Emeth

Shadow Contract: A Demon-Slaying Action RP Interest Check

Yep, this is my jam right here.

Small Town Slice of Life RP

Might do, aye.

Gods of the Multiverse

Suddenly emerges from the brush, drops CS, slithers away and refuses to elaborate

Cynthia Schovajsa

Name: Cynthia Schovajsa

Age: 56

Gender: Female

Race: Reptilian—a long-lived race of demihumans created using the stolen DNA of apex human specimens, and the DNA of their hyper-intelligent extraterrestrial invaders, whose name the demihumans are forced to share. For some, being created by "lizard people" rather than gods is enough reason for prejudice, but with forked tongues, inhumanly sharp eyes, and fangs and claws tough as iron, few humans or even near-human races consider them as friends, relegating them to the company of other beings humans collectively call "monsters." Female reptilians also carry a potent venom that can be used both to kill and to dull pain, making them preferred as soldiers.

Appearance: A rather severe-looking woman of Amazonian height—about 6'10'' (208 cm) when perched on her toes. With a razor-sharp glare and flowing white hair that is longer than most humans are tall, she certainly catches the eye, but is not what most would call beautiful, despite her lack of facial scars. She is a bonafide soldier, preferring war paint to makeup, commanding with intimidation over grace. Still, unlike many of her brethren, she is human enough that, with her clawed arms and feet hidden behind a cape or table, one could almost forget she is a reptilian—until she opens her mouth. For this reason, she is shy with her words, and frequently (and literally) bites her tongue to keep it in check when speaking. Focusing both eyes on the person speaking to her is also a work in progress.

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Home World: Cynthia's homeworld of Dominus suffers greatly under its patron god, whom it is named after. The scar-shaped wastelands that mark the front lines of its eternally raging wars can be seen more easily from space than its remaining civilizations—but this was not always so. In times past, when the gods were allowed to wage war freely with each other, Dominus was a thriving global civilization of Spartan-tier warriors with enviable technological means—a truly unassailable fortress of a planet during its golden age.

Then, everything changed. Unable to satisfy his lust for war in this new world order, Dominus turned the denizens of his own world against one another. With his own people dragging each other down in constant civil war, they were overrun by the now-superior reptilians—but Dominus cared little, as long as war continued. Caught in the middle, the newly-hatched hybrids were pressed into service in the war as soon as they were able—and employed by both sides of the conflict, as many eggs were stolen from the reptilians during various rebel incursions. The resulting child soldiers on both sides would eventually band together in the Great Revolt, ultimately choosing humanity over their cold, uncaring parents, who reminded them only of war.

But the promise of an end to conflict proved ephemeral, as the humans held no real place in their hearts for these hybrids, referring to them all with the familiar epithet of "reptilian." The hybrids were driven underground in Traitorous Crusades, fleeing to caves hidden in the mountains of the desert, while the humans migrated ever northward, to where their cold-blooded enemies could not easily reach. The conflict continues; for a spell it may pause, but on and on the war rages, and changes, but does not stop.

Patron Deity: Dominus, god of war. Loathed by nearly all his people, he remains a valued member of Pax Celestia, his reputation among other gods upheld by his long, gilded history of accomplishments... recent events notwithstanding, of course. He is notorious for producing strong Champions and "motivating" them to set out on the most dangerous of missions, laying claim to many victories when other Champions lacked the courage to fight without one of his at their side. They are known to be highly skilled warriors, but it is also well known that his Champions are virtually worked to death and never reach old age. Cynthia, though relatively young for her race, is the oldest Champion Dominus has ever had, and many of her people are gossiping about it, with hushed jokes about her impending "retirement." Sadly, it seems few among the gods are wont to criticize his methods, effective as they are.

His sword, Nefas Dominis, can bend space and command gravity, crushing anything. The armor he wears was forged from the bones of a god of fortresses, whose name has been lost to the history books of mortals. Its wearer cannot be harmed except by weapons made using a process known only to the gods themselves—and even with such a weapon, the armor remains highly effective.

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Champion’s Blessing: What else to expect from a god of war but a sword? Named Ninkigal, it grants its wielder power over the earth, and increases one's strength the closer they are to death. The meaning of such a gift seems obvious to all who know Dominus well: "By all means, bury your enemies, but while you're at it, bury yourself too." Like all weapons gifted by Dominus, it is unnaturally durable, but by no means indestructible—mirroring their wielders. Both the mysterious ivory-colored metal and decorative sapphire are said to have been taken from the core of a destroyed planet. When its power is called upon, the jewel emits a sound that, while inaudible to humans, induces an emotional state best described as "impending doom."

