[CHAR] 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐄

---

Hanging above the Absolute Magnitude's dinner table and gathering area, there is a primitive corkboard holding photographs of the crew. Each has survived the multiple fires, plasma blasts, and other attacks the ship has been through. It is a tradition no one knows who started, but nonetheless, the corkboard has always been as much a part of the ship as the rivets holding it together. By the sheer fact that their picture has not been thrown out, the crewmembers know they are alive, that they have a family, and that they have not been forgotten.

---

The Pilot

The Security

The Engineer

The Translator

The Techie

[Little Bill]

---

^{"Guilt upon the conscience, like rust upon iron, both defiles and consumes it,}
_{gnawing and creeping into it, until at last it eats out the very heart and substance of the metal."}

---

Name

Aloysius Patroklos Poole

Age

44

Appearance

There are men who are muscular, and then there are men who are so muscular that they are unsightly or even comical. Of the two, Poole is in the latter category. His intimidating height and physique are typically the first thing people notice about Poole -- as the ship's "Security Manager", this is entirely intentional. He has the square, flattened features of a lowlands gorilla, the pockmarked dun skin of a cane toad, and the beard of a chimp. Under his clothes, Poole has remarkably few scars, though he has three tattoos received in prison that the crew have seen; two red rings on his wrists signifying his status as a felon, and a pair of hands in contrition covering his back. Poole wears a golden crucifix and often keeps his hair up with a headband, though he otherwise has voiced a strong distaste for men who accessorize, wear scents, or put more than water in their hair. He prefers muted, baggy clothing under his body armor, and magnet-lined boots for impromptu chases. Because he cannot own a firearm, Poole wears a collapsible wrist-mounted crossbow for ranged combat.

Traits

Red Felon: For reasons he hasn't divulged, Poole is in the highest, most heinous category of felons. It's not really something you ask a guy about, so he's fielded very few questions about it over the years. When ISSP officers stop the Absolute Magnitude at a checkpoint, it's Poole who sweats bullets, and when the crew has business on Earth, it's Poole who mans the ship. Most suspect that his strangest traits -- his religion, preference for paper books, passion for excercise, and taste for raw Nutri-Flax -- were picked up doing time.

Titanean Martian: It's uncertain as to whether Poole is from Mars or Saturn, as his answer seems to change depending on the time of day. He's directly said that he was born on Mars, though his grasp of the complex Titanean language hasn't left his crewmates assured of Martian heritage. He frequently tells people he's tall because he's Titanean, which is actually false -- Titanean gravity and lack of sunlight have made them a small, pale people.

Saved: You would be hard pressed to find someone in the 23rd century more excited about having a Lord and Savior than Poole. Aside from his penchant for scripture and biblical allegories, there is a calm authenticity to Poole's faith in God that leaves most confused, and others outright jealous. Some of the gospel music he listens to is almost a thousand years old, which most find outrageous.

Strengths

Prize-Fighter: Poole's strength is his literal strength. He handles shouting, threats, and chaotic violence with an inhuman degree of calmness unique to himself, and seems most in his element in a fight. He isn't trained in any fighting style or martial art, though his apparent imperviousness to physical blows and brute strength make him an extremely capable brawler. Aside from plain fist-fights, during one of the Absolute Magnitude's deals gone wrong he crushed a guy to death by squeezing him. Whether or not this was a one-time thing hasn't been brought up.

Warrior Poet: Poole isn't the brains of the ship, but he's not a monosyllabic knuckledragger either. Poole is well read -- The first book he'd recommend being The Bible -- and has an eloquence that separates him from other bounty hunters hired for their muscle. His knowledge of the slang, culture, and social customs of the criminal world make him surprisingly good at gathering information undercover, while his well-spoken manners and humility make him a decent contract negotiator.

Weaknesses

Feet of Lead: Poole is a pretty big guy, and has the problems of flexibility, speed, and mobility typically associated with men of his size. He also smokes like a chimney, eats like a horse, and wears heavy 22nd century body armor. Whoever you are, reading this, you could outrun Poole. If you cannot run, assume your usual method of transportation would save you from Poole for at least thirty feet.

Head of Also Lead: It is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail, and Poole's hammer is punching things into a warm, red pulp. He is not necessarily quick to anger in the traditional sense, but his reliance on being more powerful than his opponents in close quarters make him skip to violence more often than not. Though he generally acts like a kindly uncle, his felon status mixed with his proclivity for extreme violence (And the juxtaposition this presents with his religious nature) make some a little wary of Poole.

Claustrophobic: Though he's at least accustomed to the tight conditions aboard the Absolute Magnitude, Poole has repeatedly shown great difficulty with enclosed spaces in the past, and will often refuse to climb through ducts, pipes, or small caverns. He has explained his fears as an association of cramped spaces with being trapped, and a belief of entrapment as an extreme danger.

[mickilennial]

X a a r a V a p e r o x

_{“Don't talk rot,
You're a hunter, not a philosopher. Who cares how a target feels?”}

◤ _{N A M E} ◢

Xaara Vaperox

◤ _{A G E} ◢

29

◤ _{A P P E A R A N C E} ◢

Xaara is unassuming, standing at a height on the lower end of the interstellar average for her ethnicity and gender; a fact that has been often utilized to her benefit in busy crowds when tracking down contracts and escaping from various individuals. When considering her attire, Xaara prefers wearing simplistic synthetic fibers that are the norm among the lower income brackets though one thing that seems to be a recurring preference is a jacket derived of ballistic fibers and design to not only keep her warm but also protected by conventional weapons. Xaara’s hair is drawn roughly and at mid-length with her bangs held by unremarkable clips to keep them uniform and as a form to not obstruct her vision. Her hair, which was once blonde, has for several years of her life been dyed into a pale teal color. Her eyes, cerulean, appear reminiscent of her personality—cold, icy, and unforgiving.

◤ _{P E R S O N A L I T Y T R A I T S} ◢

Analytical
Blunt
Introverted
Sarcastic
Stoic

◤ _{B A C K G R O U N D} ◢

UNDER REVISION

◤ _{S T R E N G T H S} ◢

Dexterous: Xaara realizes she needs to be quick to survive in tense situations despite her incessant need to be completely prepared for a scenario. She isn’t tall or strong so she has had to adapt to be quick and clever instead.

Piloting: For many years, Xaara had to operate independently in her career as a bounty hunter and freelance pilot. She doesn’t boast any victories over pirates, smugglers, or renegade militants but the records that can be unraveled attached to her dossier shows that she has more than credentials to graduate from flight school.

Sniper: Perhaps Xaara’s biggest asset is her ability to strike from a distance—with a high precision energy rifle outfitted with a multi-functional scope. Even beyond her capability as a fighter pilot is her talents as a long-range sharpshooter, a reality that has ended the careers of various criminals throughout the interstellar territories.

Trained Combatant: Xaara appears relatively competent in terms of close quarters combat. A fact that encompasses archaic studies like swordplay but also the martial arts. Whether Xaara’s understanding of either forms come from could be anybody’s guess as she has made it abundantly clear that like her background she has no interest in sharing the facts of their origin.

◤ _{W E A K N E S S E S} ◢

Perfectionist: Xaara is finicky, almost to the point of madness—a fact that is abundantly clear in her methodology and belief that if you have to do something that you should do it correctly. This obsession with the details and preparations for things is a double-edged sword that has led her to argue incessantly on multiple occasions. For men and women of action, this trait can seem impossible to work with.

