eyes, with finer cracks, and irises that glow like white hot coals.

The scarring is hard as a rock, offering her good resistance to external forces, but can be broken off. When a section is broken off, the revealed area glows dull orange, like lava. Thanks to the Changed's regeneration abilities, the rocky covering can grow back quickly, but takes a little longer to thicken up, and harden. An additional benefit to her condition, Kiah is highly resistance to heat and flame where the scarring covers her.

● Playing With Fire
Makiah has the ability to generate and control fire. Kinectically, she can emit bursts of flame, and bend it to her will. She can also control natural fire, which is considerably less taxing than generating it herself. As she uses her power, she heats up, becoming hotter and hotter. She can create an aura of intense heat around herself, making her body too hot to touch. She can intensify this into an actual aura of flame itself, becoming a living human torch.

A P P E A R A N C E

^{| Artistic Rendering of Makiah |}

With shoulder-length, raven black hair Kiah is almost the spitting image of her sister. Sharing many traits with her mother, her face is softer and rounder, but has the same button nose and pert mouth as Natalie. Though, she does have her father's eyes; large, and ocean blue, they have her mother's warmth. Fortunately she wasn't gifted with her mother's height, standing a little taller at 5'6 (170cm), and weighing a reasonable 136 lbs (61.6 kg).

Kia's complexion is relatively clear, and has a moderate tan. Though, since her mutations have awakened her tan lines have seemed to have evaporated into a full body tan, perhaps that has something to due with her affinity to heat. Also, her skin is always noticeably hot, also due to her mutations. She has a small waist, a slender figure, and a pair of compact B-cups.

● Butterfly Bow tattoos on either side of her pelvis, near the top of her hip line.
● Pierced ears and bellybutton.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Kia is an ambitious risk-taker who knows how to have fun. Before the end, she was no stranger to a club with pounding music, a bar flowing with drink, and always seemed to have headphones in her ears. Always moving, always tapping her feet or strumming her fingers, she's self-diagnosed herself with A.D.D. She's prone to her impulses, and often isn't as observant as she could be if she just slowed down.

Kia can also be known to be rather flirty, at least in a comfortable situation. She cares about people, she's quick to trust, and she always tries to find the good lurking within everyone. Always the optimistic, she lives her life riding the silver-lining.

R E F L E C T I O N S : P A R T T W O

Makiah

Arcturo's haunted, blue eyes stared at the dim screen of his phone, reading the brief message—"Alive." Suddenly, he was a sobbing mess. The emotional trauma of the evening had been too much for him. He stood, spurred into action, but stopped dead in his tracks as the windows behind him shook in their casings. A new sense of dread washed over him, running down his spine. He took another drink, feeling the cold ice press against his lips. He cursed quietly to himself, he had never been a big drinker but tonight he was done with etiquette. He pulled the bottle from his desk, taking a healthy swig before plopping down in his chair. Alive. They were alive, his daughters. That was something, right? But.. what hope could there be for them? He had seen what was happening outside. The cold truth of it was, they were all going to die.

He glanced down at the still open book, at the large pink lettering spellings his second daughter's name—Makiah. He reached out, hesitantly at first, before defeat settled in him. What else was he to do? What else could he do? Good people were being slaughtered in the street, trained men and women with weapons. And what did he have? Nothing but a handgun he'd never had to use, Hell he didn't even know how to use it. Fear clutched his heart as he caught the barest trace of movement from the corner of his eye, a shadow moving in front of his office window. He stared, and stared, but it didn't return. Another swig from the bottle, and he turned the page.

Makiah, screaming at the top of her glee filled lungs, riding on his shoulders. He could almost feel her tiny little legs, almost hear her laughter. Her sister was there too, just a stricken with happiness at seeing the fun her sister was having. Arcturo wiped a tear from his eye, thinking back at what a Daddy's girl Makiah had been. Another picture on the page, the Fourth of July. Makiah was showcased in her little griller's outfit, putting on a grand show of being such a big cook.. well, Daddy's little helper as he had called her. A second picture, capturing Kiah sharing the holiday cheer with their dog by filling his bowl with pink lemonade. The chuckle that resounded from Arcturo however, was dead and lifeless.

The pages were soundless are he carefully perused through them, taking in all the memories he'd collected over the years. The girls had always given him a hard time about being "That Dad." The kind that seemed permanently attached to a camera, or a record—How he wished he had some of those home movies with him now, to forget this insanity. Still, the pictures took him back. Makiah giving her best "Big Girl" face, shouldering a pink backpack on one side and ready for her first day of high school. Distantly, he could hear the way he chuckled at her as she hid her anxiety.

The pages moved faster now. Makiah in choir, standing in long red robes and her mouth agape as she held a shrill note; Makiah all dressed up in a red marching outfit, with one of those ridiculous hats with the fluffy plumes on her head as she huffed away at a saxophone; Makiah winning third place in a state sponsored art contest, she had sculpted a T-Rex. The memories flashed by, Arcturo's hands moved faster, as if he was afraid he wouldn't have time to finish. Makiah and her sister, dressed up for Halloween and both a little more provocatively than he would have liked.

Christmas. Makiah had been so full of life, getting her first car. She'd nearly shattered his ribs with her hugs. He remembered Natalie had gone with him, to help him pick it out. Nobody knew Makiah better than her sister. They shared a bond that he could never match, but his little Ki had loved him. He stopped on a picture of Makiah up on stage, playing Wendy in a play about Peter Pan. His thumb traced over the image, feeling the odd texture of the protective sleeve. Next to that, a picture of them all singing, one of the few his wife had captured. Nat had complimented his voice, saying he sounded like "A wood chipper eating a cat".

This was it.. No more plays, no more games, no more performances or songs, no smiles, no more hugs. No more chances to guide or teach them, to fix what he did wrong. There was no more time. The thud of something slamming into the wall running the length of the corridor outside his door. A low growl, and then suddenly the loud wails of somebody in terror.. somebody dying. Arcturo reached into his drawer, pulling out the pistol and aiming it at the door. He took another swig of whiskey, his head spinning. He remembered to thumb down the safety, his index hanging over the trigger.

Once more he glanced down. Makiah smiled up at him, surrounded by her pretty friends, arms laden with bags. She was a shopper, just like her mother. She'd always been a popular girl, always hanging around with the "in" crowds. Despite the fact that she had made decent grades, she didn't try hard for college. Instead she had argued a rather well put together case about how getting a job early on was better than student debt. Fortunately, she knew how to manage her money well. She had moved herself out, and even helped out Nat by giving her a place to stay after her latest breakup. Makiah was never a floozy, at least not that Arcturo knew about, but she had sense enough to put her job before her love life. He wasn't even sure if she'd ever actually lived with anybody else besides Nat.

Her turned the final page. The last picture had all of them, the whole family, excluding the old dog. Elliora had gotten a new lapdog, some fluffy mongrel he couldn't remember the name of, a pom-pom or something close to that. Makiah had been devastated after Mac Grooger passed away, the first dog which she in her young age had taken the liberty of naming. However, upon meeting the newest addition to their family and being over come with joy, she'd promptly named him Sergeant Waffles, The Destroyer of Worlds.

His lips moved ever so slightly, uttering the barest traces of sound. For the first time in his life, he was praying, to what ever god was listening as he typed out a reply. The barrel of the gun wavered unsteadily, pressed against the side of his head. His finger sliding smoothly in position over the trigger. This is it, he thought, I'm all out of time. He pressed send for the last time.

E Q U I P M E N T

● Cigarettes and lighter.
● Smartphone.
● Hello Kitty brand pepper-spray.
● "Lady Mary Jane".
● Rolling papers.

P R O F I C I E N C I E S

● "Hello, Thank you for choosing..." Without any real technical, or practical trade skills, Kiah's only real work force benefit comes from talking to people. Five years of customer service will do that, and teach you how to get what you want: Like diffusing a situation, especially when your ass is on the line.

● "Inter-Store Triathlon." Being near the bottom of the corporate ladder meant Kiah got her hands dirty with plenty of grunt labor. Jogging with product boxes, bending and lifting, and scaling ladders equaled her work provided entry level gym membership. At least it helped keep her muscles in shape and provided a good core workout. This and getting her cardio in at the gym, or through early morning jogs, means she's in better than average shape compared to the rest of the world.

● "Those are rookie numbers." Little did she know, her strategic planning ability sure is likely to come in handy nowadays. Working as a manager in retail meant she had too much work and not enough time, along with planning the everyday normal things; Her outfit for the night, How she was going to do her makeup, If she had time to run errans, What to eat for dinner, If she was going to miss any of her favorite shows, Calculating how much money she had in the bank. Crunching all these numbers, and perfecting all of these plans has oriented her brain to strategic thinking. How to use facts, how to manage her time, her resources, and most importantly—Remembering every detail.

L I M I T A T I O N S

● "Vice City." Nobody's perfect right? Well, neither is reality, work, or all of the struggles that come with adult life. Kiah like to spend her nights out, clubbing, bar hopping, or just perusing around the town. Her nights were late, and her mornings came much too early. She's the kind of person to lay in bed for ten extra minutes, debating whether to call into work or not. The one thing that really helped her feel leveled out is something she shares with her sister, Good ol' "Lady Mary Jane". Kia is also a smoker, and a frequent drinker.