Only Champions may use the sword, with all other mortals attempting to wield its true power doomed to be swiftly petrified, their limbs crumbling to dust under its sheer weight. While it's widely considered "bad luck" for Champions to trade their god-given gifts around, any Champion strong enough to lift Ninkigal may technically use it. Only Cynthia may draw upon its powers merely by possessing it, however; others must swing the sword to achieve any desired effect, making controlled use of its powers rather difficult for anyone else.

Inventory: Accustomed to long marches across deserts, up mountains, through rainforest and tundra, Cynthia travels light. Aside from her fancy new sword, her trusty survival knife, flint and steel, a canteen, some old bandages and a compass/pocketwatch round out her kit. Most of her body is covered in scales already, so her armor is light, consisting mostly of leather and just two steel vambraces for deflecting attacks. The inside of her breastplate is lined with magic gemstones that can generate heat, giving just enough cold resistance to not expire from merely walking through snow.

Magic: Magic is Cynthia's biggest weakness, as without her Champion's Blessing, she has none—and no experience using magic without it. Fortunately for her, it turns out that hurling big rocks at her enemies is pretty intuitive, as is building defensive walls in a pinch. Unfortunately, her inexperience is not the only thing holding her back in the magic department; cold-blooded reptilians are especially susceptible to ice attacks, and their keen eyes, accustomed to living underground and hunting at night, do not appreciate bright flashes.

On her homeworld of Dominus, mana works in a very similar way to muscle; the "use it or lose it" rule applies to one's mana pool, making Cynthia's fairly low. Additionally, mana builds up quickly over the course of battle, but gradually ebbs away afterwards, like adrenaline. With the exception of cataclysmically destructive spells, it will generally build up faster than it is consumed, allowing mid-tier spells to be used with impunity, but larger attacks will be late to the party, if they get used at all. Any magic user who can steal mana or bottleneck its flow can cripple Cynthia's deceptive magical capabilities almost instantly, causing her to prefer the sword.

Ninkigal itself almost exclusively commands the earth element. With it, anything from the smallest grain of sand to the tallest mountain can be moved, given enough time to produce the mana for it. The elemental spells give her a lot of control over the field, vastly increasing her options, lending her both offensive and defensive support when needed—as long as she is outdoors. She still has a lot of options indoors, but most of them are bad. Except one: Salt the Earth is a purification spell that can eradicate most basic curses and toxins, including her own venom. The raw physical and magical power of Ninkigal's wielder is also increased, in a function that correlates both to blood loss and adrenaline, the nature of which Cynthia neither understands nor attempts to rely upon.

Skills: Cynthia is well-versed in all things "battlefield survival," including navigation, bushcraft, first aid, CQC, and the use of many weapons, including various forms of swordplay—but only the most primitive of firearms. She is a skilled runner and climber, courtesy of her reptilian claws, and a nigh-unrivaled hunter thanks to her keen reptilian eyes and smell, which can track prey for miles. Once caught, Cynthia's prey is not safe from her stomach, either; she has an iron constitution and can eat almost anything, as long as it contains a less-than-average amount of poison. She's quite hardy in general—even if she loses an arm, it'll grow back in no more than about 20 years. Or 20 hours, if there's a particularly dedicated, magically-trained healer in the house. That might save some time.

Though she is also a competent swimmer, she can only realistically do so in warmer climates. For her, what humans would consider a mild wind chill combined with soaked clothes can be debilitating—frigid waters, a near-guaranteed death sentence. Her venomous bite can be used both to make painkillers for her allies and to quickly paralyze and subdue an unsuspecting opponent. A stealthy ambush is usually required for the latter, as the venomous fangs reside toward the back end of her mouth, requiring a "full bite" for any appreciable effect. The inside of her left forearm is pockmarked with scars from self-bites to abuse the painkilling effect.

Though she possesses many of the skills that typify nobility, few are inclined to respond well to diplomacy when terms are given by a reptilian, especially one whose voice is reminiscent of a goblin with smoker's lung—no matter how well-chosen her words may be (and as quiet as she is, they most assuredly are). For this reason, she's better off playing the role of an advisor than a negotiator, unless the situation demands the use of intimidation, in which she excels. In fact, she excels so much at intimidation that most human-domesticated animals are terrified at the mere sight of her, relegating equestrianism to the confines of her more childish fantasies. Cats, however, while skittish around most humans, are almost magnetically attracted to the lower tones of her gruff accent. Figure that one out.