Reclusive: Even amongst those close to her, Xaara remains a constant curiosity. This is, in part, due to her tendency to be reclusive and guarded about her past and experiences. This particular predisposition makes her seen as difficult and puzzling; a reality that has led to an amount of distrust between her partners and contacts. It brings the question—is she just antisocial or is she hiding something?

Short: As aforementioned, Xaara is not particularly tall or imposing. She holds a somewhat athletic build due to her line of work, but this does not mean she can last any amount of time in a brawl without using her size and intelligence to her advantage. As such Xaara can count the volume of scenarios where a situation ended with her being pinned against a wall by her throat or thrown across a room.

Socially Inept: As skilled as Xaara is with a rifle and blade, she is often limited in the profession when working alone due to the fact that she is socially inept; so much so that she cannot comprehend why people are angry when she gives a blunt, matter-of-fact response that seems to have an absence of empathy or relatability. It is this reason that she’s a notoriously bad investigator when she doesn’t have a trail to follow from a potential target or a partner that can handle the social aspect of gathering information.

[Goldeagle1221]

Jeremiah Strong

This is not mine!

Name
Jeremiah Strong

Age
Twenty-Six

Appearance

Tall, pale and handsome. Jeremiah is cut from a generic cloth when it comes to looks, from his sandy curls to his light green eyes and aquiline nose. Dark rings often dig around his eyes, and some days his curly hair is more disheveled than others. He usually wears a button down shirt with an engineer’s vest over it, and tough trousers over shoes. He always seems to either be in a great mood, or a really shitty one, a twitch and studder following the latter and a characteristically beaming smile following the first.

Twelve pages of Jeremiah Strong -- warning long, like actually twelve pages if you click this

Of Uppers and Downers

The alley was grey, just like the rest of this district. The sky couldn’t be seen past the tall buildings and even then the dark smog of industry squandered what hope there was left to see the clear sky or afternoon sun. Men and women of wealth and status never stopped here, they just drove or walked on by, hurrying to get to their next meeting, or to punch in their card, if they even had one. CEO’s and tycoonists sped by this district in shiny cars and hover vehicles, detesting the fact that they even needed to take this route.

Women and even a few strange machines covered in biogeneric flesh hollered at those walking, but most most of the blue bloods simply pulled their business hats over their noses and quickened their pace. One dusty man among the quickened paces of silk and cotton suits slipped into the grey alley.

His curly sandy hair was disheveled and dark rings were around his light green eyes. Stiff blonde stubble was starting to form on his cheeks and he wore bland clothes of almost generic make, as if he was an extra in the back of a movie scene. He wore old shoes and walked with a small nervous twitch, his body aching and his mind in withdrawal.

He quickly approached two men. One wore nice clothes although only better versions of the ragged man's relaxed jeans and shirt, and his brother next to him showed physical signs of substance abuse, and his clothes definitely were put on by him, with one pant leg scrunched and the other not, and his shirt on backwards, a large spaghetti stain dominated most of the front.

“Slut!” the sandy haired man, Jeremiah, said, his voice cracking. The man who stood taller than the others and wore the better clothes screwed his face as he retaliated, “hey man, why you gotta be calling me that? Don’t do that shit.”

“I he-heard what you did with Jimmy’s girl, man,” Jeremiah stuttered, a small twitch taking his face in a spasm for a moment. Joe folded his arms, not willing to admit anything, “jus’ don’t do that shit. Whatchu want?”

“He wants his mediciiiine,” Joe’s poorly dressed brother nearly squealed, rocking back and forth in place. Joe looked disgustingly over at his brother Eddy, “he wants some joy is what he wants, I can smell it on this piss ant.”

“Why do you gotta be insulting me like you’re s-s-s-some kind of blue blooded prick?” Jeremiah exploded with a flustered expression. His eyes darted around wide and anxiously as he brought a hand up suddenly to scratch his arm rapidly, “ju-just give me the shit, m-man.”

“I don’t know man, this is some military grade shit, you’ll feel invincible, and you just might as well be,” Joe said flashing a small bag of blue pills. Jeremiah’s eyes widened and he reached for the bag. Joe pulled it back and grunted, “but it looks like to me you’ve had enough.”

“Just give me the joy!” Jeremiah shouted desperately, his voice deepening in frustration. Eddy shivered uneasily, “just let him have it, Joe.”

“Shut the fuck up you retarded shit,” Joe snapped, “this prick still owes me, and above that, I’m not sure our pal here can take anymore.”

“I owe you noth-nothing!” Jeremiah started to pace, waving his hands around, “I fu-fucking paid you, I’m hu-hurting, just give me the damn pills!”

“Joe, please,” Eddy started to beg. Joe slapped Eddy across the face with a loud smack, “I’m the boss, shut the fuck up.” Eddy stumbled backwards and whined.

“Hey!” Jeremiah raised a shaking finger as his red face twitched, “be fucking nice to your damn brother!”

Joe put his weight on the back of his feet and laughed, “you’re washed up Jeremiah, this shit has you by the balls. I’d be damned if I let some junkie prick tell me how to run my business.”

“Ju-just be nice to your brother,” Jeremiah growled weakly.

“Well what the fuck are you going to do about it?” Joe said with a huff. He spread his arms as if showcasing himself, folding the baggie in one hand, “you’re just some druggie with a dishonorable discharge, and I’m the man with everything you hold dear in a dirty fucking bag.”

“F-fuck you.” Jeremiah spat, sulking and sinking back at the words.

“Please stop fighting,” Eddy pleaded.

“Ed shut the fuck up!” Joe yelled, pushing his brother to the ground. Eddy fell like a sack of bricks, unable to catch himself, landing flat on his back with a loud exhale of pained breath.

Jeremiah fumed in the shadows and with a shaking fist he snatched a solid rock and rushed Joe. With a loud grunt Jeremiah slammed the rock into Joe’s temple, sending the drug dealer to the ground with a loud crack. Jeremiah puffed his chest in and out as he breathed heavily standing over Joe. Eddy yelled loudly, tears stinging his eyes, “you killed him!”

Jeremiah dropped the rock and shook his head, a deep pang of grief shot his gut and worry peeled across his face, “no man- no, I-I was just trying to help is all.”

“He’s dead,” Eddy weeped, “you killed my brother!”

“Nah I was just foolin’ he is fine, I’m sure,” Jeremiah winced, his own eyes starting to water as guilt sunk into his stomach. A red stream started to flow from Joe’s forehead and puddle on the asphalt of the alley.

“Go away! Go away!,” Eddy said between loud sobs as he cradled Joe’s limp body. Jeremiah started scratching his arm furiously, bringing it to rash, and twitched his head to the side. He quickly snatched the bag of blue pills and defensively pressed them against his chest, looking frightened at Eddy,a freezing chill creeping down his already frozen body.

“Take your medicine and go,” Eddy persisted. Jeremiah kept scratching his arm, only moving to steal a small gun that had fallen from Joe’s back pocket during the scuffle. He twitched again and wiped a tear, “s-s-sorry.”

Jeremiah bolted from the scene, shoving the gun in his pants seat. As he ran towards the slightly more lit street side, his clumsy swollen fingers fought to open the small baggie, shaking the pills all about. As he reached the exit to the streets his fingers finally slipped between the folds of the bag, but with a loud rip and the small clattering of pills falling everywhere, the bag exploded.