● "Do Not Operate When..." There are two major downsides to Kiah's powers. The first is the cooling of her body, much like snuffing out a candle flame. She's particularly vulnerable to excessive cold temperatures, the kind that negates her body temperature, despite how hot she usually is. Water is a double-sided coin: On one hand she'll warm standing water, fortunately well below boiling point. On the other, cold water will have the same effect as cold temperatures, sapping away her body heat until she shuts down completely. The second downside is that fire is a raging, destructive force. It can be hard to control, the more intense the fire the harder it is to stop. This fact is even more true when her emotions are running wild, she can become a conflagration instantaneously, even subconsciously.

● "The Grass is Always Greener..." Despite the rocky road life can be with her sister, Kiah is what you'd call an optimist. Always trying to have a positive outlook, always trying to find that silver-lining. She hasn't been wholly exposed to the cruelty of the world, or she looks away. She's got a good heart, but that only means she takes the negative harder.

● "Little Inferno." Due to her outlook on life, it's not often that Kiah finds herself truly down in the slumps, or very angry. But, when she gets truly pissed... well, that's when things can get out of control. Iconically, anger and fire go hand-in-hand, and she's a living example of that. Like a lit match on a dry plains swept with wind, she'll become the kind of inferno you've only heard about.

● "Stoking the Fire" Makiah not only has a limit to her powers just as the other changed, but they can come in two forms. When she goes beyond that limit, she'll start to suffer symptoms akin to a heat stroke. Signs of delirium, nausea, vomiting, blurred vision, fatigue, and an accelerated heart rate. Ignoring these signs will lead to cardiac arrest, followed by her heart weakening to a point where it will give out completely. The second, more dangerous version of this is her unleashed state. If her emotions are running rampant, the inferno she causes will start to consume her, burning her away until she is nothing but ash.

R E L A T I O N S

● Natalie Kaplen-Meadows is Makiah's sister, who is two years older.
● Elliora Kaplen is their mother of forty-nine.
● Arcturo Meadows is their father of fifty-two.

[Mcmolly]

Hider

A N Y A E C K E R D
^{f e m a l e - e i g h t e e n - AB p o s i t i v e}

_{Ｍ Ｕ Ｔ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ}

-Telekinesis

Simply enough, Anya can move inanimate objects with her mind. As it is, she cannot move big things, but something small, or lightweight, she can handle. How fast, or far she can make something move is mostly a matter of intent, and focus, but even then her scope is, for the time being, quite narrow.

-Banshee

Anya was always very meager, but with the onset of her mutations, these attributes have begun to root. She’s a rather brittle girl, almost skeletal, thin of bone and muscle and prone to bruising. She walks in an even drift, and such a ghostly appearance is only further cemented by perhaps her most notable mutation: her hair, sapped of its color floats when uncovered. Not directly up per se, but more like a muted submersion. Competing for this slot would be either the third eye opened on her forehead, or the sleek, fleshy pair of antennae sprouted from her skull. Were it not for the fact that she often keeps the eye closed and covered, along with the antennae, by a hat or hood, these would most certainly take the cake.

-Wraith

Anya's mutation operates in two modes: her passive, pale, "banshee"-like state, and the easily identifiable "active" state. As she continually uses her telekinesis, most semblances of physical humanity are gradually lost. At its peak, her eyes open for the duration, and are overwhelmed by a vibrant white glow. Her flesh darkens dramatically over time, nearing pitch, but her veins brighten similar to her eyes, and create a twisting, spindly visage through the skin. This form, while perhaps intimidating, offers no underlying defense, and past her telekinesis she is no more physically volatile than in her passive state.

_{Ａ Ｐ Ｐ Ｅ Ａ Ｒ Ａ Ｎ Ｃ Ｅ}

Anya is not possessed of a figure that inspires terror. She is perhaps unnerving to behold, but on even the basest practical consideration there is not much to fear at a glance. She is short for her age, a trait of her father, with glassy blue eyes wide as a doll’s nestled into her skull. Her face is gaunt and like a raindrop turned upward, with contrastingly full hair that, were it not for her mutation, would fall fair about her shoulders.

More drastically, she is alarmingly narrow–thanks as well to her mutation. Her thin skin, like her hair, seems utterly drained of life and color. The blues of her veins bulge along her arms, and as she walks, one might strain to even hear it. It is not uncommon to see her bruised, angry winds can set her tumbling and though she tries to avoid bumping into things, any wayward encounter with a “push/pull” door could easily leave her shoulders purple for a time.

She tends to chill and so will often dress generously. Long pants and jackets with hoods to keep her hair in check, a scarf for the chilly nights–or even the not so chilly nights–and gloves or arm warmers are not out of the ordinary. Even casually, she’ll usually keep a beanie on, with her hair tucked as away as she can remember to keep it.

Anya’s cold and diminished appearance might render her unapproachable altogether, were it not for how often she smiles, and how warm those smiles tend to be.

_{Ｐ Ｅ Ｒ Ｓ Ｏ Ｎ Ａ Ｌ Ｉ Ｔ Ｙ}

While she may look ghastly, cold, and distant, Anya is in fact a stark opposite to her mutation. One might get this idea first by her smile, which manages to light up her face unaided by her dull eyes. But, supposing otherwise, one might think through a conversation with her, that she’d no idea the state the world, or even she herself, was in.

With Anya, everything is “how’re you doing?” and “can I help?” She’d give the shirt off her back if it meant someone else could be warm, and finds herself running errands for others almost compulsively. She enjoys the feeling of a job well done, but especially revels in the accomplishments of others, and so tends to put aside her own goals.

Unfortunately, be it with naiveté natural to her age or to herself, Anya is rather gullible. It does not take much to get a lie over her head, even without proof, and sob-stories especially will capture her with ease.

In addition, while good-intentioned and warm-hearted, growing up Russian in a country at war with Russia has taught her to be reserved with her own life. Should one feel inclined to ask her about herself, they would receive conservative responses, and could expect a deflection to another topic. Perhaps it is no longer the case that such caution is necessary, but it is a habit, and a hard one to break.

_{Ｂ Ｉ Ｏ Ｇ Ｒ Ａ Ｐ Ｈ Ｙ}

Hider

Mother had made a mistake.

Her entire life, Anya had been aware that she and her mother were no explicitly welcome in the United States. She knew she had been born in Russia, and she knew her family name was not Eckerd, but not what it truly was. She knew she could not speak Russian outside of the house, and had learned English as her first language, then how to mask her accent–which was admittedly much easier given how minimal it was.

All of this had come to her naturally and without grief. Her mother did not mourn her old home, and Anya had been too young to remember it. They’d spent years building their life in New Windsor, settling into a community that knew her mother as “Alexis” and herself as “Ana” and for the most part it had been easy. There had been times growing up that Anya was afraid she’d slipped, but if there’d ever been cause for suspicion, it was never acted upon or even acknowledged.

And so, when she’d fumbled a plate to the floor at a neighbor’s dinner party, she was shocked when her mother openly scolded her in Russian.

As they hurried home, Anya learned it had not been some act of protest, or a pent up release of guilt, but a simple fluke of memory meeting the fickle nature of habits learned young.

Mother locked the door, they began to pack.

“We’ll stay with Uncle Anton, hide out in his butcher shop,” she said. Anton was not uncle to either of them, but he’d come to the states on the same trip and had been kind. Anya hoped he would not be inconvenienced.

She did not get to pack much before the knocks came, angry and many.

“Go, Anya,” mother said, and gave a knife to her. “I will talk to them, and be at Anton’s tonight.”

Anya believed her for the first two days, but her mother was a good liar. Anton pretended to be surprised, but he must have known when she arrived alone that she would be staying alone.

The worry made her antsy, and without school to fill her time, eventually she started running errands for Anton. They were far enough from home that anyone searching would be caught up elsewhere, and she kept herself discreet regardless.

She kept her hopes up, all the way to the First Day. All it took then was the brief time returning from one Anton’s errands for the world to fall apart. She walked at first, avoided the commotion where it was isolated, but before long she was sprinting back to Anton’s butcher shop, terrified.

Anton was dead, or maybe he wasn’t. He was something, something else, not Anton. He grabbed her wrist, and it felt like her arm might shatter in his hand. When he shoved her against the counter, growling like some horrible animal, she reached out on instinct for the knives dangling above. Her reach should not have been great enough, it wasn’t, she looked, but when she did, the cleaver flew to her wildly. It missed her hand, missed her altogether, but sank deep into Anton’s skull, and he fell away limp.

The shock didn’t set immediately. She managed to get upstairs before collapsing, and from there it wasn’t long until she glanced into the mirror, and saw what was happening to her. She looked hollow, sick, and the color was all but draining out of her from head to toe. Her hair began to drift, and when rubbing her eyes failed to resolve the issue, she thought she might have been losing her mind.

Outside everything was chaos, from her window Anya could see people running, either away from or after others. She turned off her light and huddled into a corner, quiet as she could, despite the burning in her wrist. She didn’t sleep, but time blurred before she checked outside again. It was dark, things were quieter but only just, and she knew she could not stay put for very long.

_{Ｅ Ｑ Ｕ Ｉ Ｐ Ｍ Ｅ Ｎ Ｔ}

-Mother’s Knife

A simple knife, with a cross guard and ebony-wood hilt. The initials “A A” are carved at its base.

_{Ｐ Ｒ Ｏ Ｆ Ｉ Ｃ Ｉ Ｅ Ｎ Ｃ Ｉ Ｅ Ｓ}

+"Flitter"

The “sweet” to the bittersweet gift that is her mutation. Anya is quick and quiet as a result of her diminished being, and is difficult to hear even when she isn’t attempting to be silent. While by no means an experienced sneak, having the practical tools necessary for being subtle lend themselves to a degree of natural stealth.

