CorviDoggo

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Sorrel made it out.

He made it out alive.

He got to talk to his doctor again. He got to see his cat again. He got to see his moths again. He got to see the bees again. He got to see his garden again. He got to go to his date tomorrow— how… would he explain his wounds to his date? Well— now that he escaped alive, he got to think that dilemma through, in his own time.

The food was already in the fridge, already prepared. His outfit was already planned. His weird cat’s meals are already covered by a friendly neighbor. He finished all his chores in the morning. It was fine- he could rest now.

Sorrel, the man dressed as the infamous Gamma-Burn, passed out on a raft in the expansive sewer systems, one of many belonging to the network of Ground Zero. He was lucky that, even though none of these people were exactly his close friends, these people cared for him as he cared for them, like any good society. It was much later when he woke up in a hospital bed, all bandaged up and with a bunch of machines monitoring him.

At least he was alive. At least he made it out alive. And, now, he could go back to his two shipping containers worth of private space, feed his slugcat friend, and go the fuck to sleep.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Gamma-Burn screamed. While he could shake off the disgusting skin beetles that tried to break into his flesh, he couldn’t exactly shake off the horn, or the giant stab wound from the horn that messed up his shoulder. It was safe to say the man could no longer use his arm at that moment— and, safer to say, Sorrel overstayed his welcome. The specter now focused on running away, as far as possible, as quickly as possible… he had to retreat, he couldn’t fight anymore.

Silver lining! That launch gave him a bit more distance between him and the lumbering beast— it threw him into the open, but the open was next to dense and thorny bushes, and Sorrel could take any cover he could get. While the man could no longer freely jump and swing around, he could still run, and he could still just get himself entirely lost within the greenery until he could crawl underground and call for help.

𖤐 Hell's Renegades 𖤐

Bezaliel spent his morning on the ceiling’s support beams— after all, it was the only space where he had peace and didn’t have to share with all of the others. Though, he didn’t mind sharing space with some of them. That still didn’t mean they were a pack, though. When the nurses came in, he stumbled while trying to lean down and dropped a hunk of cheese on the ground. The Angel never heard of the whole five second rule and whatnot, but still promptly dove down for that cheese hunk and ate it. A nurse walked up to Bezaliel with a smile— it seemed it was always the same nurse, a plump woman with curly hair, and one of the few personnel in this shithole that treated Bezaliel with the kindness a person deserves.

“Hey, hon,” she started, holding out the binder and a little baggie, “it’s time for your medications.”

Bezaliel knew the drill already, going to the comfort of his room to get an oral medication in probably the most awkward way possible— a syringe with a rubber end, meant to feed down his lanky throat so it wouldn’t go into his avian respiratory system on accident. Apparently, at least according to the doctor who saw to Bezaliel regularly, this was better for birds than taking pills, and beyond the inconvenience of having to crouch down and having the plump nurse give him medicine, it seemed it was working for him well enough. He was pulling out his feathers less often, and he felt a little less listless— those were good signs, right?

The second that kind nurse told him he was ready to go back out, he bolted straight for his little to-go box, and opened it to find a slab of raw sea bass. He always loved fish! He wished the hunting grounds he was taken to had fish, but apparently those are watery animals, unlike the almost identical looking and tasting ones in his home plane.

As the oversized bird scarfed down his breakfast with a happy chirp, he noticed the whole group gathering by the couch and talking about… fisneywlrld? D—disney wld? Didny wol?

“D…ISNey… worlD? What IS disneyw…ORLd?”

Bezaliel then climbed over almost everyone sitting on the couch just to perch at the raised edge, turning to Roy, the man that Bezaliel saw as an Elder in this slapped-together disgrace of a pack.

“What DOIN?”

The Seven

Xian Haoran, The Black Jade

-Surname: Xian (仙, Immortal or celestial, can denote “fairy”)
-Given Name: Tao (濤, the sound of the sea)
-Courtesy Name: Haoran (浩然, “vastness, greatness”)

"Why wait for death when I could give it to you so tenderly?"

✚ BASICS ✚

⥼ AGE and BIRTHDAY ⥽
25 ─ November 4th

⥼ IDENTITY ⥽
male ─ cis man ─ he/him

⥼ STATISTICS ⥽
5’6” ─ 157 lbs ─ sleek and densely built

✚ APPEARANCE ✚

Xian Haoran is a traveling cultivator, hailing from a cultivation sect in the northern islands. He wears traditional, noble Hanfu instead of cumbersome metal armor, opting for mostly blue and black shades of fabrics, and letting all of his beautiful layers of silk billow in the wind. He has a fairly sharp V-shaped face with undefined, pouty lips and an even, sloped button nose. His eyes are shaped like willow leaves, and the irises glitter a dark blue-purple shade like storms. The eyes themselves look tired, shadowed by his long, downcast lashes and a severe-looking set of brows. Haoran tends to wear his long, dark hair half-up, opting for tying a loose bun with a dark blue ribbon matching his deep-water eyes. Two moles speckle his otherwise jade-pale face, one under his right eye and one on the left side of his chin, under his lip. He always stands with dignity and great posture, a long neck framing his pristine and aloof face.

✚ PERSONALITY ✚

Clever─ Playful ─ Protective ⤄ Distant ─ Vengeful ─ Hot-Headed

There was a long time ago when Haoran had compassion in his heart, when he’d sit and heal people, when he’d take as much time as needed to help others— almost as if he was making up for lost time, out in the west of the archipelago. He seldom showed his emotions, seeming stoic, but still had a gentle smile and a friendly shine in his once ocean blue eyes. Since he was little, he was trained in swordsmanship and magic, and all of this culminated into a strong, gentle, and infinitely patient young man— diligent in his teachings, never skipping or snuffing a single lesson, never raising his voice, able to wait and meditate and simply learn and teach to perfection. The Black Jade never repeated himself, always able to wait, to observe, and to flow with what others presented him.
It seems, after such a long slumber, a switch flipped in Xian Haoran’s head. He can’t sit in peace and think of the world without thinking about why everything should die for the suffering he faced. He can’t train and hone his skills unless he pictures blood staining his blade and bones cracking under his fists. His gratefulness, his gentleness, it’s all been replaced with ever-flowing turmoil deep in his chest, and resentment in all forms bubble and boil. There’s no such thing as perfect moments anymore. He seldom waits, and when he waits, he waits for prey to fall into a trap. His heart got hollowed out by memories awoken, and he struggles to feel anything but rage and pain. Though, now that he has room to be more than a kindly and distant disposition, he’s become a little more mischievous, showing a quick wit and snark that has long been beaten down. There’s no more reason for him to sit and ponder and train in silence, unless it is to get revenge on a world that shred the fabric of his being into nothing but rags.
Much has changed, and now, blood will run for the sake of his own solace.