“F-FUCK!”

He dove to the ground, despite the traffic walking by and started to desperately pick the tiny blue pills from in between the rough gravel in the asphalt. His fingers scraped and plucked the small drugs from the ground, popping the first few directly into his mouth with an intense gusto, whimpering to himself.

The dry pills stuck to his even drier throat, and he painfully forced them down with rough gulps. He sighed a relieved breath through a cotton ball mouth after swallowing three of the pills. A disgusted snort from a passerby caused him to shoot to his feet, shoving the reclaimed pills into his pocket, “hey! you got something to say, blue blood!”

The suited man had already walked by and Jeremiah exhaled a hot breath, the nervous rock in his stomach causing him to feel nauseous. He felt like the world was spinning faster and faster. His head went light and he bent over, holding his knees. He opened his mouth and started dry heaving. A few people walking by quickly juked around him with insults and comments. He wanted to yell at them, but his eyes went blurry with stinging tears as he continued to heave, gasping intensely for breath in between. His face turned scarlet and he felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his skull from the exertion. His lungs started to burn from the lack of air and after a few more heaves, he felt like he was about to suffocate to death.

Light headed and in pain, he twitched and spasmed. He fell to the pavement with a thud and started jerking every which way, convulsing and heaving. People stepped over him, and a few even threw things down on him. One woman dumped her ice coffee on his face as if it would help him, but then quickly hurried off in designer heels.

Finally the spasm stopped, and he the pain was gone. It was not only the pain that was gone, but the deep welled anger, and even the guilt. He felt numb, he felt nothing. All he felt was “joy”. His muscles felt invigorated, like he could lift a tractor trailer and bend it in half. A beaming smile shot on his face as he jumped to his feet a new man.

“Fuck them all who cares,” He said outloud, flipping off a passing CEO. His twitch was gone, and the rings around his eyes disappeared, revealing the face of a once ambitious young man. He started his walk shoving the coveted pills deeper into his pockets.

He stopped and spun around, pointing at a surprised business man, “you,” Jeremiah began, his voice strong and baritone, “and all your rich devil friends can go fuck themselves, this is MY town.”

“What’s your problem creep?” The man said taken aback before continuing his walk. Jeremiah waved a middle finger the man’s way, his buzz a little hurt. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked. His fingertips lightly played with the pills as he walked by window signs and posters talking about the ICCP, and how great they are. Jeremiah scoffed to himself, feeling human once more now that his system was satisfied, blue bloods, ICCP, they are all the same, high and mighty, shitting on the real people.

As he walked by a beggar he dropped what he thought was a coin into the man’s cup, but it may have very well just been one of the bolts that jingled in his pockets. He sighed happily and continued his walk. He felt great, like there was nothing in the world that could take him down.

Eventually he found himself by the tower, the mask of an engineer over his once withdrawn face, and a box of tools in his hand. With a hidden smirk he secretly popped one of the blue pills underneath his mask and shook with delight as it slid down his throat. Time to get to work.

-------

The seat was rather uncomfortable under Jeremiah's butt. Latched safely to a barely cushioned seat, he was also dressed in a microfiber and metal suit built to protect engineers from the vastness of space as well as supply oxygen and mild protection from any object that might accidentally lacerate or puncture the working man.

Despite the claustrophobia of the confined space with only dark plain walls to comfort him as he sat alone in a transport vessel, the effects of the joy he had slipped minutes before suiting up had rendered him numb to the usual anxieties that accompanied space travel.

Behind a thick engineer’s mask he was smiling eagerly as exciting energy crawled across his skin in an almost pleasurable tingle. The ship was vibrating violently as it whirred and clunked preparing to be thrown through some worm-hole. The pilot had explained it to Jeremiah but as an engineer he was already familiar with how these things worked, luckily as well, since Jeremiah was too excited and eager from the pill to pay much attention.

If the thick suit had not covered his entire body, the vascularity of his drugged form or dilated eyes might’ve tipped the pilot off to his intoxication, but thankfully he was simply shrugged off as ambitious.

The force of gravity pushed on his face as the entire vessel suddenly shot forward without much warning, and in seconds it halted abruptly and as silently as it had shot forward. If it was not for the safety latch of his seat, Jeremiah was sure he would have been launched right into the wall.

The ship had jumped, he was sure of it, and now he was in the docks, and even the hands of a new employer. He wasn’t too sure why he was transferred; his record was clean and above average, if the nasty rumors about him weren’t taken into affect. Despite his addiction, he figured he has done a decent job at keeping it out of view from his superiors, and yet here he was, thrown to a new employer, like a common tool that had out done it’s use.

He would have normally felt like a hand-me-down, and possibly might’ve even been offended. However, the sheer amount of light and fluffy joy that clouded and kissed his mind was too thick and intoxicating to see past.

Even as he stood waiting for the doors to open, he felt his skin move pleasingly against the clothes he wore under his suit. Every small scrape or bump, even the whispers of the light fibers touching him felt like kisses from angels, and his head swam in a pool of wine, drunk on ecstasy.

The door opened and a man started to ask him to come with him. He couldn’t quite hear the man from all the way in heaven and instead the words fell on his ears like he was underwater. The sea of intoxication had taken him in it’s warm embrace. His mind knew what to do despite his numb state, and with some very energized and animated steps forward, he followed the man.

Every step was too slow, he felt. He needed to run, he needed to strip his suit and just run. The world was closing in, and his legs were full of power and energy. He needed to stretch and just burst from the confinement and run, run like a wild gazelle. His heart pounded with adrenaline as his thoughts pumped his mind and body into a heated excitement. Washes of warmth blanketed him in soft and gentle flashes. He needed to move.

They had stopped in a room with a bunch of others, and Jeremiah started to pace, eager to keep moving. He knew better though, he knew what was going on. While he paced he took out his small touch screen device used by high ranking engineers to link and connect with various computer systems, As he paced he made sure to stop by each visible console or wiring and scan it with his engineers key, the device. He nodded slowly, trying not to let the burst of energy get to him.

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

The walk to Jeremiah’s room was quick and mostly silent. A few times during the spanse the walk nearly turned into a jog, but Jeremiah managed to reign his explosive energy back in and into other means of movement, such as wild gestures to passerby and quick, nearly alien salutations to those who made eye contact through his mask.

His room was rather usual. The walls were unpainted grey metal, and the floors of equal make. There was a fluffy looking bed and numerous consoles for him to tinker with as well as a sliding door that assumingly lead to a small corner of a closet for his things.

The door slide closed behind him with a whoosh and the silent, smiling man stood there alone, duffel bag in hand. He tossed the bag gently onto the mattress, the sound of a few things clinking together cutting the stale silence of the room.

He lifted a wrist and played with a few buttons on his suit, and with a soft whir the engineer mask folded down into the chest of the suit and he took in a long deep breath. His cheeks were now clean shaven, and his curly hair was trimmed.

A white smile rode on his lips beneath clear green eyes with massive dilated pupils. He shivered as a shot of enjoyment randomly crawled down his spine and within a few moments and a couple more button presses he was out of the heavy suit all together and sitting on his bed in an engineer's blue jumpsuit, rifling through his bag.

His muscles flexed under the expanding fibers of the suit that pressed tightly against his biceps, engorged by the drug. His fingers were nimble and quick as it sorted through his things, folding clothes and placing them in the closet. He the gun he took from Jose under the stack of pants and assorted all his tools and equipment on the shelves of the small space before getting to the last item: the joy.