+"Fleet of Foot, Fleet of Mind"

Anya considers herself a good problem solver, at least when not under extreme direct stress. In regards to her mutation, this might mean that, since she can't move people, she might try to move what they’re holding, or say, yank their shirt over their head. Likewise, though she can’t lift herself, she might instead lift herself via her clothes or the thing she’s on–which might prove impossible for her to do with someone of an average weight while her abilities are yet budding.

+"Mother Knows Best"

Having a former soldier for a mother had its perks. Anya received crash courses on many aspects of surviving in unideal situations, and while not all of it stuck–she never took too firmly to things like “this is how you hold a gun” or “this is how you break an arm”–she knows basic first-aid and navigation well enough, is well disciplined, and could handle a knife with a small degree of practice.

_{Ｌ Ｉ Ｍ Ｉ Ｔ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ}

-"Glass Bones"

An exaggeration, to a degree. This would be the “bitter” to sweet flitter. Anya might well move like a wisp but she’s brittle and easily overwhelmed. This often leads to an array of injuries, a generally warmer wardrobe, and a habit to stand in places where she can avoid bumping into people.

-"Serial Apologist"

When one’s very body is as frail as Anya’s, an apologetic, non-confrontational nature should come as no surprise. However the truth is Anya has never had fierceness in her blood, and if something could have conceivably been her fault, she’s likely to take the blame. She may go out of her way to make excuses for others, especially if they face trouble for their actions. But at the end of the day, whatever aggravations or inconveniences she may cause can be preemptively handled with a stern “be quiet.”

-"Boo!"

Something else people might attribute solely to her mutation is Anya’s tendency to scare easily. Rather than list her phobias, she prefers to just say she’s “jumpy” and the truth is she’s always been that way. All the mutation did was heighten her sense of fear, turning some which would have once been baseless into true threats.

-"Dependency"

Anya's sole survival skill, aside from attempting to run, is her mutation. In that same breath, she lacks the understanding, control, and even fundamental possibility to do much with it as it stands. Moving things that are small or lightweight has its uses, but until her abilities develop, in kind words, she does best with others around.

-"My Own Worst Enemy"

While fortunately Anya's telekinesis suffers no direct counter (such as water to fire, or light to dark) her greatest-or more accurately, her closest or most constant-danger is herself. In her case, there is no exertion without repercussion. This drawback escalates corresponding to effort and mental preparation, so, if she moves a small object around for no great extended period of time, she'd likely suffer nothing, especially if she'd had a chance to prepare beforehand. However if she had to, say, force a heavy door open, depending on the effort exerted, she would instantly receive mental feedback in the form of a painful throb or jump in vision. Overexertion can be met with instant effects ranging from dizziness or disorientation, to minor hemorrhaging, loss of consciousness or, in the worst case, a major, fatal hemorrhage in the brain.

_{Ｃ Ｏ Ｍ Ｐ Ａ Ｎ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ / Ｆ Ｒ Ｉ Ｅ Ｎ Ｄ Ｓ / Ｒ Ｅ Ｌ Ａ Ｔ Ｉ Ｏ Ｎ Ｓ}

TBA

[dreamingflowers]

F R A N C E S C O S A P I E N T I

M a l e ● T w e n t y - F o u r ● A B - P o s i t i v e

M U T A T I O N S

✦ Plant manipulation
Francesco’s mutation has given him the psychic ability to connect with and manipulate vegetation such as plants and flowers, and control their growing process. All he needs is fertile soil, a place where plants can grow naturally. He can make plants bigger and larger, push them beyond their limits like a 50 feet apple tree, but the size of the apples will remain normal. No basketball sized fruits. Plants without a wood base seem to take him the least amount of time to grow. He can grow a potato or lettuce in a matter of minutes while a small, let’s say shoulder height apple tree might take up to half an hour. He also seems to be better at growing plants that yield food, as that is the only type of plants he’s had practice at growing. His ability is erratic and uncontrollable. He needs his full concentration to cause something to happen.

✦ Pheromone generation
A second mutation which lies dormant and is connected to his bloodstream and the veins popping up to the surface. It is as if the veins are trying to emulate vines, the little flower buds that have appeared randomly will eventually enable him to release a plant based pheromone from his body. The type of pheromone dictates the effect it will have on its environment e.g. calming, arousing, fear inducing. The scent is vaguely floral but almost undetectable by the human nose.

[+]

A P P E A R A N C E

After the change set in Francesco’s skin changed into a greenish hue. His veins have pushed themselves closer to the surface in a permanently swollen state, kind of like the veins you see on old people’s hands. The skin that covers these veins has darkened and toughened to protect the fluids running underneath. In some places, small dots have appeared which seem to grow slightly bigger each day. They look like dark green skin tags, shaped similarly to a flower bud. When he uses his powers his veins glow a bright green, the intensity of the glow depends on the amount of power he uses.

Thorns grow on random places but are seemingly focused on the more vulnerable parts of his body, E.g. the neck, chest. They have attached themselves like scabs and can be torn off which is painful to him. His eyes give off a pale light when it is dark, a form of bioluminescence like that of a glowing fungus.

Aside from his mutations what is left of his appearance has remained human. Francesco looks young for his age, like he’s in his late teens. He has dark brown wavy hair which he usually wears up out of his face. His eyes are light brown and slightly almond shaped. He has an oval shape face with a pointed nose, full lips, and thick long brows. Occasionally he keeps a bit of neatly trimmed facial hair. His body is slim and toned but without much visible muscle, also he’s not the tallest guy in the world at only 5’5’’.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Helpful and naïve are two words which sum up his character pretty well. If you need help with anything, anything at all you should go to him. Even if he can’t help you he’ll find someone who will. He tries to see the good in everyone and the upside to every downside. He’s an introvert, calm, shy, and somewhat withdrawn. A very sensitive young man who often feels misunderstood. He hates to argue, or see other people argue and is a peace keeper, crossing his own personal limits to ensure group harmony. Often lost in thought he can come across as dreamy, passive and a push over. Add to this the fact that he has a very strong drive to care for others, a maternal instinct he has no qualms about hiding and you have an eccentric guy.

Francesco wasn’t slow to realize that he’s not your typical guy’s guy, but doesn’t attempt to act differently. Instead he’s accepted the fact that he is the way he is. He’ll always be a bit awkward around guys and more at ease around girls. In social situations, he tends to speak only when spoken to and sticks with the people he’s comfortable around. He’s always the last one to voice his opinion and often only when asked for. He’s a late bloomer and while he has experience in some areas he has a complete lack of experience in others.

B I O G R A P H Y

[+]

Francesco grew up in a very close knit Italian immigrant family in New Windsor. He was born prematurely and spent three months in the hospital, luckily with no apparent ill effects on his health. This early event in his life resulted in an overprotective and sheltered upbringing. In school Francesco, didn’t really fit in but then again what teen ever does? He made a couple of friends and wasn’t bullied much. All in all, he survived high school and passed his exams at 16.

When it was time to select, a follow up education he came up blank. With no idea, what to do Francesco simply followed the advice of his high school English teacher. He told him to go and do something with his language skills. He enrolled in a commercial type of education where he was taught business skills. Basically, he was destined for office work, the way his life was heading anyway. He didn’t realize business was all wrong for him until he nearly had his degree. After his graduation, he made the switch to become a social worker.

Every single one of his friends and family told him not to do it. He was too nice, too soft, not cut out for the job. He enrolled despite of what they said, or in retrospect maybe he did it to prove them wrong. It was a fresh start, he finally felt like he was doing what he was supposed to be doing.

He made some lasting friends who he also liked outside of school, a big deal for him. Right after he finished his first year of college his mother was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was devastating news for the entire family but they never gave up hope for recovery. Sadly, it got worse each year, until he eventually dropped out of school to take care of her. After a near three-year struggle she passed away. To Francesco this entire period was a blur, he had been living his life on auto pilot. He took a gap year and went to work at a clothing store, trying to figure out his next steps, a plan b. The way he’d taken care of his mother made him consider becoming a nurse and after extensive (yes, this time around he gave it much more thought) research and soul searching he decided to enroll in what would hopefully be his last time in school.

With a lot of hard lessons learned and some life experience under his belt (he hates belts) he was more focused and less dreamy. He realized one day that even though he was grieving his life wasn’t all that bad. He was starting school again, lived together with his dad and little brother under one roof, with family living either in the same street or a few blocks away. He had people who loved him, an important job to do, keep everything going. It was like he took his mom’s place and seeing how they were so much alike it went very smoothly. If that’s a good thing remains to be seen.

The First Day

A pair of frightened brown eyes were staring at the door of the medical supply room. Francesco had locked himself inside. his eyes fixed on the door trying to convince himself that it would stay closed, as long as just kept looking at it. Outside he could heard them, his friends, class mates, teachers, school staff. Their screams ripped through him, it was unlike any other screams he'd ever heard before. They were screams of people who were trying to survive, screams of true horror and fear.

He had no idea what was going on. What was the cause of all this chaos? How did he survive whatever had happened to everyone in the building. He hadn't turned into a mindless killer like of the others. Some survived seemingly unharmed, but they were quickly outnumbered and most likely dead at this point.

It might have been selfish and very much unlike his usual character, but after finding out he "survived" for the lack of a better word Francesco was only concerned with his own survival. He couldn't help his class mates even if he wanted to, they didn't even recognize him anymore. The teachers were no different. He had only caught a glimpse of the monsterous humans, with their blackened veins and eyes like botomless pits. Sadly they hadn't been the only who's appearance had transformed. He looked at himself through the mirror above the sink. He was scared to stand at that spot for an extended period of time. The sink was dangerously close to the door but he had to see what he'd turned into.