Personality: Cynthia could be said to have the personality of an igloo. Though she is cold, both outside and in, she aims to be the stablest of all warriors, ever unflappable, slow to anger, and just warmer than the cruelty of man, of the world, and of the war. Under her wing, the weak become strong, and the dull become sharp, while she keeps the worst of the storm at bay. She will come to the aid of others, but will not hold her tongue during the lecture afterwards. Though a divisive figure back home, she is well respected and trusted by her soldiers, and many among them think of her as family but would dare not say it.

Despite her pedigree as a soldier, she is still also a princess (but spare your ears the lecture and don't call her that). Better known by her informal title, Dominessa (War Queen), she is notorious for pushing unending "menial" tasks on her underlings, both to keep the youngest away from the front lines and to spare herself the embarrassment of attempting to competently wield a sewing needle or frying pan in front of others. Many see her as a closed-off person, and keep a modest distance. Place her in the company of orcs and give her some liquor, though, and the gallows humor, war stories and philosophical ramblings come out. That's right: despite her gruff and cold exterior, some semblance of the hyper-intelligence of the ancient reptilians resides within. It's a little-known fact amongst her inner circle that she has, in fact, written two books under an assumed name. She is very secretive about this.

History: When the humans betrayed their temporary hybrid allies, Cynthia's grandmother was their leader, and the hatred and distrust of humans has remained a signature aspect of the family—until now. Unlike her siblings, Cynthia did not grow to hate humans, which has baffled all and offended many. Some called for action against her, but her results in the war spoke for themselves and could not simply be explained away or written off as the falsely attributed accomplishments of others. Cynthia was ruthlessly efficient, but not cruel; her heart full of pride and drive, and not hatred or desperation. The wisdom to rule over her people is reflected in her actions and attitude toward the war, and the soldiers have taken notice. As such, she keeps a healthy distance from the courts, preferring sharpened steel over dull politics.

Unfortunately, her attempts to gain power from the front lines, away from the prying eyes of politicians, did not go unnoticed by Dominus. She holds little admiration for Dominus, as do most, but doesn't have much choice in her appointment as a Champion. Her appointment is just one of several conditions necessary for a very promising accord between multiple non-human factions, an accord which could force the humans to acknowledge the demihuman races' right to exist. Further complicating matters, most of Cynthia's siblings, the go-to alternative choices for a Champion, are more reptilian than human, and Cynthia the reverse—more human than reptilian—a fact that ensures Dominus' choice causes maximum political chaos, and solidifies his offer as one that Cynthia cannot easily refuse.

For the sake of the war back home, then, she decided that it was best to leave on this mission that she, personally, couldn't care less about—if only because she doesn't yet know the details. However, there is little hope that she was chosen as Champion for any other reason than to remove her from Dominus' chessboard. Though descriptions of her attitudes toward humans range from "practical" to "neutral" to "milquetoast," all agree that she is a potential troublemaker, and to cast one's lot with her is to stand directly against the status quo. Many in the family are jeering and wishing her a "happy retirement," and few are praying for her safety—but Cynthia chooses to give only the latter voices space in her mind, as she tries to focus on the struggles in front of her.

Let me know if anything went sideways. Came in late and wrote this in a semi-hurry to get in this while it's still open.

Edit: Added more details about Dominus and Ninkigal. Cynthia also got a bit more personality, with extra strengths and weaknesses.

Stranded: Blacksite (High casual Sci-fi/fantasy Horror)

Maji couldn't parse the doctor's words exactly, but it wasn't hard to guess what kind of questions she might be asking. Probably wondering what she was doing there, and why she had no escort. "Mrawp," she chirped, as if to say nope, it's just me. Standing up from behind the desk, she faced away from the doctor and arranged her arms into an amusing caricature of how one might (very poorly) handle an assault rifle—emitting a quiet, but uncannily accurate sound from her mouth. She then dove back behind the desk, as if to take cover from this imaginary sentry, and peeked back over it again, looking meaningfully at Lea as if to say you get it, right?

Maji had had only one run-in with the draught sentries, in the which one had smacked her with the butt of his rifle simply for appearing to be more afraid of Dr. Dirk's bodyguard than she was of one of them. The other "offender," the bald Tulak, had narrowly talked his way out of trouble himself.

Having been beckoned to sit, Maji sat, not really sure what to expect. When next Lea turned to face her, she'd made her skin partially translucent, like she always did during her regular checkups. "Mrrp?" she trilled curiously, as Lea returned with a fine-toothed comb rather than a syringe. Then, her eyes lit up. Wait, wait! Is this that 'social grooming' thing humans do? It is! This means we really are friends, right! She grinned from ear to ear, happily swinging her bleeding legs to and fro while Lea worked. She'd made a friend. Mission accomplished.