He juggled the bag in one hand as he looked around the room, placing himself back on the bed. He was still good, his high was going to fade in an hour or so, but he was still safe from withdrawals for at least three or four more hours. Jeremiah knew not to double up, and so he decided it was best to count and hide the precious pills.

With an unending intoxicated smile he pondered the best hiding places, standing up and searching everywhere in his room. It took him a while as he checked and double checked each area he thought of. He even put himself in the shoes of a detective tasked with finding his drugs just to make sure they were in the best possible spot, and after nearly an hour of thinking, with the powerful ecstasy of the drug beginning to fade, he opted to hide it in the shell of one of the computers that were lined on the single bar like desk of his room.

After safely hiding the drugs and taking note of the amount, he figured in his head that with twenty six pills he could survive for about eight days without having to find a new supplier, although he wasn’t quite willing to hold off until time was running out to do so. His smile started to tame into the common expression of a thinking man, and what moist sweat that had silked his skin due to the intoxication dried up, and left him in the odd stage in between the extreme high and the withdrawal.

It was in this rare spare moment he would think about quitting, maybe even confessing to his addiction, but he simply waved it off as crazy talk, he knew the danger of Joy, but he knew how much more dangerous it was to quit. Besides, he liked Joy, it made him feel good, it made him feel invincible, and what man doesn’t want to feel that?

Behind his closed doors he managed to hear the muffled moan of a person in distress. He figured he had time to kill before fixing his high, so he grabbed a small bag of tools and his engineer’s key and walked out of his room.

He quickly spotted the problem. A woman a little older than him was elbow deep into the wall, a cold white panel of metal cast aside as she fooled around with loose wires and a large circuit.

“Problems?” Jeremiah said as he dropped his bag to the floor beside her, slowly slipping on working gloves. The light haired woman turned to him with a frustrated look about her face, she was pretty, but something about her face told Jeremiah that there was more to the story than that. He knew that look from somewhere.

The woman yanked her hands from the hole in the wall, a gold band glistening off her left hand. Jeremiah nodded to himself, as if patting himself on the back for his clever instinct. She huffed a hot sigh and nodded, forcing her lips into a red line, “my door won’t open, it just fizzes, and I tried to… ugh.. I don’t know… my shift is over and I just.”

Jeremiah put his palms up, giving the woman a confident look, “no further explanation needed, how about I take a whack at it?”

The woman shrugged and gestured to the panel, “all yours.”

Jeremiah squinted as he reached into the hole while the woman watched with folded arms. He immediately saw the problem, and noticed her tinkering caused more harm than good, but he kept it to himself as he started to strip a wire for splicing. The silence was a little awkward and so he looked over to her, confident in his ability to work without looking. He gave her a friendly smile as his green eyes flickered back to the panel for a moment, “I’m Jeremiah by the way, engineer.”

“Hannah, basic,” the woman said almost in a dull fashion. Jeremiah laughed and started to strip another wire, “don’t sound too excited.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I mean it’s called basic, how exciting can that really be,” Hannah gave a cynical grin that hid some frustration. Jeremiah shrugged as he continued, “make it as exciting as you want. The way I see it is basics and engineers are replaceable, Hannah's and Jeremiah’s on the other hand… well the world can only take so much, am I right?”

Hannah gave a tiny laugh and unfolded her arms, “I suppose you are right.”

Jeremiah nodded while biting his lip, working carefully not to zap himself with the live wire he was handling. After a flash of electricity there was a small whir in the walls. He smiled at his work and started to pack the wire’s back to avoid future complications. He looked back at Hannah, the frustration had left her brown eyes and a look of contentment seemed to wash over her at the sound of the whirr. Jeremiah smiled, “I’m sure your husband would agree. There is only one of you, so why not make the best niche for that one of you possible, no matter what your given title is. I say make your own.”

Hannah smiled, “my husband would agree, he is an ambitious man. Are you married?”

Jeremiah gave a nervous chuckle, “no… no I’m not.” He slammed the panel shut and started to replace the loose plate of white metal back on the wall. He wiped his gloves and turned to Hannah, “all fixed.”

Hannah pressed on her door and it whizzed open. She looked at Jeremiah and gave him an approving nod, “hero of the day.”

-----------

“Go fish? Are you sure? I swear you said something about a queen earlier”, Jeremiah teased as he drew a playing card from the deck that sat center in the middle of Hannah’s table. She was lucky enough to have a family housing room, and her husband, Phil and little girl Kendra were joining the “hero of the day” and Hannah in a playful game of Go Fish.

Kendra giggled as she jutted a finger into Jeremiah’s side, “do you have any quuuuueeeens?”

Jeremiah jumped, his voice light and playful “aha! So you do have queens!”

Kendra screwed her face up, “nu uh! I just got it.” She whined. Jeremiah cocked his head, “are you sure you just got it?”

“Kendra baby, are you trying to fool Mr. Strong?” Hannah asked with maternal precedence. Kendra folded her arms, “but he was winning!”

“No I wasn’t,” Jeremiah said slyly, and Kendra looked up at her with wide hopeful eyes. Jeremiah laughed, “sure I may have been ahead in the game of Go Fish, but I’d say you are beating me in the game of…”

He flicked his wrist and pulls the queen of hearts from behind her ear, “queen of the table.” Kendra beamed at the idea of being the royalty of the table, “you mean princess!”

“But of course! I apologize profusely your majesty!” Jeremiah bowed his head. Phil, a balding man of reasonable build laughed deeply, “please Mr. Strong, don’t encourage her.”

Jeremiah straightened his back and smiled at Phil, his eyes wide and happy, “I’m sorry sir, she seemed to have just gotten the best of me.” He ruffled Kendra’s hair, forcing a playful scowl from the small girl.

Hannah laughed, nearly snorting, “you are a character Jeremiah Strong. Do you have any children?”

Jeremiah stuttered at the question, “no, no I don’t.”

Phil squinted, “Jeremiah, are you alright, you have rings around your eyes.”

A stone fell in Jeremiah’s stomach and he squirmed uneasily, “l-long day I suppose, I should go get some rest.” He stood up out of his chair a little faster than he should have, and his head was hit with a sudden dizziness.

“So suddenly?” Hannah asked, a sense of disappointment in her voice. Kendra pouted and tugged on Jeremiah’s pants, “you can’t go, we aren’t done playing yet.”

Jeremiah frowned and his voice sounded sad, “I’m sorry, next time.” Kendra’s pout got bigger and Jeremiah felt the stone in his stomach fester. He started to make his way to the door. Phil perked a brow at the sluggish way he was moving, “Do you need any coffee or anything?”

“N-no,” Jeremiah stuttered as a wash of cold enveloped him, causing his voice to shiver, “just rest, big day tomorrow you know. Take it easy guys!”

Before anyone could respond he slipped out the door and quickly jogged into his own room. His heart was pounding but his mind felt asleep and cold. He dove quickly for the computer shell.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he chanted to himself as he tried to peel the panel off with his fingertips, turning white from strain. After a heaven sent pop Jeremiah wrestled the bag of pills from the shell and ripped it open. He shoved a shaking hand into the pile and procured a small blue pill and popped it in his mouth, sighing a sigh of relief immediately after.