He could not believe his eyes, touching the thorns on his neck and letting his fingers slide over the swollen dark veins on his face. The thorns felt exactly like the ones that grew on roses, but how could they grow on top of skin? His skin had changed from a healthy tan into a pale greenish hue. He was in a place somewhere between humanity and a monstrosity.

Someone or something passed in front of the door. Francesco jumped back from the sink. With no real hiding places he pushed himself in a small crevice, between the closet and the wall. If anyone would get into the room they would not spot him right away. He just needed to stay really still. He held onto the naive hope that maybe after a couple of hours the building would be empty, and he could escape. Figure out what the hell was going on.

E Q U I P M E N T

✦ Smartphone- Not much to say here, only that his battery has nearly run out, which isn't unusual for him by any means.
✦ Wallet- Most of the paper in there are receipts he forgot to throw away, pictures of his family and friends and cards from psychics and mediums he saved from a fair he went to.
✦ First aid kit- He "compiled" (stole) at school. It has the standard things in there, bandages, pain killers, stitching thread and a needle.
✦ Housekey- Doubtful if he'll be going home anytime soon.
✦ Schoolbag- The contents aren't extraordinary, a small laptop, notebook, pencil, a bag of nuts, a lunchbox with two sandwiches, a stale apple and a bottle of water.

P R O F I C I E N C I E S

✦ "Nurse in the making" Francesco is in his first year of nursing school and has a lot of know-how but lacks the practical experience. For example, he knows how to measure blood pressure, apply bandages, check a pulse or basic first aid, but he has zero experience with these in the field. He practiced on either his super healthy class mates or on human dolls.

✦ "Herbals are the way to go" A hobby which has gone completely out of control. He has tons of books about the subject and can name an herbal medicine for most common ailments. Some are better than regular medicine and others don’t have much noticeable effect. It works on a case to case basis as everyone’s body has a slightly different genetic makeup. He knows the basics and it comes in handy especially with his new powers.

✦ "Kitchen Prince" A home cook but good at what he does. He knows Italian food inside and out and can cook a mean dish of pasta among other things.

✦ "I’m here to listen" Years of family arguments, a failed but instructive education as a social worker and now studying to be a nurse has left him with the talent of listening to someone’s burdens. He tries to not be judgy or come up with solutions that never work. People often feel at ease around him and trust him with difficult life issues. It comes natural to him.

L I M I T A T I O N S

✦ "No family no bueno." Without his family or friends, he’s an emotional wreck, he becomes a recluse and refrains from making much contact with strangers. He needs someone to care for as that is what he does best. Knowing someone will have his back no matter what eases a lot of fear he has for the future.

✦ "No...No way I can't do that!" Francesco has extreme self-esteem issues. He thinks very lowly of himself and what he can do, or rather what he can’t do. The things he’s done right and the stuff people admire him for are barely registered by him, if at all. His confidence is easily shaken and all around he’s just easily discouraged.

✦ "Right.....or left?" Maybe not one of the worst quirks to have, but Francesco has a horrible sense of direction. He can’t read a map to save his life and never pays attention to where he’s going.

✦ "No plants without dirt" His powers only work when there is fertile soil. If the area is tainted by toxic waste, radiation, or any other kind of pollution he can’t grow anything, not even a patch of weeds.

✦ "Death by fire" Due to the nature of Francesco’s mutation his physicality has developed a dangerous and possible life threatening sensitivity to fire. He has a severe asthmatic reaction to smoke. Minimal exposure is required to burn his skin and his burns are much more severe than they would be on other Changed or even The Pure.

✦ "Close to nature" Whenever Francesco overextends the use of his power, either by using a large amount of power at once or continuous strain, he will begin to suffer adverse affects. His psychic connection to vegetation has a downside. The plants seem to sap moisture from his body when he pushes them and himself too far and at this point it will become dangerous. Symptoms not unlike those of dehydration will start to impare his bodily functions. At best he'll experience dizziness a headache, tiredness, dry lips, eyes and mouth. A loss of strength and stamina. At worst he'll start to shrivel, his skin will crack and his organs will seize to work. If he doesn't increase his intake of water, or receives moisture in any other kind of way he'll most likely die.

R E L A T I O N S

TBA

[Firecracker_]

m / 25 / ab+



⇻ biography ⇺

Acton’s Brief Life

Overnight billionaires like Giovanni Clearfield had yet to learn much self control when out on business trips, and still lacked sufficient patience for loose ends that needed to be tied up at the end of those same debaucherous business trips. Born Acton Ghering-Clearfield, the young child proved to quite the difficult “fuck up” to cover up, but a cute one at that. Even if Clearfield wasn’t the most faithful husband, he’d be damned if he’d be a deadbeat father like his was. Clearfield’s form of long distance really only amounted to large sums of money deposited monthly for his extra set of mother and child he had acquired.

Riza Ghering was surprised to find that a one night stand with a strapping CEO little under a year ago had resulted in a brand new apartment in a decent part of town, a far cry from her old, run down flat in a neighborhood full of elderly people with little rat dogs that never shut up. Not only that, but it also came with a new baby boy in her arms. His new name was to be Acton Blackburn, since it could never come to light that he was the son of a married man whose name was quickly becoming a household one across the country. She was still dumbfounded as to how their paths even crossed, but Fate had ordained it, and now here she found herself.

From a young age, Acton presented himself as the extraordinarily charismatic small child, but was soon surprised this would find him more trouble than good. Without much explanation, his mother was extremely protective of him, and disallowed him from getting to close to his fellow classmates, telling young Acton that friends would gain him nothing but “Pain and suffering.” He was taught to fear others, and to never, under any circumstance tell anyone about himself past his name and his age, and that was assuming he knew the person he was speaking to. Strangers were absolutely off-limits, no exceptions.

Acton’s mother was successful in ostracizing Acton from the rest of his class, and from most of the people in his life other than herself. What was once an outgoing, lively child slowly recessed into a child that was scared of anyone other than his mother, hesitant to tell his name to even his teachers and classmates. He had forgotten everything about making friends, terrified to see strangers approach him. His days turned into anxious agony, the words of his mother echoing in his head every time he spoke.

“Friend will bring you nothing but pain and suffering.”

Riza was not an oblivious fool to the damage she was doing to her child. Every bit of her despised itself, and what she had done to her beloved child, but she had no choice. The nightmare that would come out of anyone learning even a little bit of Acton’s life would cause troubles for the rest of the lives of every party involved. It was simply not enough that Acton believe that his father was dead, no one could even be around to ask him where his father was, how his mother managed to keep such a nice apartment and other luxuries without working. Until she was confident Acton could keep a secret and recognize the repercussions of telling the truth, he could never know.

Growing into his late middle school years and early high school years, Acton began to take notice the abnormal hold his mother had on his life. His socials skills may have been seriously impeded, but that did not extinguish his flaming desire to know what friendship felt like. The isolation placed on him by his mother was growing even more intolerable by the day, and she knew it. Not only did Acton find a new passion to make friends, but he also found a new passion for a school club: Theater.

All of the theater students seemed all excitingly eccentric in their own unique ways. Charismatic, but just different enough that Acton believed he could approach them. After weeks of pestering, begging, and other forms of annoyance, Riza gave in. Slightly loosening the iron grip she had on Acton’s social life, he was allowed to join the club, and make “only a few friends.” It was enough to make him ecstatic, he had just been given a new lease on life.

With a few new friends, and a hobby that Acton was obsessed with, he was too distracted with his new found happiness to ever question why his mother was still apprehensive of his resurging socialness. Even if their friendship was little more than spending plenty of time together at club activities, eating lunch together, it was enough. The perfect amount of distance to keep Acton’s personal life a secret. But Riza was not completely complacent with her son’s new social life. She would often voice her apprehension to her son, warning him time and time again not to let anyone too close.

Then, the part that Riza had dreaded for years finally arrived.

”Why can’t my friends come over?”
Why haven’t you ever told me anything about Dad?
Why is me having friends so scary to you?”

So many questions and inquiries she was afraid of hearing were suddenly sputtering out of Acton’s mouth. They started as one-off comments here and there around the house, but slowly, they turned into full fledged interrogations, Acton trying more and more everyday to pry any sort of information he could out of his apprehensive mother. She feared that she was going to no longer be able to wing it with white lies and fabrications. She feared she’d soon have to tell him the truth. Acton’s tolerance of his over-possessive mother was wearing thin, and if there was anyone he could actually confront, it was his mother.

”Acton, what I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. You’re 16 now, so I think you have the right to know this, but you cannot tell anyone else. I mean, nobody. Your father isn’t dead. This is going to sound crazy, but your father is Giovanni Clearfield, and you were born Acton Ghering-Clearfield. Giovanni was, and still is, a married man, so, we, of course, have to stay a secret, and he spends a great deal of money and time keeping us a secret. He makes sure you are clothed and fed, and often writes to me asking how you are. I know he’s distant, but he still gives a damn about you, Acton, which is more than what a lot of kids can ask for. I know being a secret sucks, and I know not being able to make many friends is the worst way to live life, but this is for the good of all of us, son.”

It seemed like Riza went on for ages, fighting back tears trying to explain and justify her actions, why she made it impossible for him to socialize as a child, why his social skills were still damaged to this day, why she had lied for so many years, and why it was now imperative that Acton keep the secret completely and utterly to himself. In truth, it was quite too much for Acton to take in at one time. Being told he was a mistake that needed to be hidden from the world devastated him. Despite that, he understood. He understood the grief his mother went through isolating him, and understood why it all needed to be kept secret. He understood now that the secret was in his hands, and he had no intentions of letting it slip.