⥼ ORIENTATION ⥽
Homosexual ─ homoromantic

⥼ THEME SONGS ⥽
“Magnolia (Cover)” ─ zoozbuh
“Myosotis (Cover)” ─ Chogakusei
“Marigold (Cover)” ─ BEKAIN

✚ STRENGTHS ✚

⥼ FOCUS CORE ⥽
Blood, extremely advanced

⥼ APPLICATIONS ⥽
Haoran’s core was the strongest his sect had seen in generations, making him exceptionally talented in magic pertaining to his aspect. From a young age, this man has had a profound understanding of the aspect— for example, he can control water so acutely he can take it out from the humidity of the air, find water in plants, and even control the water in the blood of human beings and other animals. He understands water and the link with life it possesses, and through it he has spells so strange some people wouldn’t be able to guess where he managed to develop them from. Water-based magic, for Haoran, is almost second nature, to the point he may rely on his magic a bit too much— but what harm can that do..? He knows how to use water for healing, for blocking, for dodging, for moving, even for extending the edge of his crystalline sword with ice, or sending frozen dagger projectiles to any targets around him. Truly, his magic and form is the epitome of flexibility and flow, though… he often sees his magic as a first and last resort. The following “spells” are actually not properly named, just examples of his most common uses of his abilities.

⥼ SPELLS ⥽
Water Whip ─ a simple and low-cost spell involving Haoran taking a bit of water from a source such as a lake, a bottle, or even the humidity in the air, and using it for many things— including, but not limited to: literally whipping enemies, grabbing things out of Haoran’s reach, and defending his blind spot.
Ice Travel ─ Haoran and his party is not limited to just the ground. He can easily summon pillars, bridges, and platforms with ice, and because of it can get places faster with people he cares about.
Healing ─ with water and some focus, Haoran can channel energy through water to heal various wounds and illnesses— he may use a whole body of water for intensive healing, or a palmful of water that floats on his hand to heal injuries in a pinch.
Fluidity ─ water moves and adapts around anything it comes in contact with, and so does Haoran. With this spell, he stops and simply allows things to pass around him like fluid water— essentially a fast dodge.
Shadow Hopping ─ with enough water, Haoran can vanish into the humidity of the air, or even a puddle, and quickly pop up somewhere else.
Shadow Puppeteer ─ Haoran can focus on the blood within living things and force them around, usually to grapple or incapacitate. Before his slumber, he never used this technique. Now, it’s one of his favorites to employ.
Ice Blade ─ Haoran can use sharp daggers of ice, both as pure projectiles and as extensions or modifications to his attacks. He can even form ice on his sword if needed, using it as an extension or a power-up.

⥼ KEY of VIRTUE ⥽
His virtue key and primary weapon is a Chinese “jian,” in other words a two-edged sword, forged by Aleksei long ago based off of Haoran’s description of “good swords.” This sword was forged in some otherworldly manner— its blade extremely sharp and opalescent, as if a giant fiery opal was polished and honed into a lethal edge. it has an off-putting translucency to it, the hilt contrasting the glittering and ethereal blade with a simple but flowing hilt and a pommel with its name engraved in mandarin characters— “微光,” meaning “twilight.” It has the ability to use its stored magical energy to move on its own accord, and channel energy from Haoran to be controlled with just his mind. In the last days before his entombment, Haoran tied a dark blue sword tassel to the pommel, for “good luck.” The irony.

⥼ SKILLS and HOBBIES ⥽
Playing the dizi (a type of flute) ─ playing the guqin (a type of seven-stringed zither) ─ singing — swordsmanship