Before she could get too comfortable, though, she heard familiar footsteps coming uncomfortably close. She let out a low, growl-like gurgle as her skin-mucus turned black again, her whole body tensed and ready to... well, who knew? However, Lea seemed to recognize the intruding engineer, so any hostility she might have otherwise shown to their unexpected company quickly turned into mere petulance at having been interrupted. Catching a glimpse of a fellow Sapishte, her eyes again lit with excitement briefly, before realizing that she'd accidentally left her cat ears on, and everyone was giving her funny looks. As her ears quickly slid down the sides of her head to where they should be, she turned her gaze away. Everything about her pouting face wanted to say I meant to do that! but her blush betrayed her mistake.

Stranded: Blacksite (High casual Sci-fi/fantasy Horror)

As the tram clumsily slammed the brakes, bodies tumbled in various directions, and one came sliding from underneath a bench.

One, two, three, four...

Before anyone could fully process that their numbers had increased by one, and that the one coated in a black, tar-looking substance was not a corpse, Number Five suddenly unfurled into a catlike creature, filling the tram with more gurgling shrieks of alarm as it leapt through a broken window, morphed into something more humanoid, and quietly skittered up a nearby column and into the mess of pipes, vents and cables above. It let out one more, quieter gurgling noise, a mewling sound that seemed almost apologetic as it disappeared from sight.

---

Well, that went horribly wrong. Maji had hoped that someone, by chance, would have noticed the cute girl sleeping under a bench and said something. That certainly would've made introductions much easier than if someone had seen her in rat form, or if she had tapped someone's shoe to try to get their attention. Maji wasn't sure why she hadn't been worried about how trigger happy those two boys might be, until she was already under the bench. Maybe the thought of meeting one of her own kind had made her go a bit silly in the head. Perhaps she'd even imagined, just for a moment, that she might be a familiar face, even though the scent wasn't familiar at all.

But then, as she was scampering through the vents, she was hit with a familiar scent.

...It's Lea! Or at least, it's the medbay, which also smells like Lea!

Emboldened by the prospect of company, food, medical supplies, and at least the illusion of safety, Maji picked up the pace, and made perhaps a little too much noise as she crawled through the ceiling of the room where Lea was. Moving from the ceiling vent down to the wall vent behind a nearby desk, a pair of hoofed feet kicked the vent cover open, then meshed together and morphed into the head of a girl with long, bluish-black hair and pointed ears. Curious eyes darted here and there, peeping around the corner of the vent, then over the top of the desk, until she found who she was looking for. Eyes lit up, and Lea was met with a toothy grin.

"Ah-ohh~♪" the Sapishte greeted cheerfully with a burbling chirp.

It was highly unusual to see Maji without her escort: the mysterious lab man who had no official name, and went only by the pseudonym "Dr. Dirk," at least when speaking to Lea. He was a weird one who didn't speak much aside from strictly business, and when he did, it was usually to Maji, in some strange language only she could understand. When Lea asked Maji a question, Dirk would have to translate, and Maji was not allowed to ask Lea questions in return. It was difficult to learn much about her, other than that she seemed friendly, despite being "officially" a dangerous creature—formerly a dangerous criminal. It was hard to believe, given that she'd never shown any hostility, and would often smile at people, seemingly for no reason at all.

I wonder if she knows that I'm a 'cat burglar?' Maji thought.

Speaking of which, there was that smile. "Nnheehee~" she giggled. But despite how happy she was to see Lea, her gelatinous coat was covered in all kinds of grime and filth, and even a few stray bits of broken glass. Her unexpected arrival was seemingly only yet another element of chaos resulting from whatever was going on in the cell blocks.

Stranded: Blacksite (High casual Sci-fi/fantasy Horror)

Failed to initiate quarantine procedures: insufficient power. Error code: 796.

The aggravated man of science scoffed at the error given on the terminal. "Do behave yourself, won't you Maji? I'm going to borrow from you for a bit," he said as he typed furiously. At the mention of the Sapishte, Barz cocked his head to the side, cracking his neck.

"Would you stop calling that thing by a name, as if it were one of us?" he growled. "If you let that creature out, I'mma shoot it on sight."

"I'm not. I'm diverting power from the SS-GEN suppressor. With all this noise, she won't notice, even if she had a sudden change of heart and wanted to escape."