The years went by, and Acton still held onto his small group of friends, and improved his craft in stage acting. His conquering of stage fright helped improve his speaking skills, but now, he felt satisfied with only a small group of friends, even more so than he did before. Less friends meant having less people to manage, trying to keep them all at the same distance, making sure he could dodge the same questions over and over again with different answers. Of course, even with his friends, he wasn’t extremely close, but it was enough that he felt at least someone else in his life. They weren’t complete strangers, but none of them would understand why they couldn’t be anything more than good acquaintances with the peculiar kid named Acton Blackburn.

A part-time hobby turned into a sort of passion, and Acton found himself going out and auditioning for small parts in local shows, stage and screen alike. Oddly enough, he was shot down for every single role he tried out for. Play after play, movie after movie, every casting company shot him down. He was confident that he had the skills, even if they were rather small parts, just being an extra in most of them, so what was the issue? The casting directors all seemed pleased with his performances, but when it came down the results, they always shot him down, looks of apprehension and feigned sympathy on their faces.

After not too long, a few gears fell into place and Acton came to a bit of a realization.

”I’m sorry Acton, I know it’s just extra parts and stuff, but your father is really obsessed with you staying a secret. There can be no chance of being any notable. Even I think it’s going overboard, but your dad has a lot of pull in a lot of places. Money talks, and your dad has a powerful voice. I’m sorry, son.”

A father obsessed with keeping his illegitimate son a secret, going so far as paying money to keep him from ever getting a chance at notoriety. A mother completely complacent in her son’s dwindling freedom to pursue his dreams, and just simply be his own person. A young man cursed to live his life in obscurity and secrecy, coerced into a life of crippling normality. Finally, a chance, a open window out of his painfully sheltered life into a life that he could perhaps be happy and social in, but sadly, the window was shut in front of him as soon as it opened. His father’s gilded fingers gripped the window close, tacking on tape and padlocks at every possible opening or weakness.

Retreating mournfully back into his mundane life, Acton took his life instead to college, where all expenses were easily covered, granted he try his best to be the most unnoticable student on campus. After another painfully boring 4 years of awkward social encounters and bad stage fright, Acton found himself a job, of course, also just as ordinary and stifled as he. An office IT tech, the perfect position to work in a office full of people but never get especially close to any of them

Complete bliss. Until the First Day came.

⇻ personality ⇺
With tired eyes and a look of general sleep deprivation, Acton looks like the typical tired office worker with little interest in the affairs of other people. Acton keeps to himself, opting to throw himself into his work and hobbies rather than being out and being social. He’s not against social interaction, but he just finds it difficult and exhausting go out and making friends, unless the other person seems genuinely interested in getting to know him, which doesn’t happen often. While getting close to Acton isn’t the simplest of affairs, once someone is his friend, they will see the warmth and compassion come out of him.

Stemming from his rather emotionally unfulfilling upbringing, Acton often has to battle fears of abandonment and loss, leading to him being on the clingy side of things. Once he has made a friend, he goes out his way to make them happy, sometimes to the detriment of his own well being.

Even if he is rather anti-social and quiet, Acton is by no means a heartless jerk, and often empathizes and sympathizes with people very extensively. Though he doesn’t usually know what to do or say to comfort or congratulate someone, he experience’s others emotions almost as vividly as they do. He will cry with you, or laugh with you, or cheer with you, even if you can’t hear it. Even more so if you are his friend.

Acton tends to be calm and level headed, always trying to think out the most logical plan of action for every situation, to a fault. He’s very weary of taking risks and making hasty decisions, always paranoid of the repercussions. If possible, he tends to try and push the task of making decisions to other people, so that he can at least have confidence that any mistakes or consequences aren’t his fault. He will will only do that, though, in the most dire of situations, as most of the time he shares the pain of failure with the other person anyway.

⇻ appearance ⇺
Betraying his meek and quiet personality, Acton is actually quite tall and his height it punctuated with good posture. He hasn’t the most muscular build, but his hasn’t the lankiest one either. He may be a recluse, but he doesn't let that make him a couch potato. Although he likes being one of those too.

From his finger tips to about a quarter into his palm, Acton’s skin and most of his muscle have given way to a strange form of smooth, murky crystal, which is mostly black with moving spirals of blue inside of it. Ephemeral sparks of electricity can often be seen sparking between his fingertips, or traveling down his hand from end to end of the crystallized sections of his hands.

Usually a pleasant shade of blue, Acton’s eyes have begun to mysteriously shift between their natural color and a bright shade of yellow, and both colors have a habit of flickering and flashing, similar to seeing the flashes of lightning bolts across a night sky.

Along his arms and on the back of his neck all the way down to between his shoulders are raised sections of skin, which form uniform rectangles, all of which appear identical to his hands, black crystallized bumps with swirls of blue floating in them.

⇻ mutations ⇺

☢electrician☢
The Pandora Virus has endowed Acton with the mysterious ability to generate electricity from his body, and to bend and manipulate electricity in the world around him. His ability to wield and bend electricity as a tool greatly outweighs his ability to use it as a weapon, being able to sap power from systems, power machines with his own body, things of that nature. That being said, his electricity's combat use isn’t completely negligible, as he can use pure electricity as a short range taser, or give his opponents a healthy electrical shock while in hand-to-hand combat. Of course, he can use his electricity faster than he can produce it, hindering his combat abilities even more. On the more defensive end of the spectrum, electricity based weapons have little effect on him in short doses, but prolonged shocking could overcharge him. (See: Limitations.)

Welding electricity also gives Acton an odd assortment of other powers, such as using electricity to magnetize pieces of metal to his body to form makeshift armor, or create small balls of electricity in his hands for a easy light source. He’s also great for charging batteries.

☢Technomancer☢

Acton can (rather, will be able to) be able to transfer his consciousness into electronic devices such as computers and cell phones, controlling them and accessing their information for himself to retain. He can control them, render them useless, or any other number of things. His consciousness will leave his limp body, and enter any sort of computer or electronic device, and every electrode and transistor enters his control. If a device can be automated, he can do so from inside, and control the machine like a sort of beastmaster.

⇻ proficiencies ⇺

⊚shakespearean pupil⊚
Having experience on stage, Acton can be quite the convincing actor. He isn’t the silver-tongued diplomat, or the brawny intimidator, but he is the keen liar, good at playing at other’s emotions, as he understands them.

⊚human battery⊚
Electric shocks and hazards have little effect on Acton, simply acting to charge the strength of his own abilities, until he is as his capacity. He can only so much more energy past capacity, and once he has gone too far past capacity, he will short out, releasing all of the energy in a blast around him. The blast will leave him weak, if not comatose, but the resulting AoE shock should incapacitate or perhaps even kill most of what it hits, within a roughly 5 meter radius. Past that, it will deliver a healthy electro shock.

⊚computer knowledge⊚
Having studied Computer Science and other similar subjects at college, Acton has extensive knowledge about computers, and decent knowledge about other electronics too.

⇻ limitations ⇺

⊗turtle-shelled⊗
Social interaction has never been Acton’s strong suit, and it still isn’t. Unless he is crafting a well acted lie, Acton is almost entirely unable to hold stable conversation. His skill isn’t non existent, as for a while there it had seemed he’d cracked his shell, but with his dreams being crushed by this father and otherwise positive life rocked by being kept in secrecy, he has withdrawn back into himself, finding it difficult to make even simple eye contact.

⊗memory loss⊗
When using his consciousness to access and control electronics, any assortment of things can happen. He could lose partial or whole memories somewhere in the device. If the device is destroyed while he is inside, it could very well kill him then and there. He could come away with memories that don’t belong to him, thus muddling and confusing his thoughts. Not only that, but anytime he must use his entire mind to control a device, it puts him in an incredibly vulnerable place, leaving his body completely defenseless.

⊗human battery v2⊗
In a similar vein that Acton can absorb electricity, he also needs electricity to use his own powers, and even further, to keep his body going. Overuse of his body’s own electricity can incapacitate him, and continuous overuse can even kill him. His body can produce it’s own electricity, but at nowhere the rate Acton can use it when his powers are in full swing. Similar to most electronic items, water is extremely dangerous when Acton is submerged in it. All of the electricity will be sapped out of his body extremely quickly, electrifying the water around him to dangerous levels, and knocking him unconscious nearly instantly.

⊗static electricity⊗
Acton is not really used to having any sort of stable relationships, so when he actually gets in one, he is very proactive. He will always try to be of use to his friend, no matter if it is of a detriment to himself. He is a bit clingy, and will always try to stick to his friends if he is near them, finding comfort in bearing near a friend.

⊗electric empath⊗
Acton is a very empathetic person, and it can get to the point where it affects his own mental mood. Sometimes for the good, sometimes for the bad, the mood of those around Acton is very influential on his own mood. He is, for lack of a better word, a slave to the emotions of others.

acton has no friends

[13org]

S E B A Z I Z I

M a l e ● T w e n t y - S i x ● B - N e g a t i v e

M U T A T I O N S

● Hollow Bones
Seb's hollow bones are perfect for reducing his body weight, further contributing to his already high agility and speed, but as a consequence, his bones break easier than normal humans.
Additionally, they make possible for the sound he produces to echo through his body, allowing him to produce sound waves of various intensities and frequencies.

● Avian Physiology
Feathers, wings, extremely sharp talons and claws give Seb the ability to fly, coupled with other abilities related to the avian physiology such as enhanced balance, reflexes and senses. It doesn't come without downsides, such as frail bone structure and its enhanced senses make him vulnerable to high frequency noises (Although his talons and claws are already fully formed and his wings almost fully formed, the last still doesn't have enough strength to lift him off the ground, and once they do, he still has to learn how to effectively use them).