✚ HISTORY ✚

Xian Tao was born in late autumn to a spiritual cultivation sect in the easternmost parts of the continent: the Xian sect. For generations, the Xian family and all the disciples have studied the various arts and schools of magic, learning how to strengthen themselves, their weapons, and their spirits. His mother, Hua Yuemeng, resented how small and delicate he was, expecting him deeper in the winter months— yes, she was married off very early, and yes, she herself was still very young… maybe her midwives were right, saying she needed to put on more weight to carry a baby better. Then again, she was only seventeen, being sent to the Xian sect to wed the eldest son of the sect leader and heir to that spiritual throne when she was sixteen. Sure, Xian Yichen was… thirty… but this marriage benefitted both of their families! And he was strong and tall, surely they’d have a great child, right..?
The only good news was that Yuemeng’s firstborn was a son. That firstborn still came a month early, and… looked sick, tiny, almost like if she held the baby’s limbs too hard they’d snap. One of the midwives even suggested just “letting go” of the tiny thing in her arms, to let the earth retake him. Her major qualm with that was.. wouldn’t it be unlucky to spit the gods in the face, to say “this son isn’t good enough” to them? It’d certainly be too much to expect them to apologize and give her something better than the little baby boy in her arms. Along with that, she… didn’t want to go through those horrid seven or eight months again, and she didn’t want the pain of childbirth again.
When she approached her husband and father in law, they didn’t seem too happy about Xian Tao’s existence, either. They probably expected a strong baby, a healthy baby who didn’t need medicine the second he came out of the womb, a baby who could hold the Xian family name. Little Xian Tao, while not killed by the grace of his mother, was still rejected by his father in every way but officially. It was actually Lady Xian who noticed her small and sickly son start using magic at 18 months, the same time he got a grasp on walking, and it was all on his own! He was seen playing with the water in a fishpond in the courtyard, stumbling around like toddlers like going, and Hua Yuemeng just had to call her husband over to witness the sickly child effortlessly move spheres of water with fish in them.
Sometimes, Lady Xian wished she never pointed out their son’s talent to her husband. Maybe she would have kept raising the sickly child, and then he would’ve learned to laugh and smile. It was fine at first— Lady Xian often sat in the courtyard as Xian Yichen very gently taught their son more about the core of Blood that he seemed so talented in. When little Xian Tao was four, Xian Yichen started teaching him magic alongside the eight year old disciples. And then, when he was eight and already *stronger* than the masters when most children his age barely started to learn magic, Hua Yuemeng stopped seeing her sweet son.
She never wanted to question how her son disappeared, how she barely saw the small child— and, when she saw him, he just stared.. absently. She pretended to ignore distant screams and cries, and she pretended to ignore the bruises she found at bath time, and she pretended to ignore all the signs that little Xian Tao was exhausted. Hua Yuemeng still sat there with her son, still comforted him, still tried her best to maybe ease the intense training he was thrown into far too soon, but… something changed in that child’s curious mind, and made his deep blue eyes ever distant.
She still got to sit there and watch her son learn many other things— history, calligraphy, cultivation principles, how to play the seven-stringed guqin and the flute, how to shoot a with a bow and arrow how to fight, but… she never saw Xian Tao’s magic courses again.
She learned why, when her son vanished at the end of fall, at his tenth birthday. Xian Tao returned to her with his beautiful, dark blue eyes, but… they were hollow. His skin, too, already pale like white jade, looked ashen instead of lively. The worst part was when her son asked for help with… an injury.
The image burned into her mind. On her only child’s back, her once tender son, she saw the Xian insignia branded onto him, the burn of a circle with a beautiful orchid upon it deep and welted and clear. Not only was that brand on his left shoulderblade, but she saw strange runes trailing down his entire left side, starting from below the shoulder blade and ending at his lower hip. As she put ointment on them, she noticed two things— these strange sigils were… carved into her little Xian Tao, and they pulsed with a strange, blue energy. This… was the last straw. How could her husband treat her son like that?! How could the sect itself be okay with this?!
Lady Xian decided to look through the sect’s literature— she was sure whatever was going on was written into some of the scrolls kept in her wretched husband’s study. When she found the unassuming scroll, a simple roll of cream paper tied up and locked away with documents like the sect finances and trade agreements, she thought it was just another training manuscript.
She was wrong.
She almost gagged in disgust when she finally closed the thing— there were… experiments? Strange ramblings she barely could understand, trying to hone magic further and… using Xian Tao as the test subject, as the start— the median between the magical cultivation world and normal, weak people. It was simply vile to think Xian Yichen was okay with torturing his only son for the sake of… science? Could she call this science? The bastard hurt Xian Tao for years on end, and then carved him up. Hua Yuemeng did the only thing she knew was the right thing— she had to confront her disgusting husband, the newly appointed and honorable sect leader who so honorably turned his son into a magical weapon with absolutely no remorse.
That’s how Xian Tao became alone. That’s how his single comfort, his mother, was taken away from him. He simply never heard from his mother again, after he saw the way she threw herself at the person he was forced to call “father.” That was when a truly awful waiting game began.
Truth be told, Xian Haoran can’t remember those days, the days where he was always called ‘little Xian tao’ well. He just remembers pain in his back, and how long he waited for a chance to run away during a training mission when he was eighteen. He remembers the trek he took to the west, all on his own. He also remembers the days he spent honing *himself* into a fine, razor-sharp edge, instead of being sharpened and calloused by his father.
He knew how to wait for his happy ending, and he knew that the magic in his body was his own instead of anyone else’s. He learned what freedom was to him— it was the ability to wait, and the ability to help others.
It’s a pity he became another tool for the council to use. It’s a pity he knows, now, that the hollowness eating him couldn’t be filled with endless diligence and compassion. It’s a pity all he has left is to finally lose his patience and rage against the world that threw him into slumber.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Sorrel instinctively let go of his blade when he saw the disgusting amount of bugs starting to crawl up it. Then, a fist came barreling towards his face.

He dodged well enough to not hit his face, but instead the punch landed on his shoulder and once again sent him flying. This time, though, Sorrel was ready, and while he was in excruciating pain, he braced himself as he landed on the nearest tree. His hands heated up, concentrating to his nails— for once, he was grateful for his angelic ancestry giving him a bit more claw to work with.

A hiss escaped Gamma-Burn’s mouth, foreboding, angry. He leaped and dashed towards King Stag.

His hands, superheated with radiation, struck at the gap in King Stag’s other shoulder, then racked across the beetle’s chest, leaving the smell of burning chitin to overpower that sickly-sweet pheromone scent. If he could just… if he could just disarm King Stag long enough, he’d be able to make his escape. He’d be able to treat his wounds and his chronic issues and, most importantly, live another day. He had to get to his date tomorrow, after all.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Of course. Of course, out of everything Sorrel runs into while trying to take cover in his food forest, it was King Stag, and of course he had to run full force into the beetle man’s shiny carapace and bounce off into another thick-barked tree. Gamma-Burn, the revenge of earth herself, slid off the trunk of the tree and started to cough and clutch his chest, pitifully hunched over on the lush undergrowth. Sorrel already knew he was coughing blood, and that his time was up, and maybe he was too cocky before, and— fuck, he needed to get out of there.

Fuck. Everything hurts. My head is dizzy— Sorrel could feel blood trickling down the thick mask as he looked up to try and salvage the situation. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Sorrel started to hyperventilate. If his heart still pumped, it would’ve been pounding out of his chest. Instead, he felt that uncomfortable energy building up and buzzing around his stomach, his chest heating up dangerously. He— he didn’t want to discharge, not there. The plants would surely take it, but— this wasn’t a killing mission. Right now, avoiding unneeded death was part of his fucking plan and he surely could escape without murder, meaning death was unneeded at that point in time. He scanned the woods around him, and realized he grew his beautiful plants so thick that he’d need a bit of strength to jump away and hide in the treetops. And.. the only clearing was where that bug barreled himself through. On top of that, Gamma-Burn was still on the ground.