Barz scoffed at the reply. "You lab rats. Noses against the glass, studying that thing day and night. Feeding it, teaching it new tricks. You ever think that maybe you're the ones being studied? Your boss can drawl on and on about 'conditioning' and 'training' all she likes. An animal doesn't want to be kept in a cage and fed, it wants to roam free and hunt. It may act cute and timid now, but if I picked you up and tossed you at it like a T-bone steak, how long do you think it'd hesitate?"

"Your opinion as a hunter will be taken under advisement," the scientist replied, disinterested, as he confirmed the diverting of power.

Barz shook his head as the vents overhead began loudly closing. "Glonelia shoulda been left to rot. The hookers are bad enough, clinging to every other race's politicians and gaining unearned influence for theirs—but the savages from the bayous are real animals, and that one's a savage among savages. It's already proven it can play the long con: saw a chance to gain power, and stole it. That's the story, innit?"

"The 'official' story is a crock of shit," came another reply, this one more annoyed. "The company had both legal and financial motivation to call it a theft, knew she was vulnerable due to her lack of family ties, and had the leverage to silence the only witness."

"Ah, that explains the mental gymnastics. You still think of that thing as a coworker."

"Why not? She's just as invested in this research as I am. We trust each other. She'll wait for me."

"All I'm saying is, you're the one who took the shock collar off. When it stops playing coquette, it's your ass."

---

A shadowy figure emerged out of the door from which the earlier shriek came. Pitch black from head to toe, and quite indistinct, aside from the distinctly feminine features, sharply pronounced by the profile view generously offered by the hallway. For a moment, in the low light, one could have imagined that the Sapishte was merely a "shadow person," conjured by the imagination driven mad by the crisis at hand.

But she turned, smelling fresh blood in the air, towards the Tulak in the tattered shirt. She showed a gentle-looking face, with eyes wide open, staring transfixed like a fawn in headlights, paying no mind to the other prisoner creeping up behind her back. Innocent and naive; the perfect victim, or so her would-be stalker had sized her up to be. He was wrong. Without so much as turning to face him, the Sapishte gave the man a strong mule kick to the face, complete with hoof. Apparently deciding not to trust the Tulak she'd been staring blankly at for what felt like half a minute, she took off on all fours, with webbed hands and feet, crawling along the walls, her face now completely covered in black aside from her eyes.

"Yo, fuck that shit, man! What the fuck is that?!" one bug-eyed prisoner screamed, running back into his cell and slamming the door.

First, she tried the vents. Of course, those were shut tight—airtight, to be precise, though Maji couldn't guess why. Next, she tried the elevator. She could manually force the doors open, but the controls wouldn't respond. However, the maintenance hatch on the roof was easy enough for her to reach, and the lack of ladders outside was not a problem. Finally, after one long, very slimy slide to the bottom of the elevator shaft, she found what she was looking for: some kind of tunnel. The last time she'd taken this elevator, she'd noticed that it appeared as though a couple of buttons had been removed from the elevator panel. Back then, it had only maddened her with curiosity and the desire to explore for a couple of days, before she'd forgotten about it entirely. Now, it was suddenly critical information.

Hands glued to the rails of the catwalk, she creeped slowly and cautiously down the tunnel, built for unknown purpose, with no particular purpose in mind other than to get as far away from the cacophony of suffering and death behind her as possible. She soon discovered something that would terrify any woman: rats. A cat-like tongue flicked out of her mouth in the blink of an eye, licking up a drop of saliva.

...Meat.

One unthinkable and desperate act later, Maji was happily waddling along, disguised as a big black rat—one of many, deep in the bowels of the ship. Even if someone came looking for her—if they even knew where to look—their clear inability to control a rat problem on a spaceship made Maji feel pretty safe right about now. She was acting pretty carefree, until she heard something like panicked voices in the distance. At first, her peace of mind disturbed, she made herself at home among a pack of rats fleeing the scene, but then a scent caught her nose. Another Sapishte? Oh! A female one, too! Suddenly, she came to her senses. Was she just going to spend the rest of her life living as a rat?! NO!! Of course, they were going to be best friends—one of them just didn't know it yet.

As she drew close to what looked like an abandoned tram station, she began to be able to make out the voices. She was reminded, painfully, that she couldn't understand what they were saying. She considered turning around, but her curiosity drew her in. Sneaking quietly aboard the tram and darting underneath a bench, she observed the group cautiously. They seemed to be fleeing whatever crisis was going on, and they seemed to know where they were going. As if that weren't good enough, one of them seemed to be good with technology. With any luck, he'd know how to find Lea. Maybe even open doors without breaking them. The possibilities were endless!