He felt it hit his stomach and almost instantly he fell to the ground, gasping for air. His throat felt swollen and before long his mouth was bone dry as he gasped. The gasped turned into violent dry heaves and he slammed his fist onto the floor with a crack, trying to swallow the pain of the violent outburst. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he collapsed like a rag doll, shaking aggressively and convulsing.

Then the attack stopped, and all he felt was a warm wash flow over his body like a tropical ocean. His mind laughed and his heart jumped back into action. His muscles burned and flexed, and a large white smile came over his face.

---

WHACK

Jeremiah’s hand slapped his metal door and it opened with a whoosh. He closed his eyes and took a step forward, waiting for his feet to give way, so he could float down to his heavenly pillows. Before he could even get his second foot through the door however, a tiny voice squeaked from the hall.

“Mr. Strong?” Kendra asked behind the man. Jeremiah arched his neck and looked over at the little girl, dressed in a child's pink nightgown of thick cotton, and stitched with cartoon characters.

With one eye open, Jeremiah looked over at her and leaned against the door frame, he yawned, “little early for bed don’t you think, princess?”

Kendra seemed to shuffle in her space and whined, “mommy made me, she always does when Daddy is drinking.”

Jeremiah’s other eye opened, a faint dark ring of fatigue carved below it. He stood up straight, “is everything okay?”

He knelt down and Kendra all but flopped on his knees. She looked up at him, and taking in his serious expression, she jutted out her bottom lip, wobbling it. She looked just as confused as the Engineer, choosing to bury her face into his lap rather than answer.

The man threaded a finger through her brown hair, and furrowed his brow. Any questions about getting involved were quickly crumpled and dismissed in the back of his mind. A single memory seemed to scream at him, and on an impulse, his heart jumped. He patted her head and lifted her chin up, “is everything okay?”

“Mommy…” Kendra whimpered, “mommy cries.”

Jeremiah lifted Kendra onto his hip and walked into his room, placing her down on a spare chair. He pointed a finger at her, “stay right here, okay?”

He looked over to his closet door, and swore he saw his gun glisten underneath a folded shirt. he shook his head and urgently walked out of his room. He practically leapt in front of Hannah’s door and tapped it open.

The door slide with a whoosh and he squinted to see in the dim light, his head kicking him from the start of his withdrawals. There was a gulp and he looked over to where they played cards. A dark figure sat on the chair alone, swallowing tears and choking on sobs.

“Hannah?” Jeremiah asked, taking a few steps forward. He quickly looked away once his eyes adjusted. Her shirt was torn, and she was exposed. A dark angry pit plopped into Jeremiah’s acidic stomach and he spoke again, “Hannah…”

“Jeremiah p-please go.” Hannah gurgled.

“And who the fuck is bothering me now!” A baritone roar boomed from the other room, forcing Hannah to wince and shrink into her chair. She brought her knees up to her chest. Jeremiah took a few steps forward. A sudden clunk! caused the man to reel back as glass shattered across his forehead.

He blinked his blurry eyes and realized a bottle had been thrown at him. His eyes shone bloodshot, and a rage swelled as a stumbling figure backgrounded by a dim light came into view, arms waving angrily,

Without much thought, Jeremiah burst by the table, flipping a chair on the way. He wasn’t sure if he was helping at this point, but a thick cloud of anger and addiction choked his reason. He ducked under a thrown fist and slammed his forehead down across Phil’s face.

Blood popped from both men, but only Jeremiah remained standing. The engineer pulled back and thrusted a foot forward, cleaving a heavy boot into the man’s rib with a faint crack. Phil turned over and started coughing hoarsely.

Jeremiah shook his head and turned to leave. He suddenly turned back and kicked the man once more but in the back, equally as hard. The man yelped and coughed roughly and Jeremiah kicked him again.

The Engineer turned to Hannah and saw that her tear stained face was wide in surprise, and hate. Jeremiah knew she was looking at him more as a monster than a hero, he knew this, and he felt terrible for it, but with all his will, he didn’t regret beating Phil down.

“Do-” Jeremiah started abruptly, “do you want me to walk you and Kendra down to the infirmary for the night?”

Hannah nodded silently shaking in her seat.

Traits

Earthling: Lucky isn’t the word when describing the form of Earthling Jeremiah was born to be. His parents were very poor and his father didn’t survive long enough to see Jeremiah off to high school, an institution he was forced to drop out of not due to grades, but money.

Ex-Military: Jeremiah is a veteran, though he doesn’t talk about it too much. It is where he honed his innate mechanical ability into a functioning skill as an engineer.

hobbyist: Growing up Jeremiah always had a fascination with technology and how things worked, often taking things apart and putting them back together, either electrical or mechanical he found a way. He also enjoys board games or riddles that challenge his intellect or causes him to think, even if he loses.

The unspeakable Unsurprisingly, he finished a rubix cube before.

Strengths

The Engineer: Through formal training as well as a natural born ability, Jeremiah is an amazing Engineer and mechanical whizz. This also makes him a quick thinker and even quicker with his fingers. There is nothing he can’t fix, and if he really can’t, he will eventually find an answer.

Military training: while never his strong suit and definitely not his most defined trait, Jeremiah can use fire arms effectively as well as larger military vehicles. He is your average pilot, useful when there is no one else.

A smile and a nod: Jeremiah is a fun guy, always eager to please those around him and a lover of conversation so far as it steers in the right direction. He is a social butterfly and always eager to make the best impressions. He is often liked for his honesty as well as his light way of speaking, both useful for when the shit hits the fan.

Weaknesses

Addict: By some untold past, Jeremiah has gotten himself secretly addicted to a very powerful synthetic drug known as “Joy”, this drug was once a military experiment to help create super soldiers, but failed horribly and all damages were covered up by a private company, and scientists who worked on the project were either paid off or disappeared. The drug found its way to the streets, and now is a rare, and dangerous street drug with an intense high. The addiction is almost always fatal, and upon withdrawing most subjects die in a few days as the drug leaves their body. The withdrawal symptoms before death are none too pretty either. Among his drug addiction, he also suffers from Alcoholism and a night terrors.

Hidden depression: he as with most people has his mask and his face. He is trying to keep up the facade of who he was before everything happened, forcing himself to be the witty young man who had the whole world to look forward to. He is nice, he is kind, he wants to be that hero everyone loves, (although he can never be the right kind of hero and usually causes more harm than good), he lives in a delusion that he can pretend to be who he was until he dies, constantly asking himself how many more years of this he has to do before he can just sleep forever, and be forgotten. He is scared. He doesn't want his name spoken too much, he doesn't want to be remembered or recognized, but he still has that old flame of hope from his youth itching in his chest under the veil of his actions that killed any hopes of what he once wanted.It was his fault. He lives in the past to ignore the hole he is in, even going as far as to listen to songs he used to listen to to pretend he is far far away and nothing happened and everything is fine.

Unlikely Hero: Sometimes he tries too hard to be the hero, making things much worse than before or not giving a proper solution to the problem.

Self-inflicted: He almost never goes out of his way to ask for help.

Sensitive topics He is very clear about topics he does not want to discuss... like the government.

[Briza]

Eimi Nox: Eiko Niebo Version 2.0 - The Angsty Hacker Edition

---

---

"Death often is the point of life’s joke."