Fuck. He was still prone on the ground. He was thinking too long. His head kept spinning— Everything hurts so much. The ghostly figure tried to peel himself from the ground, but stumbled, coughed, and almost fell a second time. He couldn’t help but laugh—

And so, Gamma-Burn laughed a horrific, frenzied laugh, one full of rage and malice and… a hint of fear. He saw no option other than at least trying to fight for an opening to escape. So, a hand quickly hit an opening in King Stag’s armor— Sorrel noted he had multiple, on his joints and his neck and jaw, so Sorrel hit the joint of the right shoulder with a knife-strike.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

”Come on, bug boy, Desantis was hardly innocent.”

Luckily for Sorrel, he knew exactly what King Stag was going to do.

”You are so damn lucky that I’m in a good mood today.”

The specter slid to the side as Cricket dashed towards him, hit the carapace monstrosity at the shoulder to redirect him, and then dropped down to the ground to grow a thorny, brambly blockade.

”I love how predictable you are, my dear! I’ve got a message for your firefighter friends, if anything happens—“

Gamma-Burn jumped up, propelled by a burst of radioactive energy. He landed on the side of a large tree, his knife digging into the bark and his boots catching on a knot of wood for balance.

”This things grow back no matter what you throw at ‘em! Even fire, if that dumbass lady were to try it! Contain the blaze instead of watering it.”

…. That was genuine advice, not threatening at all. He did want to say it! Sorrel knew that was important, because usually he saw firefighters actively putting out a blaze, but this jungle he made didn’t need the treatment and it would be better to contain the blaze and focus if the fire spread. No matter, though— the living ghost of earth turned its gaze, the signature green eye glowing through his goggles, straight to the journalist from chipotle. He already knew this idiot was there, and that this was not a safe area by any means.

So, Gamma-Burn jumped from his perch, grabbed the stupid fucking shrimp by his shirt collar, and sped off effortlessly through the thick forestry. Once he was at the clearing close to the roadside, he set the pink dumbass down. As if strawberry shortcake deserved his fucking grace— he still was kinda pissed at this dude.

”Get out.”

Was that threatening enough?? Sorrel had to absolutely run, and didn’t want to be chased by a giant beetle AND an annoying reporter. He ran back into the cover of his food forest and hid away.

𖤐 Hell's Renegades 𖤐

BEFORE ANYTHING, IMPORTANT NOTES!! Audley I left a few parts blank because I didn’t know if you wanted to add an agent for the case of redacting or if you wanted Rhys to have higher clearance and I also. don’t know dates! Thank u in advance and enjoy this smelly bird

Volatile || "The Angel" || Extreme Risk

h-007

Legal

Last Name: N/A, unknown
First Name: ꌃꍟꁴꍏ꒒ꀤꍟ꒒
Middle Name: N/A, unknown
Apparent Age: 18-19
Actual Age: “first-flight” stage of life, approx. 512 years?
​DoB: not calculable to Earth dates
Sex: capable of morphing— presents without discernible biological sex, has hermaphroditic biology

Personal

Preferred Name(s): Bezaliel, Bez, Bezzy, Bee, Feathers, Bird
Gender: Unknown— presents as vaguely masculine?
Pronouns: he/him, it/its, they/them
Nouns: Masculine, Neutral
Sexual Orientation: seemingly primarily homosexual?
Romantic Orientation: seemingly primarily homoromantic?
Status: Unknown

Overview

Bezaliel is an Outlander species referred to by humans as “angels” and by themselves as “People of Light,” translated from the term “ꀤ꒒꒒ꀎꂵꀤꈤꍏ” in the Kaleidos language. It was born in a dimension notably close or possibly even attached to our universe: the Astral Plane. Along with that, Bezaliel hails from a specific angelic race, the “seraphim” as humans call it, a multi-winged Angel race that primarily hails from the highlands and mountains of the astral plane— I believe Bezaliel said this race was called “highlanders,” translated from “ꍏ꒒꓄ꀤꂦꋪꍏ” in Kaleidos. While Bezaliel can speak fluent English, albeit with some sort of accent, it seems to prefer its first language of Kaleidos— a light-based language with sounds similar to birdsongs and calls. The Angel is very blunt but still kindhearted, playful in demeanor and energetic. While quite smart, it still struggles grasping Earthen customs and rules. It often shows its displeasure over something by being physical and wing-slapping, hissing, or kicking— while this is met by the institute as a behavior of aggression, I infer that it is communicating as it normally would and not intending to be explicitly harmful. It enjoys poetry, music, and particularly seems to be interested in learning American Sign Language. Along with those hobbies, it also enjoys various puzzles and simple games, including foraging-based puzzles meant for parrots. Bezaliel is a young writer of stories and poetry in its culture, being able to use intricate light shows for poetry as well as making beautiful artworks resembling stained glass it claims to be “poems” in Kaleidos. It also plays an instrument seemingly equivalent to a handpan.
It seems the creature has some mental issues— upon discussion with one of my peers, it seems the Angel has major abandonment trauma leading to a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, along with depressive disorder symptoms akin to those of parrots such as plucking and sudden aggression. It is extremely curious, as well as extremely scared, frightened of many new things it has experienced and continues to experience. I find its intelligence is most obvious in the complex thought processes it shows, and the way it quickly learns and recognizes patterns. In the end, we have removed an extremely intelligent and social being from its habitat, even if it arrived on accident— it makes sense it lashes out, gets confused, and needs to learn more.
Bezaliel knows how to speak in fairly fluent English, albeit with a… “bird-like” accent, similar to the mimicry of parrots such as African Grays. I can also confidently say that it mimics with the same accuracy as parrots, though prefers to speak its own sentences.