Stranded: Blacksite (High casual Sci-fi/fantasy Horror)

The dull, off-white lab darkened as the power flickered. "Shit! What is that engineer doing?!" the scientist yelled up at the ceiling, his attention forcefully drawn away from the screen. When his eyes returned to his work, he was rewarded only with more stress.

TRACE System failure. Restoring default settings until the error is resolved. Error code: 942.

"Why yes, of course it fails. Obviously! Poor girl, that maniac of a project leader gave her some nasty defaults..."

He looked up from his monitor to check on the Sapishte, only to realize that she was now awake, staring at him with eyes wide open.

---

Maji had been sleeping peacefully, dreaming as she often did about swimming in the ocean. She'd been gathering pearls, when suddenly a tasty-looking fish swam by. She felt her body painlessly break apart as she began to mimic a school of the very same fish. As the fish drew closer, thinking to shelter itself with numbers, the school of fish quickly reformed, and the Sapishte sank her fangs into her prey. As the carefree girl was enjoying her free meal, thinking about how much more fun this was than spearfishing, the waters darkened, and she looked up and saw the familiar, chilling outline of the boat—the big one, which brought the humans that captured her. Ah... a dream. That dream. Next, her body would become inexplicably weak, a net would carry her aboard, and the hired hunters would beat her, until they realized that she couldn't struggle. Rather than re-live that nightmarish moment, she decided she'd better wake herself up.

What Maji awoke to, however, was even darker than the sea beneath the boat, and more red than the trail of chum behind it. The lab was running on emergency power! In what she supposed must have been at least five years by now—judging solely by how much more old and tired the lab-man was looking these days—this had never happened before. Pressing her face against the glass of her containment pod, with a bit of a squint she could just about see the lab-man in the dark, and could make out what he was saying. Except... he wasn't so much saying anything, as he was just making angry human-noises. Opening her mouth to speak, Maji—

—felt a "snap" in the back of her head, not unlike the sensation of abruptly waking up to a loud noise. No actual words came out, only an abbreviated cry of surprise. She tried again to speak, and the same thing happened. Could she... not speak? The lab-man spoke again, louder this time, but his words were certainly complete gibberish. Maji's eyes widened as the scientist looked up at her, visibly upset with both the situation going on around him, and whatever was happening to her. She had no idea what was going on, and could neither speak nor understand. Was she having a nightmare? Was she going insane? Was her brain... broken? And what if the science-man couldn't fix her?

Tears welled up in Maji's eyes. The containment, she could handle. For the sake of her health, a nice doctor named "Lea" had recommended that she at least be allowed to walk when being transferred between labs—and though she didn't know the lab-man's name, she'd trusted him too. His experiments were fun—not like the experiments the other two put her through—but she hadn't seen either of them in quite a while. Neither of them could stop her from playing, and if she was bored, she could always sleep. Dinner was always a surprise. Life on this ship—called the Alcatraz, or so she had been told—wasn't horrible for her... as long as she didn't have to be lonely. But what now?! What if she could never talk to anyone ever again?! No! She would not stand for this!

Maji took a deep breath from her breathing tube, and braced herself for pain—as did the scientist, who knew what was coming: the piercing, gurgling shriek that an earthling could only describe as "a blue whale that swallowed a mountain lion." Slightly mournful, but mostly blood-curdling, whether it was a distress call or a war cry, only another Sapishte could probably tell. It echoed throughout the lab, and down the halls of the high-security block, still faintly audible by the time it would reach her "cell-mates."

Maji's hopes were briefly kindled as the lab-man's body language changed, pleading with her to stop. Whenever he did that, her patience and cooperation with him was usually rewarded. The other two nameless lab rats that she didn't like would just sedate her, of course, but this man had earned her trust. However, the scary balding man burst into the lab and shouted something, which caused the lab-man to quickly leave with him. Scarcely could Maji have known that other prisoners were being released, and his life was probably in more danger than hers. From her perspective, he had abandoned her just like that. Was she alone now, then? Could she not trust anyone, not even the lab-man? She sank to the bottom of the containment pod, hiding her face behind her knees. She cried a little... then tried vocalizing vowels. Then, a few other sounds. Soon, she was singing a wordless siren's song of sorrow and loneliness.

The moment she tried to form words, her mind would seemingly just fail to conjure them from memory. She would have to find some other way to communicate, for now. As quickly as she'd lost hope, she'd took hold of it again. She'd lived on the streets until she could afford to one day wear the white coat, just like the lab-man. She could be just as resourceful as he was. She could figure this thing out.

Stranded: Blacksite (High casual Sci-fi/fantasy Horror)

"Brave? Not particularly," the man responded before taking another sip of his coffee. "But that's what this is for."