● Sound Manipulation
By vibrating his feathers and using his vocal chords, Seb can produce an incredible variety of sounds, ranging from high intensity high frequency sounds to low frequency sounds.
This has a number of different applications such as using as a sonar (echolocation), by emitting high frequency sounds (which cannot be heard by normal humans), emitting powerful low frequency sounds, creating pressure waves that can be used to damage objects or people, using destructive and constructive interference to hush or intensify sounds, and to move faster by riding the pressure waves created.

A P P E A R A N C E

Long length, brown hair, honey eyes and standing at 6'4 ft Seb is someone who cares about his appearance. As a result, his hair is always carefully brushed and tend to wear elegant clothes.
He has a rather slender body, due to his avian physiology, but at the same time, its packed with muscles.
With a beautifully tanned skin, Seb is quite the uncommon sight. His height coupled with his long hair color make him stand out very easily on crowds.

His mutations partially covered his body with feathers (excluding his face), transformed his feet on powerful talons, his arms turned into two big wings, on the end of his wings, there are two fingers with claws on them, these fingers and claws are mainly used to grip on walls or other places. Due to losing his pinky, ring finger and middle finger, the dexterity with the two remnant fingers is quite limited. Although he is still able to grab some things with them, more complex things such as pressing buttons, using his smartphone (by sheer luck he always used voice commands on it because he was too lazy to actually use his hands) & etc. are simply impossible.
Additionally, his teeth became sharper, ideal to cutting meat.

Artistic reference to Seb's physical appearance (Regarding wings, and feathers).

P E R S O N A L I T Y

Seb always was a very laid back guy and carefree guy. He hates working, but will still do it if its something that needs to be done, but he will do it the easiest way possible. Seb enjoys reading, listening to music, travelling and sightseeing.
He has a very interesting tendency to always take the best out of everything that happens, even bad things he will try to see them by the good side. He is a very intelligent and calm person, who avoids unnecessary conflicts as much as possible.

One trait that defines Seb is his capacity to not think about the future at all. By his own words: "Planning is only useful to one thing: to disappoint you later." Living by this motto, Seb is the type of guy who just lives the life, without preoccupying himself too much and always trying to take the best out of his experiences.

Seb does have a slight tendency to sometimes isolate himself, especially when around many people. He hates being around too many people at the same time, places like night clubs, shows & etc. are places where probably Seb will never step on.

Before the incident, he was suffering from severe depression, but the things that happened, instead of making him worse, lifted his mood, making him extremely excited and interested. Life was no more boring and dull.

B I O G R A P H Y

Biography

"Good morning sir, how can i help you today?" the attendant asks to the tall, young man behind the counter.
"Hello, I would like two tickets please." he answers with a calm voice.
"What is your destination?" she asks, confused. The man looks up to the big screen that display the next flights and their estimated time to depart.
"I don't know." he says, smiling. "Give me one for the next flight." he said with distant eyes, handing her his identity and the money.
The girl behind the counter got his id, with an surprised expression.
"Here it is Mr. Seb, the next flight is almost departing, so it would be better for you to dispatch your luggage as soon as possible and head to gate number 5."
"Thank you, but i don't have any luggage." he said as he walked away.

Seb boarded the plane without saying a word, sitting near the window. As the plane lift off, he watched the airport getting smaller and smaller through the window.
His distant expression and sad eyes were those of someone who was slowly dying inside. He felt no more enthusiasm, nothing made him feel alive.

His parents died while he was still 16, letting him with an incredible amount of money. Seb graduated very early, when he was about 20, and there isn't much a young man with an incredible wanderlust could do in Cairo. Selling his parents' house and most of the unnecessary material possessions he had (Saving only a few clothes he liked to wear) he simply packed up and started to travel around the world. For a short time, it was the best time of his life, he was truly happy.

By twenty four, he had already travelled through most of the countries (thanks for the money he inherited from his parents and his detachment from material possessions, he never had to work a single day on his life). Life was incredibly dull for him, he felt no reason to live outside reading books and travelling to try to run from that dull reality. Slowly falling asleep, he closed his eyes, waiting for the plane to reach its destination.

The loud screech of the plane's wheels drifting on the landing strip woke Seb up.
Something was not ok as the pilot screamed to the control tower, which wasn't responding.
Looking out of the plane's window, the sight shocked him. People falling down on the ground without reason, with their eyes completely black and black veins creeping their skin, some people running away, others chasing others and beating them to death, something was very wrong.

Inside the plane things weren't that better, weird events were happening inside too. People falling down, some going insane. The second the plane stopped, he got out of it.
The first thing he did was run away from the confusion, looking for somewhere safe, for he knew that many people together in a situation of crisis wasn't a place where one would be safe.
Seb was afraid, he was in fact, terrified, but he knew that panicking would only get things worse.

As he locked himself on the bulletproof security cabin, his bones started to snap, an agonizing pain shook his body as his muscles teared themselves apart only to slowly rearrange themselves, his skin became rough as feathers started to sprout out of them. Fighting himself to not scream, enduring the pain and trying to not give away his location, he did the only thing he could: curled up on the corner and waited. He had no control over whatever it was that was changing his body, and he couldn't hope to run or even get up with the pain he was enduring.

In fact, the things that were happening, although could be somewhat scary, were extremely exciting for him. He didn't knew if he should feel that way, but he was excited for the first time in years. Something different was happening, something completely new.

E Q U I P M E N T

● Single ear Bluetooth headset.
● Smartphone.

P R O F I C I E N C I E S

● "Aimless Wanderer" Seb is used to wander around, be it on cities while sightseeing or on forests observing the nature and wild animals, resulting in a very good sense of direction. As a side effect, Seb's legs are quite powerful and muscular.

● "Hunting Instincts" Together with his mutations, came an powerful hunting instinct. Its natural to him the act of diving in on a prey and using his powerful talons to pin it down and kill it, sinking its sharp teeth on his prey's flesh, savouring its warm meat, everything comes to his mind once he is hunting, its on his nature.

● "Logical mind" Seb has the capacity of remaining calm or calming himself quickly even in dire situations, thinking in a solution for them without being desperate. Although he can still feel fear, he will remain calm and think carefully about his actions and decisions.

L I M I T A T I O N S

● "Blunt Force Trauma." Due to Seb's hollow bone structure, blunt force attacks are very effective against him. A strong hit on his wings, especially on top of them, where the bones are located, will easily break them. On the other parts of his body, a little more of force is needed due to his flesh dampening the impact, but they will still break easier than normal human bones.

● "Fatigue" Seb's wings are those of a bird of prey, and although very fast and maneuverable, they are not fit for long flights. He can flight continuously only for a couple of hours before having to land and rest. If he choses to ignore his body's warnings and overexert himself, his wings' muscles can even tear apart, forcing him to stop flying (and obviously using his wings until his muscles heal themselves) and even plummet down from the sky.

● "Limited Hand Dexterity." Seb's mutations made him lose his pinky, ring finger and middle finger. This results in limited dexterity with his "hands". Although grabbing a cup of water is still doable, using a weapon or other things that require more dexterity is simply impossible for him.

● "Enhanced Senses" His enhanced senses also mean that he is vulnerable to loud high frequency noises (not those produced by him), which can cause him to get very dizzy and unable to fly or even more, or if its too high, even make him unconscious due to the pain.
Additionally, Seb is also vulnerable to very bright lights (Such as tactical flashlights, strobe flashlights & etc.) due to his enhanced vision. Those will make him blind and stunned for a small period of time (until his eyes can adapt themselves to the sudden change, which is around 5 seconds).

● "Moral Compass" Seb will refuse to take any actions that harm -innocent- people. Although exceptions can be made on specific occasions, he will feel very bad about it and will only do it if there is no other alternative.

● "Sore Throat" Although Seb can freely produce sounds, sustaining them for long periods of time (rather than just a burst) takes a heavy strain on his body. Should he overexert himself, he can even tear his vocal cords apart, taking some good deal of time to heal.

R E L A T I O N S

TBA

[Necrophage]

A L A N Y O U N G

M A L E - T W E N T Y F I V E - A B-P O S I T I V E

Mutations:
Catalyzed Spikes-
Alan adapted a pair of new arms once he was infected. The virus aggressively and painfully gave him a stranger, larger set of limbs. They are covered in pointy black chitin and end in claws with superbly hard and sharp tips. There's a grooved hole in each palm that leads back into his forearms where new muscles not seen in normal human anatomy have grown and act as a launching mechanism for catalyzed projectiles. Since it would be unconventional to launch bones the body instead generates its own compound that can catalyze when Alan flexes a certain way, quickly compressing and creating a black crystalline spike to launch.

By appearance the spikes have the natural drippy look akin to stalagmites and stalactites. The spikes are very ceramic-like in hardness and effect and are capable of being launched roughly one hundred feet before being affected by drop. Projectile size can vary between six to twelve inches. Because they are unusual projectiles they are capable of piercing through body armor designed to block bullets like Kevlar. They have enough power to stick into solid objects but not much further than that, being unable to penetrate thick building materials. Changed and other infected creatures may sometimes have a naturalized armor coating parts of their body that direct spikes would be ineffective against.

Spike Compound-
The "holes" in Alan's hands can release some of the spike compound before it is catalyzed which quickly solidifies into a light-weight and hard ceramic-like substance. Useful for myriad of things from blocking doorways to medical emergencies and even for makeshift tools. The spike compound begins to deteriorate after a few hours. Certainly an interesting tool for an engineer to make use of.