Procedure

Two trackers are implanted into Bezaliel’s body, one at the back of its neck, above the primary pair of wings, and another at the base of its tail, under the secondary pair of wings. Two trackers are necessary both to pinpoint the Angel’s location and to detect if it shifted, as the distance between the trackers will most likely change with major body morphs. There is a GPS connected to these two trackers in order for a handler to monitor it both inside and outside of the compound. Unlike most other Hounds, Bezaliel needs a nearby handler or trusted person at all times for multiple reasons; number one, it is most likely to get violent when lonely; number two, it responds to most triggers physically through attacks; number three, it often searches for ways to escape. Along with the trackers, Bezaliel must have some form enchanted, of conductive wire (most effectively silver) tightly wrapped around its halo in order to prevent it from creating a light hot or intense enough to harm others. Despite the wire, it is still allowed to create softer, harmless light, due to the fact light is an important part of its communication.
Bezaliel, apparently like all other Angels, is an obligate carnivore. It must be supplied with a live animal for food. Alternatively, if the person giving Bezaliel food is someone Bezaliel trusts, it will also accept raw, prepared food. Offering cooked food will only get it upset and ask why said food tastes strange, and offering prepared raw food while it sees you as a stranger causes it to deny it on the basis of “it’s weird to share hunts if you don’t know each other.” It should also be allowed to freely hunt at least once a week, or else it gets upset and is more likely to attack others.
Bezaliel needs multiple forms of basic enrichment. It needs “shreddable” toys akin to parrot toys lest it start trying to destroy the base. It should readily be supplied with nesting materials such as blankets, pillows, plushies, and “pretty looking things” and be allowed a nest in of its making in its room. Beyond that, it should be allowed regular access to the high-ceiling gym in order to fly freely. It also must be taken aside for experimentation and testing purposes as needed, but should not be told— instead lured, as to not stress it.
Bezaliel, while not inherently an aggressive or cruel individual, does have triggers causing it to become aggressive by our standards. Triggers include prayers and chanting, loud and sudden noises, and flashing lights. While these attacks aren’t meant to be lethal and more of a way it tells others to stop, they are powerful and should be avoided; it also responds extremely poorly to sedation and discipline, possibly due to its angelic culture. Handlers are highly encouraged to put away highly shiny objects like mirrors or jewelry, and they must speak softly to Bezaliel as to not rouse it.

Physical Description

Bezaliel has quite the distinct look— so I will start on what we have found so far regarding the systems of its body. Bezaliel’s blood, while containing hemoglobin like humans, also has a strange, blue pigment to it, making the blood appear a shimmering indigo-purple shade. The blue pigment seems to be some part of its complex immune system, as it seems to possess strong antibacterial properties. Its skeleton is not anywhere close to a skeleton on earth, the primary material of the bones being some strange composition of an organic carbon-fiber-like substance and a titanium alloy instead of calcium and magnesium. Said bones are hollow with a hexagonal lattice structure, the longer limb bones possessing a kind of resemblance to cactus wood. It possesses many earthen characteristics similar to birds, particularly parrots and owls, including an extremely efficient respiratory system that uses constantly cycling air to receive oxygen. It also seems to have a powerful heart in its chest. Because of the fact I do not want to kill the Angel for the sake of a potential dissection, however, x-rays and physical exams is all the information I can offer on its internal anatomy.
On appearances— the Angel is extremely hard to miss. While a good portion of its body is covered in white and light-blue iridescent plumage, its chest, belly, and face show a dark, purple-blue skin. Upon the exposed skin, little cream-colored freckles and light-blue cloud marks glow faintly. It has a fairly flat face akin to an owl’s, with a thick beak covered in pale skin poking out taking the silhouette of both the mouth and nose and hiding sharp teeth behind the lips. In total, the Angel has nine orange eyes: four trailing down its bare chest and five positioned evenly on its face. It has longer feathers on is head and on its tail, thin and acting similarly to hair. The Angel has five sets of wings— one acting as ears, two on its long tail, and two on its back, one significantly larger than the other. The larger wings on its back, “primary” wings, as I will call them, have a cream, blue, and grey barring pattern like the rest of the sets of wings, but it distinctly has two eyespots. The backside of the wings on the angel’s back, unlike the tail wings and ear wings, have a mottled blue-grey blanket pattern instead of the barring on the front. On its head are a crown of horns— two smaller ones at the front, two larger and more curved ones facing towards the back, and a horn (horns..?) that forms a hoop, or a “halo.” On both arms and legs there are these… talons, I will call them— zygodactyl in position, with two thumbs and two middle fingers. Both sets are equally dexterous, and the tail is also prehensile. Those cloud and freckle markings that I’ve mentioned earlier intensify at the central line of the chest where the eyes are and on the horns, and I’ve noticed those are the primary markings that light up when the Angel speaks in Kaleidos.
Of course, I must add— the Angel may conceal its additional eyes, its wings, and even its tail in its basic shapeshifting. It can also, as we’ve seen many times, entirely don the appearance of something different, and it does on a regular basis. Of its standard forms, I noticed it dons one very “humanoid” form that is 5’4” in height, with mocha-colored skin, white hair, and two yellow-orange eyes with white sclera but no discernible pupils. It seems quite comfortable in its base form while in the compound, either way.

Physical

Hair: creamy white
Eyes: yellow-orange, solid
Height: 9’6”
Weight: 159 lbs
Skin: Darker purple-blue skin with light freckles, lighter cream feathers
Notes:

• Once again, I will iterate that this description is exclusively of its base form. Bezaliel is capable of shapeshifting and readily does so.
• if you cannot identify the Angel by sight while it is in base form, as it literally is the only being that looks anything close to an Angel, you are a moron and should look for a new job and an eye doctor.

Abilities

• Shapeshifting ─ While an angel’s shapeshifting is not absolute or perfect, they can morph their natural body drastically. In Bezaliel’s case, it is able to appear near-perfectly human through shapeshifting and roughly mimic different people’s bodies and faces. Through shapeshifting, it can also mask its extra eyes and extra wings, or entirely shift to more “feral” forms entirely. According to Bezaliel, its shifting will get better when he “ages to the next stage,” which is seemingly in… a few thousand Earth years.
• Light Manipulation ─ As the rest of its species, Bezaliel is capable of emitting, manipulating, and shooting light in beams. Naturally, it gives a faint glow off its skin and feathers, with its eyes, horns, and markings glowing slightly brighter. It can either glow brightly if needed or dim itself entirely, and it can shoot controlled bursts of light from its “halo,” a pair of horns on its head that form an arch. It can also bend beams of light, both its own emitted light and light from other sources like lamps, creating rainbows or reflections. It seems Bezaliel holds a talent for this specific power, as it likes to create little “light shows” when it is bored— an impressive feat of meticulous and exact light control that usually only older members of its species can do after living through most “stages.”
• Blink ─ An angel is capable of moving short distances faster than humans can register with their own eyes, making this fast movement seem like teleportation. It is not teleportation, just a form of “sprinting” that this species can do.
• Expert Hunting ─ Bezaliel is an avid and energetic hunter— being able to use its sharp teeth and talons to take down prey easily. It has extremely keen tracking senses, and it rarely loses track of prey. Angels, as far as we understand, are obligate hypercarnivores, and will hunt in packs. This explains why Bezaliel strongly prefers hunting with people it has deemed its friend. Bezaliel in particular will “share” its catches with others, as well.