Reaching into his labcoat, he retrieved a small radio and muttered something unintelligible into it, then quickly received something unintelligible back that seemed to satisfy his curiosity. He listened to the story of the man in the vent, his eyes lazily glancing over to the grate Felix had just been working on, before looking back at the terminal. "Nice," he remarked, though it wasn't possible to tell if he was talking to his radio, about vent man, the lucky catch with the camera, or the taste of his coffee. By the time the sentries were burning corpses, though, his interest in Felix's work went from casual to deadly serious. "Bloo-dee hell," he exhaled, suddenly glancing back at the vent as the realization hit.

"You don't reckon vent-man is being escorted right back in that direction, do you?" he asked, though he didn't really sound like he was asking for an opinion. "I'd, ah, seal those exits, if you could—and the vents, if such a thing is possible—if it's not, I know one place where it is—" he rattled off, his voice getting faster as the adrenaline kicked in—much more effective than the coffee that was thrown, mug and all, into the nearest bin. "Gather anyone who will listen to you and tell them that they've got a shiny new high-security clearance, but they'll have to be ready to fight for it," he said as he flashed his badge at Felix to show him what he was up to, before taking off back to where he came from—the deeper cells where the freaks were held, and yet deeper in, to a place that didn't officially exist.

As the man entered the high-security block, he wordlessly motioned for guard after guard to follow him. The guards in this particular block were used to this, and would follow him without asking any questions—though they did give each other questioning looks as their numbers increased more and more. He didn't need this many guards to escort that girl, right? Motioning for them to wait right outside the door to the lab, he entered alone, rushing over to his computer. It was only at sixty-eight percent; way too slow. He thought for a moment. If this was about an outbreak, wouldn't they leave her be, if he left her in containment? On the other hand, if containing the contagion was a secondary priority to a coverup... If he had to interrupt this process, it would be bad, but not as bad as death. Still, he had a bit more time left to bide. "Barz," he barked at the door guard. "I've gathered most of the guards in this block outside. Go tell them to round up everyone else in this block and allow emergency entry to anyone coming through the door to block E. Except Draught Sentries—they're killing everyone, including guards, staff and crew. They are your enemies until further notice."

Barz smiled at the mention of his old mercenary name. A balding Tulak with enough enhancements to be mistaken for an Arraxi, he took the news of incoming Draught Sentries pretty well. "Hah! That's great news! I hate them fuckers," he remarked on his way out.

Stranded: Blacksite (High casual Sci-fi/fantasy Horror)

All was darkness—both upon the eyes of the sleeping Sapishte, and upon the camera feed of the scientist. All had been silent in the lab, save for the low hum of the creature's containment pod, the soft whirring of robotic arms carrying various measurement devices, and the quiet buzz of the aperture adjustments of the camera—now to no avail—all punctuated only by the occasional melodic burbling of the Sapishte's calmly exhaled bubbles, or a quick burst of the scientist's feverish typing. The labcoat himself sighed, frustrated, as the camera feed cut out for the seventh, eighth, or ninth time this week.

"More interference?" he speculated, just as groundlessly as the last time.

Sitting up from his chair, coffee in hand, he scratched the messy, light brown mop on his disheveled head and approached the bulletproof glass between his cozy desk, and the Sapishte's equally cozy (he supposed) containment pod in the next room over. The girl floated silently in the fetal position, immersed in the lightly greenish-yellow fluid. A shiny layer of black, tar-like mucus covered much of her body, though it would frequently change in both color and texture. The surface of it appeared to shimmer, as what the scientist knew to be many eyes rapidly moved through the mucus. The girl was dreaming, and as the dreaming shapeshifter slept, her body rapidly changed—though, only within the strict parameters that the containment pod would permit. The scientist allowed himself to be mesmerized by the sight for only a moment before returning to his desk, only to find that the cameras were still out. He shrugged. The computer's current operation was automated, and would take a while. There was no need for him to be here anyway.

On the way out, the doctor passed by the door of the girl's "cell." It was covered with many and varied warning signs, from the mundane such as "no smoking," to the perplexing "no metal objects beyond this point," to the mildly hair-raising "quarantine zone: organics strictly prohibited." Aside from the girl in the tube, the door was the only thing that added any significant color to the otherwise sterile environment, but those who worked there had long since developed a blind spot for it, along with the single door guard who watched the Sapishte while the labcoats were away.