Vladimir Nabokov, Laughter in the Dark

---

---

Name

Eimi Nox

Age

19

Appearance

Eimi is a lean, pale-skinned girl with a grim and almost too-stiff demeanor layered by an almost all-too-cliché sarcastically stoic attitude, which she embraces like a champion of teenage angst and dark humor. Her dress might be conservative if only it were not so eccentric and masculine. It is rare to see her in anything baring too much skin (have you seen her nightgown?), but if she’s taking her off her blazer, be warned — her concentrated temper is about to explode (out of the barrel of a gun, mind you).

Although, Eimi stands a little above average height, her demeanor is rather quiet. It’s safe to say, her shadow makes more of a presence than she does, unless her snark makes an unannounced visit, in which case, a good quick witted neg of conversation might be in order. Her dark, black hair is kept blunt and short, cut with bangs that do wonders at accentuating her smoky, cynical green eyes. An unlit cigarette butt usually sticks out of her thin lips. Sometimes, she’ll even light and smoke it. However, the rolled tobacco and paper pressed simply in-between her lips is enough to keep her round, austere face from looking too vulnerable (if her pessimistic attitude doesn’t do it for her). She honestly really would like to avoid catching too many people off guard with her pinch-able cheeks and button nose. It gets a bit lagging and annoying after a while.

Oh, and the ‘earbuds’ are obviously decent for more than communication and technological stability (they’re rigged to a pretty interesting device). They are also fully capable of playing some good tunes to drown-out the deadbeat questions of life

Traits

Being a noticeably, outwardly-looking perfunctory type of character, Eimi actually has no problem going-with-the-flow, even if she’ll openly grumble about it half the time. She has to show her teenage rebellion somehow or another — it’s part of being normal. Plus, what’s a lady without a backbone? A whore — that’s what; and Eimi isn’t about to stoop that low. Besides, what would Wes say?

One of her pastimes is simply listening to music (what are the teen years for, if not engaging in popular culture of some sort?). Unlike her rigid appearance, though, Eimi has no real set genre of music to which she listens and thoroughly enjoys space travel for the experience of listening to the various and different music-types around the Solar System. It also saddens her a bit whenever a song gets stuck in her head, and she has no real means of listening to it after The Absolute Magnitude gets directed to the next mission. So, hearing Eimi make a half-assed hum when not wearing her headphones isn’t too uncommon (maybe recording it should start becoming a game plan of hers).

Eimi also spends time ghosting through computers. Sitting in a dark room and tapping away at glowing computer screens with her ‘earbuds’ generating whatever music it can find is probably what has come of her pale skin complexion. She’s pretty passionate about it, though. In fact, just like hearing her half-assed hums, it’s not too uncommon to hear her groaning and mumbling about some shodd-job she managed to mess-up online.

History

Don’t be fooled by Eimi’s Japanese first name, she’s not from Mars (she has hazel eyes!). Although, she does hold quite a bit of Martian blood in her. Someone down the line pulled himself up by his bootstraps and made a voyage from Mars to lead a better life, away from all the convolution and crime of the shadow planet. It must not have been too far down the line because Eimi’s first bounty was hunting down her older brother, Jun, a Gold fugitive, initiated with the men of the yakuza.

Okay, so, whatever, she didn’t really, really hunt him down. She had that sisterly insight on things, which was, of course, Jun’s mistake. Eimi wanted and needed the money, and well, the rest is history.

Her father, Ken Nox, also worked as a Tech Dealer. This worked in favor of Eimi’s knowledge of computers and other such electronics, but it also helped introduce her brother to the darker side of some innocent seemingly customers. Without either, though, Eimi knows she wouldn’t be where she is today, and she’s still deciding if that’s good or bad or just some absurd fate she’ll never truly understand that might as well be drowned out by the sound of music.

Hidden History

Ken Nox was no Captain of Industry, having been born and raised on one of the ultra-wealthy moons of Jupiter, but he knew technology — just like his father, his grandfather, and presumably his great-grandfather. So, yeah, it could pretty much be hypothesized that The Nox Family were some sort of black-tech dealers back on Mars. However, Ken’s grandfather liked to look at things a bit differently, and by differently, he just never spoke of how or why the Noxes were into the hacking and dealing. It just was.

Of course, It just was wasn’t good enough for Jun, and therefore, it wasn’t good enough for Eimi, either. It probably would have been okay for Eimi because she wasn’t always the deepest thinker as a child, but she looked up to her Goddamn brother. He was her hero. Everything she could do, he could do better, and everything he could do, she wanted to be able to do. Like, when he started smoking cigarettes, Eimi was right behind him. In fact, speaking of cigarettes, it was this little dirty habit that lead Eimi into pirating (she’s quiet; it was easy). Not only were cigarettes just kind of an expensive habit for an underaged girl like herself, but hey, it also gave her some cool points with the older guy.

Anyways, Jun wasn’t really a hero or a good guy, but Eimi just was really not the deepest thinker like that. Her brother was a knight to her, not that she’d ever use that kind of terminology in a serious manner, but pedantics-shemantics. However you wanna word it, Jun was pretty aware of his little sister’s eager feelings towards him, and he was ready and willing to use her eagerness. There was even this unspoken rule Jun’s ‘buddies’ immediately picked up on: sure, his dumb broad of a sister was no angel, but she was better off not knowing the truth about Jun.

Jun had charisma like that. He pulled people with his charm. So, it wasn't really a big surprise that when he went looking for trouble, trying to figure out the secret history of his surname, he found the trouble he was looking for, and the assumption was spot on: Black-Tech Dealers. Dirty, filthy, rich tech dealers -- the complete opposite of the modest family business working humble hours to make ends meet. That's all they’d ever be on Jupiter, poor, grimy weapon dealers.

Not on Mars.

So what if he had to wash his hands of someone else’s blood every now and again? The amount of power he could accumulate in a small amount of time -- milking his last name’s legacy. Nox was a blast from the past, some niche legend that the older generation occasionally recalled from some memorable story. This was his calling: bringing life back to his family’s name, and he wasn't going to leave Eimi behind… yet.

Eimi never saw her family as poor (her current fashion could probably tell anyone that). They lived on Jupiter for all such sake, but her brother knew how to work her. She was, after all, a naive, physically underdeveloped fifteen year old girl at the time. She didn't have Jun’s exact charisma, but she could smile cute and fake a pretty twinkle in an unsuspecting manner. She also knew how to whip a gun like she’d been doing it her whole life (her brother called it, ‘Faking confidence’). He started her out with small jobs, kind of like the stealing of cigarettes and pocket change but a bit bigger and with more responsibility and backlash if failed. It didn't take long for Eimi to start hacking on the adrenaline and thrill of the rewards, and in return, Jun let her know what was up.

He never gave her the full story, though. Hell, he didn't even give his best friend the full story. He was so hush-hush it made some people wonder how he got so much business and trust. Eimi knew it was his silence that gave him the authority, and she respected him for it. So did his best friend, Wesley Jderoiu. Others might have respected him for being tall, angry, murderous -- but not Eimi, nor Wes. They both respected and loved Jun; and maybe it was Eimi and Wes’ understanding of Jun that made their relationship; or maybe it was something else. Either way, the big guy never fully approved.

There could have been a conglomerate of reasons as to why Jun despised their interests in each other: age, business, drugs, insight; the list could go on. However, Eimi has the hardest time understanding why Jun threw Wes to the wolves. It was not as if he just discarded Wes for any good reason. Anyone could have taken Wes’ place. It was a fucking suicide mission, and Wes had no bloody clue. Jun played him like a pawn. And, Eimi? Heh, yeah, Eimi couldn’t believe it had taken her so damn long to figure out who her brother was.