Stats

STR - 2
DEX - 3
SPD - 4
CON - -2
INT - 1
WIS - 1
CHA - -3
PWR - 5

History

From what I understand, this Angel has come to Earth unintentionally. It grew up in an entirely different plane of existence— the “astral plane,” for lack of a better word, which by nature is closely attached to earth as well as prone to inter-dimensional tears. This angel named Bezaliel and its pack all belonged to an angelic clan, Seraphim, that inhabited the higher strata of the realm and took up some sort of nautical, traveling niche. The Angel spent its whole life with its pack, and engaged in an angelic tradition known as “first-flight” once it grew its adult plumage— hence the reason why it keeps calling it’s “stage of life” the “first-flight” stage. It seems an accident happened during Bezaliel’s first-flight tradition, as it states it fell through a “time-storm,” what I infer is an inter-dimensional tear that lead to Earth. The Angel ultimately landed in the United States, in a rural plot in New York used for farming Maple-Syrup, and then flew approximately two miles and decimated a dairy cattle farm. Shortly after, the Angel traveled south to a rural Hamlet named Yarlford, where it again decimated the entire small settlement and attempted to build a “Seam-Ripper,” an Angelic portal-opening invention it seems to be familiar with, from the scraps of many homes. Thirteen people were killed (but not eaten) in that altercation, notably all men with guns. Bezaliel was unsuccessful in making this specific Seam-Ripper work, and it proceeded to wander off for more resources.
The Angel continued to move south until it unfortunately reached New York City. Bezaliel began to hunt the people of downtown New York City, as well as destroy much of the surrounding infrastructure for various reasons. Records show it tried to make some sort of “nest” atop a skyscraper, as well as trying to build another statue to get to its home planet. For a total of 268 days, the angel entirely destroyed and “restructured” twenty square miles of the city in the form of an almost-perfect circle and killed and ate a total of 197 people, including but not limited to: two priests who attempted to speak with the Angel, police officers, soldiers from the army and coast guard, five fighter jet pilots, and the general, indiscriminate murder of humankind which included men, women, and children of all races and all walks of life. There are an additional 15 people the Angel had murdered but not eaten, all of which being part of the military operations sent to subdue and/or kill the creature. From the metal scraps and materials the angel destroyed buildings to obtain, it built a far larger Seam-Ripper than the one seen at Yarlford and was almost complete by the time the Angel was contained.
After an agent attempted to speak to Bezaliel in Kaleidos and learned it also attempted to “copy” rudimentary English sounds, we learned Bezaliel was doing all of this to try getting home. The DNCC thus sent another agent to convince the Angel to stop, explaining to the Angel that the DNCC could help the Angel home if it stopped its destruction.
Since the incident, Bezaliel learned that humans are sentient despite the fact we do not create light the way it can, and has expressed deep regret over what it has done, even if it didn’t know at the time that people were intelligent beings.

Criminal Record

• 225 counts of manslaughter ─ The Angel murdered a total of 225 people. Because it did not know at the time that humans are sentient and its intentions were not malicious but instead exclusively for self defense and sustenance, the initial charges of murder have been dropped for manslaughter.
• Mishandling of 196 corpses ─ The Angel ate a total of 197 people. As eating a corpse if not requested by the corpse recipient in their will is considered mishandling, all but one of Bezaliel’s “hunts” are charged as mishandling.
• Destruction of public and private property ─ Bezaliel destroyed 20 square miles of downtown New York City, including but not limited to government buildings, apartments, offices, restaurants, stores, and literally anything made of metal.
• Obstruction of justice ─ Due to the Angel attacking and retaliating against police and military forces, it has been charged with obstruction of justice.
• terroristm ─ this doesn’t need an explanation, just look at its history and the previous charges.

Agent First Last
Position in Program
_{Clearance Level - 1 to 5}

Amendments

The Angel has refused to eat for multiple weeks. I’ve discovered it not only prefers meat, it MUST eat meat and cannot digest plant matter. In an attempt to feed it sedative herbs, it became extremely sick and refused food from me entirely. On the other hand, it is most happy when given live fish. It also seems to enjoy the way fish flops around. Perhaps as a form of enrichment.
─ Dr. Rhys O’Ceallach, Outlander Biologist and Researcher

Based on personal observation, in addition to the observations of general handlers, as well as direct communication with young Bezaliel themself, it has become apparent that nesting materials and the like need to be of specific textures and fibers. As it stands, Bezaliel has expressed disgust when given items of a feathery or downy nature, and has actively discarded absorbent microfiber, polyester, and Sherpa blankets and fabrics, showing the same level of disgust with these fibers as they have with feathers and down. On the contrary, they have been found to enjoy soft, minky or plush fabrics, as well as memory-foam-based pillows. In this vein, young Bezaliel also seems particularly fond of “Squishmallows”, as was found when a handler–requesting to remain anonymous–brought one of the plush toys into the compound and presented the item to the angel. Upon interview with young Bezaliel about the gift, it was confirmed that they enjoy the toy to quite the degree–as to be quoted, “both in shape and texture”– For this, I would like to note “mochi minky” as a fabric to consider.
Additionally, I’ve noticed they build their nest out of perfectly square and circular blankets. Handlers have confirmed this behavior, even noting observations of young Bezaliel tearing up other blankets to fit that general “even” shape.
As a final note, young Bezaliel has show express interest in the string lights and night-light globe that another, anonymous, handler managed to sneak onto the unit. Unless these materials prove hazardous, I have ruled that these, and other similar materials will be allowed, though I advise handlers to ensure that h-002, codename “Hyperware”, otherwise known as Harper, is not permitted in or near Bezaliel’s room.
─ Agent Roy Vega, Project Supervisor