Chitin --
The outsides of Alan's arms are covered in a thick black chitin that matches the color of the claws. The chitin offers moderate defensive capability. The exposed areas on his inner arms and around his palms exhibits a dark orange hue. Short black barbs extrude from his elbows and shoulders. Alan's arms in general are larger in size than a normal human in order to make room for the new biology.

This whole thing has Alan rather rattled. He can't help but think of himself as some kind of a monster despite how naturally the whole transformation affects him.

Appearance:
Alan has blue eyes and blond hair. He has a soft, gentle looking face with a fair complexion. He prefers high-collar jackets, no hoods. Of course any shirt he wears he will have to tear the arms off of in order to properly fit. His general attire is jeans and sneakers or similar footwear.

Physique-wise Alan takes care of himself. He's no stranger to hard labor in his field of work but he isn't a frequent gym attendee either. The occasional run and a little morning exercise were always enough for him. He stands at around 5'11 and comes close to dragging his claws on the ground. Alan weighs about 175 lbs.

Personality:
Alan is generous with his time and kind. This mostly comes from a solid background with a loving family. Also he's a church goer. He's a religious man who doesn't thrust his values on other individuals but nevertheless holds on to his as if his very life depended on it. If there's a debate of morals or something very wrong is about to be done he'll be the first to speak out about it. Certain things are just wrong and he will always go against them even if it doesn't make sense. Raised in this setting he has never had a sip of alcohol in his life, preferring to abstain from that and drugs to avoid needless drama and mistakes.

Though Alan is so often kind and gentle, being pushed or threatened brings out the worst in him. Alan has never taken kind to threats of any sort. Being pushed to the brink of rage has happened but he's always controlled it. Very rarely has he exuded aggressive anger that his brothers refer to as a berserker rage.

Being changed so drastically by a virus has a tendency to bend some of those rules.. Alan can't help but become conflicted with all of what's going on. He finds himself feeling monstrous and unable to tell if what's happening to him is fatal or stable. His personality will change over the course of this story. It will have to if he is to survive.

Before the Outbreak:
Alan had been out of community college for a few years now, working a successful job as an automation engineer, holding an active position in his church, dating a girl he loved named Liz. One he couldn't fess up enough to marry. Life was great, it was steady and safe. No mistakes, no debts. Alan was happy and set with high hopes for the future. There wasn't anything that could mess this up. Pfft! Right.

Beginning of the Nightmare

The Outbreak was special. Special in that it didn't care who you were, it was going to change you. Life, form, freedom, whatever you will. This event would haunt everyone who lived it.

Alan was in the midst of working, getting a new factory up and running. He was good at his job, he studied new technology in the field and made sure it worked the way it should. There was no way he would have guessed he would be living through a nightmare out of fiction.
_______

The gunshots and screams were the first things he heard. A wave of noise washing over the outside. More alarming was that the factory he was in was designed to limit noise. This was not just a disturbed cry, this was fluid desperation made sound. A horde of chaos was ramming around these walls and he was stuck.

Alan wanted to open a door and go outside to see what was happening, he really did. The better part of him warned him not to so he listened and decided he needed to go up instead of out. As he was heading to a service ladder to reach the roof, the slamming started. A locked set of doors were rammed into repeatedly, over and over until the doors bent and gave way enough to be pushed through. He could see them across the open area of the factory as they sniffed around, gnashing at each other and clawing their way through the jammed door. They looked like normal people but "wrong" somehow. They were savage and black coursed through their veins. Alan couldn't help but mutter. "Seriously? Zombies? Great." A good day gone sour. No time to even think it over, Alan went into flight mode. In the back of his mind we was worried about everyone else but right now he wanted to survive. Alan forced himself quickly up the ladder and the movement was caught by some of the ghouls below. Guttural cries and screams let the engineer know they were coming.

Up here there was a small room before the door that led to the roof. Alan quickly closed the hatch and started looking for things to put on it. After seeing how they tore that door down like one of those Japanese paper walls he didn't want to give them any room for advance. Alan really wished right now that his company didn't have a no weapons policy, heavens knew he could use that gun right now. If they got through he was screwed. He started moving a cabinet in the room toward the hatch. It wasn't fast enough, the first one slammed the hatch open and poked its head up.

The snarling ghoul had already broken some of its front teeth, hollow eyes with darkened tendrils like roots stared at him. It was a woman but her discernible features were slipping away. No empathy, no real feeling other than hunger, rage and the hunt bore in those empty eyes. She lurched upward, more pushing at her from behind. Guttural howls sounded for the attention of more ghouls outside. Alan felt so screwed.

Mustering all he had, Alan slammed the cabinet down against the hatch. The female ghoul was only pinned by one leg as it lashed out at him, screaming and spitting, teeth gnashing. She managed to graze some skin off his arm. He barely noticed as he grabbed for anything he could use for a weapon. There was unused piping so he grabbed one and started desperately wailing on the ghoul.

The vicious ghoul pulled herself free, being beaten with a pipe or not she was hungry. The leg she managed to pull free was bent awkwardly, clearly broken. She didn't care as she stumbled across the room, grasping for him. Alan just swung harder and harder, aiming for her head. She clawed at Alan some more before a serious blow knocked her to the floor, her head bloodied and dented in. She twitched a little before rising again so Alan hit her harder and just kept hitting until she stopped moving. Her head was a bloody mess. Alan started moving her out of the way before pushing the rest of the objects in the room against the hatch. Alan's heart raced, his lungs burned but there was no way he was dying here. Not now.

Alan pried the roof door open, took the she-ghoul by her good leg and started dragging her outside. There was no conventional way on or off the roof except by the access hatch he had blocked. It was at least forty feet from the ground. He hauled the ghoul across the roof to its edge, took one look down and pushed her off. She slammed against the ground with a resounding thud.

It wasn't until now that Alan really looked around. Gunfire was going off toward the center of the city, screams were calling out everywhere, both animalistic and in anguish. "Damn." He muttered. "World's gone to hell..." He kept watching, an observer stranded on the roof. Finally he knelt and offered a silent prayer.

Alan's arms itched, he looked absently at the scrapes and noticed something truly alarming. The shallow wounds were sealing themselves up and where they should have been red and bloody it only looked black. Alan's heart sank in his chest. "Well.. shit.." He clenched his fists and looked at the sky. "DAMNIT!" He yelled into air. The attention of several crazy freaks around the area had been caught. They gurgled and cried at the sky as they started moving to the factory. Alan sighed and laid back against the tin roof, staring at the sky. "No stopping it now."

Equipment:
-Empty Backpack (What? It keeps your back warm and you can put stuff in it.)
-Keychain and Wallet
-Android phone.

Proficiencies:
"Know how.." Technical trade skills happen to be Alan's business. He knows how most machinery works including, cars, cranes, work lines, electrical systems and so on. He can use computers better than an average guy but he's never been good at programming or more advanced computer skills.

"The Good.." No one hates Alan, he's just a nice, friendly guy. You know, unless you hate nice guys, then it's awkward. Alan is good at earnestly getting close to people and being trustworthy. He would hate to be made a liar. He will stand as a moral pillar to stop a wrong before it happens.

"Why you little...!" Alan is a lot stronger when he's pissed. Surprisingly his anger is almost always put in the right direction. It's a good thing he grew up with a good family and values or he'd have some serious anger problems.

Limitations:
"The Bad..?" Yeah... well, sometimes being a good guy isn't helpful when you get in the way of a decision that needs to be made. The most righteous option isn't always the one that will save everyone's hide.

"Top Heavy." The rest of Alan's body hasn't yet evolved to accommodate the change in muscle mass and size. He can get off balance easily if knocked around and he's supporting the extra weight on mostly normal legs so his ability to move is below average.

"Muscle Cramp..!" Overuse of catalytic projectiles in a short amount of time could cause one of Alan's inner arm muscles to cramp and close sooner than it's supposed to, trapping a catalytic reaction inside his arm. This could involve piercing through his arm in multiple directions as the force finds its way out. This could disable his arm until the problem is fixed.

"Feel the Burn.." The catalytic compound produces acid as a byproduct that breaks down muscle, overexposure could mean the acid would eat through his arms following the flow of gravity. Ignoring these serious conditions and forcing a continued use of catalyst could cause it to burn through his body and contact vital organs which could result in organ failure and death.

"Did That Tickle..?" Spikes are ineffective against Changed armor and most other infection based protections. There may be some exceptions such as a thin layer of armor or armor that has been weakened or turned brittle by other means.

Relations:
Liz Hensley is his girlfriend, where did she go?
Eddy is his brother, the younger by four years.
Ben is his older brother, the elder by three years.
Others to be decided.

[EnterTheHero]

Ezra

E Z R A L A R K

M a l e ● T w e n t y - S i x ● B - N e g a t i v e

» M U T A T I O N S

• Fulgurkinesis- Ezra can generate electricity and plasma on a decently-sized scale, cloaking himself in an aura of bright crimson lightning, greatly increasing the threat he poses to his enemies at close range. He can also absorb electricity from outside sources, feeding his powers in that manner, rather than having to generate the energy himself. He cannot, however, focus his powers into a projectile (say, a lightning bolt) without some other medium, such as his harpoons. See “Livewires” for details.
• Crystal Armor- Ezra has a strange, organic crystal slowly growing just beneath his skin, even protruding from beneath his skin in certain areas or outright replacing it, such as on his hands, shoulders, parts of his spine, and his shins and knees. This crystal is incredibly durable, slightly harder than concrete, acting as armor for Ezra, especially in the areas where it has supplanted his skin. The crystals glow red when he uses his fulgurkinesis.
• Livewires- Ezra has what is effectively crystal harpoons loaded into his forearms, connected to reinforced biological cables. These harpoons can be fired with the speed of a speargun, by igniting gas in a chamber behind the harpoons. The harpoons and the bio-cables both share Ezra’s conductive properties, allowing him to channel his fulgurkinesis down them and electrocute whatever target he’s made contact with using his harpoons.
  