Power. Greed. Hunger.

Slowly, Eimi let herself drift out of Jun’s group. It was as if, after Wes’ death, Jun was different. He wasn’t remorseful or even the least bit empathetic (nor sympathetic) towards Eimi. If anything, he gave her the cold shoulder. It was as if he was trying to teach her a lesson for something she didn’t know she had done wrong, and eventually, she was a nobody to him -- until she turned his ass in.

Granted, it took her several years to do it. Moping aside, it took a while before she could work her way back into the system after seeing the proceeds of her brother’s worth. He wasn’t just pawning people, he was pawning parties; and the stakes were kind of high.

No one had to thank Eimi for her work, though. Getting a hold of her brother, and hearing him beg and plead for his life like a fucking baby before she proceeded to trade him in for a her goodies was decent enough, materially, anyways. She was still Eimi, Jun’s dumb broad of a sister, and Wes was always going to stay dead. Her coming of age had literally been some brainwashed black market con-job. She could go home and look her parents in the eyes and tell them about the time she killed a few guys with the press of several buttons and a click from behind the sanctity of her computer screen or how she almost killed Jun instead of turning his body in for a bounty.

She was a criminal, a murderer. There really was no going back.

She wasn’t a prodigal daughter; there was no fatted calf; and everything her family had worked so hard for: God, she was a dumb broad (not that she was about to admit it out loud).

At least, she's got music to drown her out… and now, The Absolute Magnitude.

Strengths

Sly She only started pick-pocketing at a decent enough age to know a thing or two about quick, sticky fingers. She’s a real space pirate, just look at her swanky clothing. No, but really, she’s not just a key puncher that gets in-and-out as quickly as possible, she’s careful about it, too. In fact, if she wasn’t so goddamn blunt and honest, her slyness might be somewhat threatening. Just look what her brother did with his cunning nature.

Technology Specialist She's got decent problem solving skills, so tinkering and fiddling with gadgets are all fair play. Plus, her father was a Licensed Tech Dealer. What could she not know? (A bit, but hey -- no one's perfect, and that's not saying she ain't a specialist.) In regards to things like hacking -- this is generally when Eimi turns up her music. There’s nothing like racing through the back door and robbing the system blind. Sometimes, she’ll even have an after-hack smoke.

Curious Her curiosity could either be a pro or a con, but she prefers to think of it as a positive characteristic (given her sly nature). It seems like a decent trait to have when socializing, escaping from a tight situation, or treasure hunting. It kind of adds a similar seasoning like bravery or courage to her apathetically held face. As well, if she wasn’t curious, how would she ever get out of all those sticky situations she keeps hacking into?

Honest Even though Eimi comes off as hasty or snarky, she is a bit of a blunt truth seeker. To say she’ll never tell a lie would be a lie in itself. She’s a flawed creature just like the rest of ‘em. With that said, she thinks playing with sugar-coated bullshit seems like an inefficient waste of time, anyways. If you want her thoughts or reasoning, Eimi will beat the bush as many times as she deems necessary as opposed to skirting the issue or missing the mark. So yes, Eimi will tell it how it is (from her standpoint, ‘cause that’s probably the best she can do). However, if she truthfully needs to withhold information in exchange for something she can’t get any other way, she might just do so.

Weaknesses

Nosy She’s not just curious, but she is also nosy and has the tendency to ask inappropriate questions in a careless pursuit to know more about a person. She’s also fair game for pretending to listen to her headphones but actually be eavesdropping on a conversation. If they didn’t wanna be heard, why would they make it so easy for her to hear them? She wouldn’t go so far as to snoop through someone’s room, but that’s not to say she wouldn’t tinker given the golden opportunity.

Impatient Maybe if Eimi had more patience she would have actually mastered some program or wouldn’t ruddy poke at people’s personal information or something, but such is not the case. So, here she is on The Absolute Magnitude, attempting to piece together everyone’s stories like she’ll never understand her own without knowing everything about everyone else, first. Likewise, Eimi can be rash or careless, and her curiosity does not always help to edge some of those dark or angsty impulses. So far, her recklessness hasn’t gotten herself killed, yet, but that’s not to say her backstory proves it to be useful.

Selfish Sure, Eimi is honest and wants to get to know everyone, and yes, she is even out there bounty hunting, capturing criminals for the good of society. Hell, she even holds a bitter grudge against her selfish brother (Who woulda thought?). However, at the end of the day, she’s really just doing it for herself, and if she ends up helping people along the way — hey, more power to her. Unfortunately, she’ll save herself before putting her neck on the line. She’s not actually trying to get herself killed; it’s the other guy she’s trying to kill. So, if she does put her neck on the line, she probably has a really good reason.

Offensive Operating consoles isn't necessarily the job for a defensive person. It could be, but all defense and no offense is definitely bad strategy. However, in all seriousness, Eimo aims to kill not wound, and this little knack comes at a price along side of how honesty isn't always nice. So, Eimo’s strong point really isn't particularly in polite manners or thinking. That's not how you get the job done, especially as moody teenager. With that said, losing a wits battle has always been a peeve, so a gruff attitude can easily be unveiled to shield the intellectual blows (she’s not a dumb broad, right?). Unfortunately, her temperament or annoyed, careless attitude is definitely a present fixture on her face, which is not the most pleasant thing to have in close quarters. That's not to say she's always getting into fights -- just look at her general complacency, and besides, music is medicine for the soul. Why else would she be so addicted to her headphones? Oh yeah, because she hates herself.

[Dioxide]

Quayhoggr Deevee

_{We’re all a little weird. And life is a little weird. And when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them and fall into mutually satisfying weirdness —and call it love— true love.}

Name

Quayhoggr Deevee

Age

27

Appearance

Quayhoggr is a very generic person in appearance. “Just open up Folder A, Subfolder 1, insert [small eyes] then we’re good.” his favourite, sad joke about himself. Average height and skin colour make him unpronounced in crowds. His hair looks unkempt but really it is uncared for, past his idea of what is considered important. His clothes speak of him as a civilian that wants to be prepared for the worst of weather at any time, yet the attire has to be feasible for comfort and ease: he dons a trench coat with numerous pockets to speak of over his simple long-sleeve cotton shirt and work trousers - such a style that beckons and demands a change to make him less dull. A satchel hangs over his shoulder and lays calmly on his back, for he is not ever without several notebooks of keynotes, stationary, and maybe a weapon or two.

Traits

Eccentric and Obsessive: One does not arrive to his calibre of skill-set without being slightly deranged, pedantic, and fussy. This trait manifests through his entire personality, from having weird outbursts of high energy , crossing interactional boundaries, and possessing an unquenchable desire to experience anything he has never experienced.

Genius and Easily Bored: His obsessiveness is matched only by his high IQ. He is the personification of “having a scientific mind with an artistic soul,” being able to acquiring so much knowledge as well as be able to process, dissect, and organize them very well.

With basically a computer for a brain, he becomes easily bored of daily life and many minor, this explains the first trait he has.

Amoral: Quayhoggr has forsaken pretty much his basic acceptance or even knowledge of what is right or wrong in place for pursuit of “more interesting things to take in.” An unfortunate trait, that he could be the nicest guy with an empty heart.

To put it in another perspective, he has little care for ‘trivial things” and is fascinated by the many processes of the world. If a person dies, Deevee cares for people’s genuine physical reaction rather than consider the emotional and social significance.