It has recently come to note that young Bezaliel’s anxious and irritable behavior–often presented when left alone–is curbed when there are gentle, moving lights in their room. It is for this reason that, despite h-002’s interest in the electrical items in young Bezaliel’s room, I stress the importance of keeping these objects available to the angel as not only does it keep them manageable, but their calmer state allows for some slack on part of Bezaliel’s handler, even going so far as allowing breaks for food and rest through the night.
Amusingly, upon first interaction, it is noted that young Bezaliel attempted to communicate with that globe light mentioned previously. They have since learned the night-light is not sentient, but still enjoys its presence.
─ Agent Roy Vega, Project Supervisor

In the angel’s latest exams, I’ve noticed it has begun to over-preen its feathers. I’ve consulted with an ornithologist close to the institute and have concluded the angel’s needs may be comparable to a large parrot’s. Thus, it may be important for the health of this specimen to allow it some extra-large-size and destructible “parrot toys.” My colleague has told me she recommends Planet Pleasures for bird toys, though we may be able to make our own toys for the creature as well if we have the resources. I recommend keeping track of the textures it prefers.
─ Dr. Rhys O’Ceallach, Outlander Biologist and Researcher

In a shocking turn of events, it would seem that young Bezaliel is not entirely genderless as previously assumed. Unlike h-003, it would appear that young Bezaliel possesses some level of internal biology that has allowed them to lay an egg. Naturally, I am concerned about the implications of this revelation, as it poses the same risk we are already facing in having a co-ed holding unit. Nevertheless, as per the facility’s guidelines on health and safety, the egg has been removed and disposed of, given there is little chance of it being fertile. Any future eggs should be handled accordingly.
─ Agent Roy Vega, Project Supervisor

The angel has been laying eggs roughly every other month, and some recent testing shows me its bone density has lowered a significant amount. Along with that, it seems more easily tired and more irritable. After consulting with my ornithologist colleague, I’ve come to the conclusion that angels may get bodily strain from laying eggs so often. It is suggested to use “dud eggs” instead to let the Angel naturally get bored of the egg while still being able to safely remove it.
─ Dr. Rhys O’Ceallach, Outlander Biologist and Researcher

!! AS OF WRITING THIS AMENDMENT, IT IS PARAMOUNT THAT ANY EGG FOUND IN YOUNG BEZALIEL’S NEST IS REPLACED WITH A DESIGNATED DUD EGG !!
Any handler found to be ignoring this step in the removal of an egg will not only be removed from the program, but charged with negligence and even abuse, as failure to replace the egg poses extreme risks to Bezaliel’s physical and psychological health.
Additionally, due to mishap in the lab resulting in [REDACTED], all eggs retrieved from the unit are to be candled both on collection and upon arrival in the lab.
─ Agent Roy Vega, Project Supervisor

Along with the weekly hunt, young Bezaliel should be allowed daily flight time in the atrium. Allowing such has been proven to help in stabilizing the angel’s mood, as it seems that the more young Bezaliel spends their energy while spreading their wings, the less likely they are to lash out.
─ Agent Roy Vega, Project Supervisor

Amusingly, young Bezaliel responds very well to cat toys! Perhaps this will serve as a way for which he and his teammates may bond. I hope it may also serve as a proof of record that young Bezaliel no longer poses a danger to the people of this world and perhaps aid in the appeal of their sentencing and even lead to an eventual return to their home realm.
─ Agent Roy Vega, Project Supervisor

Young Bezaliel's English vocabulary has grown tremendously since their integration into the program. They are learning new words and phrases every day and have even begun learning more advanced vocabulary words through audio learning tracks. There is, however, a bit of concern in regards to certain vocabulary they have started to pick up on from the other Hounds. Namely, that which they have been copying from h-001, codenamed "Revenant", otherwise known as Sabriel. As it stands, young Bezaliel has learned quite the "colorful" vocabulary from the other Hound.
─ Agent Roy Vega, Project Supervisor

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Sorrel smiled a toothy, spiteful grin— but it couldn’t be seen with that thick gas mask on his face. Instead, King Stag saw some apparition stare him down. The poltergeist, Gamma-Burn, cocked his head to the side, almost playfully.

“Fuck, took you long enough. What, I can’t even do something that’s objectively a good thing to do? Shit, you really are a waste of taxpayer dollars, huh?”

Maybe that was too cruel— but Sorrel tried not to fall into the villain trope of monologuing, even if… he desperately yearned for a conversation, ever since he started texting that bulky man from the chipotle— Cricket. He could hear rustling in the bushes, but… he frankly didn’t care. He knew he could dodge attacks at this moment, and maybe he’d pay the consequences later with his physical illness acting up. Hell— he was confident enough to take a few steps closer to the giant beetle. Maybe he should do the villain trope. Maybe tease King Stag a bit more..?

A dark laugh echoed from the mask. ”Just saying, if you make me go nuclear the fatalities should be on your shoulders, for stopping me making this damn forest. Ah! But—“

The supervillain Gamma-Burn had two daggers as his signature weapons, but right now, he only carried one. He forgot where he left his other dagger— and, frankly, he can make another one if given enough time.

“Should I... Try to kill someone, or somethin’? To make your uh. Gracious visit to this food forest worthwhile..?”

Maybe he pushed it too far. He definitely pushed it too far. It was absolutely time to run. Instead, with his dagger in his right hand, he braced for… anything, really.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

chIRP! Mrrrrp~!!

Two in the morning. Of course, it was the weird little abomination experiment that Sorrel adopted, the sweet little slugcat thing. He named the little guy Becquerel, but everything except that ridiculous name stuck. Including the nicknames “Slugcat” and “Bee” for his strange little friend. Like any normal cat, little Bee had the zoomies. At two in the fucking morning.

Sorrel finally sat up from his bed. He didn’t know why he made his latest plans line up so close together— he was glad, at least, that he was resting, and glad that he was able to rest without coughing up blood and throwing up and screaming in pain at that moment. The mutant cat stopped the moment Sorrel got up, looked at him, and went to ask for cuddles and food. Of course.