  There is a significant downside to this ability, however- he has no way of retracting the cables once they’re fired. Meaning the only way he can reload the harpoons is by ripping them out, cables and all, and letting new harpoons grow in their place. Obviously, this power is used as a last resort.

» A P P E A R A N C E
Ezra is somewhat short at 5’6”, and stockily built- as he puts it, “built like a brick shithouse.” He has cropped blond hair, once styled spiky, but now left to its own devices, as Ezra cannot be bothered with haircare during the apocalypse. His eyes were once vivid green, but are now bloody red with black sclera. Spikes of dark red crystal erupt from under his skin in various places, especially his hands and forearms, which now appear to be covered in blood-red crystal gauntlets. His shoulders, spine, and shins have similar armor plating covering them.

» P E R S O N A L I T Y
Ezra was a sarcastic son of a bitch before Day One, and sees no need to change that now that the world has ended. Ezra is, to put it in his words, “sophisticated as hell.” His language is vulgar yet erudite, profane yet elegant- he just as likely to call you an asshole as a “petulant, sanctimonious plague on my sanity.” He’s constantly cracking jokes and witty barbs as he adventures through the dark streets of New Windsor, more as a coping mechanism than anything else.

Beneath his prickly facade (har har), however, lies a very altruistic and caring individual who is troubled, shocked, mortified, etc. by the recent turn of events. Even only a day after the Outbreak, Ezra has seen and done horrible things for the sake of survival. Things that can very easily weigh on a gentle soul such as Ezra’s. At the moment, his goal is to find any uninfected and protect them from the ravenous hordes, by any means necessary.

» B I O G R A P H Y

Excerpt from the journal of Ezra Lark

New Windsor, The Bronx
2301 hours

Welp! It’s all gone to shit!

I mean, you all probably already know that. Near as I can figure, about two-thirds of everyone in the city has caught a major case of the Fuck-Yous, yours truly included. More on that later. Honestly, I never thought the apocalypse would come cleanly, if indeed it did, but I would’ve preferred a bit more warning than my cameraman going unconscious, then waking up and fucking eating my editor. And then coming after me for seconds, along with a few of the others in the office. And here I thought my biggest concern that morning was getting the episode filmed on time...

Ever had to stab your best friend to death? It’s not on my Top Ten list of recommended experiences.

So yeah, zombies. Of the 28 Days Later, World War Z (the shitty movie, not the book) variety. These fuckers can run, and run fast. They don’t even seem to get tired. They travel in weird, single-minded hordes, more like a river or flood or landslide than a group of humans or animals. They don’t seem to be able to see very well, though, so use that information as you will, loyal readers.

I say that as though I’m anticipating anyone to be reading a video game blog during the end of the fucking world, whenever it is I get all this uploaded. Do we even have internet in the apocalypse? Probably not. Guess I'll find out later. There is still that one detail I was telling you about earlier, that needs clarification.

If your eyes were sharp, then you probably caught me mentioning that I’ve been infected. But it seems… more complicated than just that. I don’t have any pressing need to devour the living (yet), but I know I caught something. And if college biology and common sense has taught me anything, my case of the Fuck-Yous is probably related to the zombie version. These things don’t just happen at the same time without reason.

Long story short, my particular head-cold-from-Hell has consisted of three things. One, I hurt, everywhere. A dull ache, crawling ever so slowly under my skin. I imagine this is how the soil would feel about roots carving through it, if it actually felt things. The pain is probably due to Thing Number Two on the list of freaky shit, crystals.

Weird, dark-red-almost-black spikes of crystal, poking up from under my skin. Some on my forehead, like horns, some on my shoulders, a line going down my spine. They seem to be congregating around my hands, though- they’re almost 100% crystallized at this point. I can still move them almost like normal, though, there’s joints and stuff where there should be, but it’s still profoundly uncomfortable.

And Lucky Number Three on the list is the weirdest of them all. Ever since the pain started, weird shit’s been happening between me and electrical equipment. Lights flicker in my vicinity, smaller electronics short out or straight-up blow up (fuck you, smartphone) if I’m not careful, and when I walked by an electrical socket earlier, a bolt of red lightning- yep, red- shot out from it and hit me in my sparkly bits. Then the building’s power went out. Then the Ferals came sniffing around.

I may have mentioned this before, but it has been a bad day.

I’ve found somewhere to hole up and barricade myself in for now. Thankfully, I think the weird glitchy lightning bullshit has died down somewhat, considering I’m not lighting up like a firework anymore. Tomorrow I’m gonna start looking around for other survivors, more supplies, and food. God, I’m fucking starving. Might be a side effect of my new viral makeover.

So, my loyal readers (if any of you even get to read this), stay safe. If you see someone with my description out and about tomorrow, it’s probably me, and I could use some help. Maybe I can help you, too. Gods only know we need to stick together through this mess.

Maybe I’ll stop aching so much after some sleep, but I doubt it- I can still feel the shit growing. It’s freaking me out, guys.

Good luck, loyal readers. Don’t do anything stupid, and keep each other safe.

-end-

» E Q U I P M E N T

• Messenger Bag- Containing a half-full canteen, a bunch of granola bars, and…
• Journal- For all the random bullshit that floats through Ezra’s head.
• Hunting Knife- Slightly superfluous at this point, but he's not getting rid of it. Black-handled with the initials "ABL" engraved on the pommel.
• Shark-Tooth Necklace- A gift from an old ex that Ezra's not sure why he keeps around. Especially since it makes him look like kind of a douche...

» P R O F I C I E N C I E S

• ”I’m going on an adventure!”- Ezra is good at turning a bad situation into… well, still a bad situation, but much funnier. Ezra seems basically unflappable, gliding through the apocalypse with wit, sarcasm, and linguistic flair. While this makes him great for dealing with high-stress situations, and can be inspiring to his allies, it does have its drawbacks- see Limitations for more.
• ”UNLIMITED POOOWWAAAAHHH!!”- Ezra can absorb massive amounts of electricity before needed to expend his charge, making him a living third rail. While he does still have limits (see Limitations), they’re set so high as to make such risks negligible in most situations. He’s also, therefore, highly resistant to any electrical attacks brought to bear against him.
• ”Your Kung Fu is no good!”- Ezra is a scrappy gentleman, having learned to fight from a young age. Recently, he even started learning actual martial arts in the form of Krav Maga, and though he’s nowhere near a master of the craft, he knows enough to make someone very sorry they picked a fight with him. Especially because...
• ”You think I can’t take a hit?!”- The crystal beneath Ezra’s skin is incredibly durable, reinforcing his body and effectively making it so that he’s wearing full-body Kevlar at all times. He’s especially durable in the areas where the crystal has supplanted his skin, his fists, in particular.
• ”I punch, you suffer. Got it?”- Speaking of his fists, Ezra’s most potent weapon is his newly-armored extremities. Without having to worry about self-injury like most normal humans- at least, not to the same extent- Ezra can bring relatively monstrous strength to bear on whatever his target is, even being able to tear through metal and solid walls with enough effort.

» L I M I T A T I O N S

• ”I’m givin’ ‘er all she’s got, Cap’n!”- Ezra has limits to how much electricity he can absorb before he is required to expend his accumulated charge. Attempting to take in anymore beyond that limit will either flat-out not work, or even cause Ezra severe-to-lethal injury due to overcharge. Same principle goes for using too much of his powers at any one time. Using his powers causes a strain on his body, even if he’s just expending gathered charge from his surroundings. Discharging too much at once, or for too long, can cause muscle spasms, mild seizures, and even cardiac arrhythmia or arrest if he pushes it too far.
• ”LOOOUUUD NOISES!!”- Certain sound frequencies resonate with Ezra’s crystals, which can cause serious pain, like a full-body migraine, to the poor mutant. Louder noises of such resonance frequencies can even cause his crystals to shatter and splinter, which can cause serious damage to the rest of Ezra’s body.
• ”Don’t go in the water.”- Logical weakness- if Ezra gets wet while using his powers, or tries to use his powers while wet, he shorts out or could even electrocute himself. And that would be an awful way to go.
• ”I’M GETTING HUNGRY, HOMBRE!!”- Use of his powers is a massive drain on Ezra’s energy, and will require him to eat large quantities of food or absorb large amounts of electricity to offset his massive resource burn, or else go into a torpor.
• ”It only hurts when I laugh…”- Ezra’s mutations hurt. All the time. It’s crystal growing beneath and through his skin, what did you expect? It’s not intense pain- a full-body dull, throbbing ache- but it’s sufficient enough to be quite distracting.
• ”This is fine…”- One of Ezra’s greatest strengths is also one of his greatest weaknesses. While his ability to deflect the tragedy around him with humor and wit is impressive, it’s ultimately only a stopgap measure. Eventually, if he chooses not to confront his issues, the weight of them will end up crushing him, causing him to potentially go catatonic with shock, at most likely the worst possible time.

» R E L A T I O N S

• Rebecca Lark- Ezra’s younger sister, lost somewhere in the chaos of New Windsor. His primary goal at the moment is to find and rescue her.

[Raze]

Scrapped