Strengths

Linguist: Deevee showed promise and prowess in mastering many different languages ever since the age of three.

The theory is for any accomplishment for acquisition of a language, it is less about exercising grammar really well rather than it is more about having the intuitive, cognitive sense to know how to speak it well. Deevee has shown during his training that this intuition comes so quickly and rapidly to him that learning a new alien tongue takes less than a week, if not a few days.

In this case, he has mastered many of the galactic languages such as English, Japanese, Martian, and Titanean, with moderate - and currently working to develop - fluencies in Mandarin Chinese and Spanish. He is familiar with most scripts and writing styles, as well as reproducing certain dialectal sounds and accents - so much so that he often speaks for hours and days in another tongue.

Communicator: Learning a language lends the ability to look into human nature. Deevee is a fanatic and sometimes evangelist for different cultures, histories, customs, ideals, and values. This skill makes any communication with any stranger less uncomfortable for he does not prescribe before analyzing. He is completely immune to ideological predispositions, and his open mind is flexible and ever-accepting.

This has even led him to be really good at playing with people, be it through their emotions, lying, misdirection, and even acting. Deceptive, and lethal, but only when he wants to be.

Collector/Archivist: Hoarding mementos, relics, trophies, the sorts, is something of a predilection of his. This has given him a great mental stamina so much so that he could go on for days without sleep in pursuit for the perfection of his craft. His attention to detail matched only by his fluid verbal and written prose.

Plus, Deevee does not have a fantastic memory nor a great recall in fact. His intuition for language is insane. His retention of many things might as well not exist, however, thus spawning the practised competence as a librarian of sorts.

Weaknesses

All Brain. No Brawn: It is as it is: Deevee is a nerd with no combat training, weapons training, nor vehicle training whatsoever. He has been known to delegate these duties to other people, having his cryptic brain kept safe.

Overpowering Curiosity: Curiosity killed the cat and it could kill Deevee one day. In the start of a shootout, he is the first to run and hide, but by golly is his desire to see the scene of the shootout going to make him stick his head out to watch. This weakness of his has made him irritable to figure out the answer, and decisions will be based solely on a cultural utilitarian point of view. Nosy, impatient, indefatigable, he can be very demanding.

Knows no Bounds: It would be brutally wrong to say that Quayhoggr is socially inept, for his line of work demands that he knows lots of different social cues. It is better to say he is daring to cross boundaries, and feels that consequences and expectations are arbitrary and temporary. “If the people of this culture could do it, why shouldn’t we?” he would think.

Periodic Self-loathing Quayhoggr’s want for other things has made him detached and miss out on most relationship development and his own Jupiterian origin. There are people by his side but they might never pass the level of “acquaintance,” not by fault of him not wanting to, but because of not knowing how to. He has a deep-seeded expectation that people ought to be accepting and wanting of him, but when the assumption does not meet the reality, sadness, loneliness, and self-hating come in.

As for his origins, he believes that the way of life that his background had set out for him is a prison-like sentence of deteriorating staleness.

[Darkspleen]

Lynnette Fortier

Fossil

_{”Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.}

Name

Lynnette “Fossil” Fortier

Age

34

Appearance

The first thing people tend to notice about Lynnette is her unusually pale skin and hair. The second is her height which is at the high end for women. She possess the type of visage that tends to draw the eye and hold its attention, if not due to her pale skin and hair then because of her comely face, one that tends to posses an expression of amusement. Her hair, which she insists is platinum and not grey or white, is usually allowed to fall below her waist, although she will put it up into a ponytail or some other style if she needs to keep it out of her way. As for garments she prefers form fitting clothes, her favorite being a grey tight jumpsuit that complements her hair color. Usually her favorite revolver and kukri can be found resting on her waist.

Traits

Albino: Simple bad luck resulted in her being born with this rare disorder.

Lunarian: Born an American and proud of it! Lynette spent most of her life on the moon and only recently began traveling beyond American borders.

Ex-Cop: What was she doing before leaving home? Enforcing the law. She was even a member of SWAT for a while.

Biker: She’s the kind of person that enjoys rider a bike, whether that be a motorcycle or hover bike.

Past

There’s not much to say about her past. She had a normal family and childhood. When she graduated from college she decided to follow in her father’s footsteps and become a cop. It was something she proved good at. She was the kind of cop that would go the extra mile for the citizens, giving people rides in her car when it rained, playing around with the neighborhood kids, that sort of thing. Needless to say she was well liked in the community.

Eventually she was recruited into the local SWAT unit, which she spent several years in. It was at this time that she gained the nickname “Fossil”, due to her pale skin and hair. And then something tragic happened. Her actions led to the death of someone. She was placed on administrative leave for a time; eventually she was allowed to return to the force. For a time she was content to try and redeem herself, but it soon became clear that her comrades would not be quick to forget what had occurred. The hushed whispers and looks of disgust and, far worse, disappointment proved to be too much for Lynnette. She soon retired from the police force.

For a time she was content to remain on the Moon and work as a private detective. Eventually, however, she decided to leave her old life entirely behind her. She departed her old home, working as a bounty hunter before running into the crew of the Absolute Magnitude.

Strengths

Close Combat Specialist: Any fight that takes place from arm’s reach to fifty feet beyond is within her realm of expertise. She has been trained in the use of various types of weapons ranging from submachine guns and pistols to knives and her very body. Her favorite weapons are her old style revolver and her kukri knife, although she is more than comfortable using martial arts when the situation calls for it.

Breach and Entry: Bad guys holed up in a room? Door locked? Lynette’s your girl! Whether it be through the use of lockpicks, explosives, or a cutting torch she knows how to get through that door, no matter how secure it may appear. Better yet she is well practiced in the correct way to enter a room filled with hostiles once the door has been breached.

Lithe: She’s not merely flexible or agile, all of her movements possess a graceful quality. This quality seems to seep into everything she does whether that be fighting or simply walking.

Charmer: Lynette seems to just naturally get along with people. People listen to her when she speaks. The way she holds herself, her tone of voice and facial expression, even the look in her eyes seems to draw people in.

Weaknesses

Ranged Combat: One would think that, given how skilled she is at close combat, she would possess some skill with longer ranged weapons. This is most certainly not the case. Past sixty feet she really begins to struggle to hit her targets. It's so bad that she doesn’t even bother using rifles anymore.

Computer Noob: In all groups there is that one person who seems to find all the websites with viruses, forget their passwords, and only update their OC when forced to because learning the new features is too hard. Lynette is one of those people. She does have a basic understanding of technology and how it works, but it's probably better for all involved if she only uses it to surf the web. And someone should probably run a virus scan whenever she gets off.

On her Shoulders: Lynnette tends to not trust others to do their part and will take on more than she can handle if allowed. This can cause her to become overwhelmed, stressed, and lose sleep. None of these are good ailments to have.

Moral High Ground: Perhaps it's because of her old career, or simply her personality, but Lynnette insists on maintaining the moral high ground at all costs. This means only taking government sanctioned jobs, no unnecessary use of violence, and the lives of civilians must be protected at all costs.

The Sun is her Bane: Due to her albinism Lynnette is not on the best of terms with the Sun. Granted it's not like direct sunlight is acid to her, but she is at increased risk of getting sunburns and skin cancer. Because of this she tries to avoid direct sunlight when feasible and uses a lot of sunscreen.