”Oh, you’re just a little sweetheart, aren’t you, Bee?” Sorrel smiled softly as he whispered to his friend. The slugcat thing wove around his feet as he stood up and headed to the kitchen— honestly, he needed a snack as well. He sorted through his cupboards and ended up taking two things out: one small paper pack of dried seaweed and one jar of freeze-dried chicken hearts. It wasn’t feeding time for little Bee, nowhere close to it, but a little bit of tasty protein for a midnight snack made sense. The green and blonde dreads Sorrel sported were neatly wrapped into a silk cloth, but it didn’t stop sorrel from absently sweeping the blank space where his locs would be to the side. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched Bee chow down on the treat, as he washed and dried his hands and put the jar away.

Scrolling through his phone at night was a bad habit— just like munching on a midnight snack while bundled up in bed, like the simple pack of seaweed at Sorrel’s side as he lay there and scrolled around absently. He knew he was being unhealthy right now, but he at least wanted to finish up the seaweed packet… Maybe, though, he was meant to stay up, that night..? His phone whistled its fun little tune as a text message popped down from the top of the screen.

Hey! It’s Cricket! I was wondering if you wanted to meet up this Saturday to have lunch? I could bring desert if you make a meal.

There it was, the reason why Sorrel’s face turned bright red at two in the morning. The reason why he blushed so hard that, once again, he bled from his nose like some anime moron. He scrambled for a towel or something— and then, from his little nightstand, he pulled out the bloodied cloth from the man who messaged him. Sorrel would’ve found that moment exceptionally romantic if he wasn’t fretting about being a mess on Saturday. What would Cricket even like..? Sorrel’s thoughts started to spiral on as he paced around the room, his right hand holding the phone and his left hand pressed against his nose with the little towelette.

He’s obviously a bodybuilder— would he like something protein and energy packed..? What allergies does he have? Would he have mentioned it in the text? What meals are considered romantic? It was hard to focus, but Sorrel eventually sat back down onto the bed. Would it be weird to send a text back at this time..?

It took a while for Sorrel to go back to sleep. Frankly, he never truly slept at all, and he still felt groggy the next morning. He assumed at that point, after more thought than he cared for, that Cricket didn’t really have allergies— the man was going to eat at Chipotle of all places, infamous for its shit practices, and then chose fucking Taco Bell as a replacement. He’d go something a little more low risk, anyways… a nice smoked salmon that’s been flashed-fired in the pan for a final touch and well-seasoned manoomin— wild rice— would do the trick, be healthy, be protein rich and the likes. He was sure it’d be the perfect lunch… Wait… is this a little too try-hard-ish for a first date…? Surely not, maybe it’d be… seen as a really nice gesture, instead?

Sorrel laughed to himself as he served his perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs onto toast and watched Bee eat raw duck, a small egg, and half a sardine. He wondered if Cricket would think he was weird for preparing meals for his little mutant cat— Wait, why am I even thinking that? I’ve only met this man once! And it’s gonna be twice when I see him at the park in like… a week.

As Sorrel absently ate his eggs and toast, he finally responded to Cricket. 9:24 in the morning was a… more acceptable time to reply, right..?

’Of course! I’ll make a nice surprise lunch for Saturday :)
I’ll see you Saturday at the Wilacrik Downtown Park
It’s the park by the Chipotle’

Sorrel stared at his little string of texts. Why did he feel so self conscious? Why did he want to try again? Why did this make him feel… scared? Lightheaded? He never really had anyone asking to go on a date with him before, this was his first one ever. He… also never really had someone wanting to visit him just to be with him, either… but that’s in the past, and right now he has a date and a meal and a hungry slugcat clawing at his legs for some of his scrambled egg toast.

A few minutes passed by, and he decided to pick the phone up again and send a photo. Why did he choose a photo of one of the silk moths that just came out of the cocoon..? He didn’t know. They were cute, to him, and this little lady had just wriggled out two days ago when that photo was taken. For some reason, Sorrel thought Cricket liked bugs… but what if the man didn’t..? What if Cricket actually hates the silk moth photo??

Sorrel groaned, turned off his phone, and finally went off to do chores in Ground Zero.

—————————A Few Days Later—————————

Friday.

Tomorrow is Sorrel’s date with Cricket.

Today is Gamma-Burn’s date with revenge.

And… prevention of further suburban sprawl, one of the causes for the United States having such a car-dependent culture, which is just… so unhealthy, for so many reasons. This was ultimately for the good of the common people, and for the detriment of the millionare who bought this perfectly fertile land to turn into pricey and poorly made housing that doesn’t benefit anyone. But.. all of that didn’t have as good of a ring to it as having a date with revenge. Or… vengeance, might be better? Sorrel shook his head.

Come on, there’s no time to think of random stuff like that. I need to get there, as soon as possible— before the fucking maggot arrives.

He also knew that insult wasn’t original— there was no time to think of original insults for the bumbling beetle!

Gamma-Burn had a few special packages in his pockets— seeds he developed, based from perfectly edible plants indigenous to the area that would also be nearly impossible to remove from the land with normal means once he made them grow on it. A food garden for the people, and a giant lost check for a greedy and corrupt rich guy… or, woman, in this case, if his research was correct.

The seeds exploded out of each packet the second this infamous specter threw them across the land— they weren’t harmful explosions, just the Pop! Pop! Pop! of various little capsules designed after sandbox tree seed pods. All he had to do now, before he ran out of time, before people came, was to grow those little suckers.

And, when Sorrel pushed his hands to the ground and sent an encouraging pulse of radioactive warmth through the ground, all of those seeds exploded out of the ground. Juneberries, strawberries, blueberries, wild leeks, raspberries, nettles, elderberries. mayapple, pawpaw, wild garlic, wild asparagus— they all grew, and grew, and grew and became giant, lumbering shrubbery with deep roots and resilient bark, able to regrow themselves at a moment’s notice. Maybe these plants were considered GMOs, but Sorrel knew these babies were going absolutely nowhere and would grow back even if they got plucked from the roots, like in the case of the wild garlic and leek. Hell— sorrel knew, from his experiments, that these guys couldn’t even be burned away and would just grow back from the ashes and the little seeds and roots that stayed in the ground. God, he was so proud of this idea. Acres and acres of land now belonged to the earth and the people, and can give food to those who are patient enough to just get on their knees and pluck from the branches and roots.

… and, frankly, now that he realized it— King Stag was taking a bit too long.