Emerging from the secure doors of the "twilight zone," where the prisoners knew all of the Alcatraz's most bizarre freaks were held, the labcoat bearing the badge with no name put on his best poker face as he wandered somewhat aimlessly down the halls, walking by several cells and eventually running into Felix.

"My camera's out too," he complained listlessly for a greeting, peering at the terminal over the rim of his coffee mug.

More scientifically-minded than security-minded, he didn't seem too disturbed by the revelation that more cameras were going out, and was presumably only interested in knowing when it would be fixed. Eventually, his eyes shifted to Felix, which would confirm such a suspicion.

Stranded: Blacksite (High casual Sci-fi/fantasy Horror)

Maji Nyeusi

Subject Name: Maji Nyeusi

Race: Sapishte
Age: 28
Gender: Female

Appearance

Height: 1.7 meters, or 5.6 ft.
Weight: 64 kg, or 141.1 lbs.
Hair is stained blue/black, eyes silver with a faint trace of their original lavender color.
Body type varies with physical activity. Subject exhibits greater-than-expected control of epidermal mucus, storing it on any part of the body.

ADVISORY: Outside of containment, subject is observed to freely re-arrange genetic structure and body mass into nearly any form, including any inanimate objects readily available to attempt to camouflage itself. (Note: dummy objects retain the subject's epidermal mucus, and will therefore reveal itself as a mimic when touched.) Because of this ability, subject has been deprived of all belongings, including clothing. Subject has been observed to maintain adequate modesty without clothing using epidermal mucus. Any complaints from the subject contrary to these observations are to be dismissed.


Enhancement: Self-Sustained Gene Editing Nanobots (SS-GEN)

Violation of (NAME OF CLIENT ORGANIZATION REDACTED) containment and handling protocol at (SITE REDACTED), (TIME AND DATE REDACTED) has caused subject's aqueous body to become polluted with ferrofluid solution (PATENT NUMBER REDACTED), containing experimental nanomachine colony SS-GEN. Originally designed for genetic engineering and repair, SS-GEN has enhanced subject's own shapeshifting abilities, granting nearly complete control over genetic structure and body composition. Subject's body is more mutable than a Sapishte, yet also more resilient to external attempts to force shapeshifting against the will of the host. Subject's containment unit located at (CELL NUMBER REDACTED) has been equipped with (DEVICE REDACTED), restricting SS-GEN operations. Subject exhibits expected Sapishte shapeshifting behavior even within containment. Obfuscation of the Sapishte's emotions has not been observed; subject is cooperative and unlikely to attempt escape of containment. However, subject is a valuable asset that client's rivals may attempt to seize, should its presence aboard the Alcatraz be made known. Subject should be monitored regularly by assigned personnel only and handled with care as prescribed.

GHS02: Extreme heat may cause unexpected or undesired operation of SS-GEN, or permanent damage to the subject.
GHS07: Subject's epidermal mucus is contaminated with ferrofluid. Avoid contact with skin and eyes, or aspiration into the lungs.
GHS08: Personnel incur no mutagenic hazard from subject. However, subject may suffer mutagenic hazard from personnel DNA contamination.


Unique Abilities

Flawless Mimesis ~ You Are What You Eat!

Subject can mimic not only the expected humanoid races, but most other living creatures; this ability is acquired by consuming the flesh, blood, or other traces containing genetic material of the creature in question. Subject can shapeshift specific parts of the body to acquire and use multiple genetic traits simultaneously, acquire traits from predators exceeding the subject's own body mass, transform various appendages in defiance of body symmetry, or retain the ability of human speech in nonhumanoid form. Subject can also consume an inanimate object, memorize the shape of the object, and transform the body into that shape, potentially camouflaging the subject. Attempts to make use of the subject while in the form of a simple tool (e.g. screwdriver) were partially successful, though the subject complained of moderate-to-severe pain afterwards. Any attempts to replicate more complex objects with moving parts (e.g. firearms) have failed.

ADVISORY: Observed successful mimicry of fauna over a period of two weeks included the following specimens: Ocelot, octopus, mantis, raven, wolf, snake, crocodile, tree frog, hornets, lobster, electric eel, sea turtle, jellyfish, and cuttlefish. Subject's body seems to store up to 7 genetic codes at once, including the expected Sapishte humanoid form. Mental capacity has been pushed to its limit, resulting in subject being able to "remember" 4 genetic adaptations at once. When attempting to mimic a fifth trait, another adaptation must be deleted, or the subject will lose consciousness. Assimilating a new genetic code from raw materials (meals) seems to result in the oldest genetic code (excluding the original Sapishte) being deleted.


Remote Puppetry of Replicant ~ Life of the Party!

Subject has been observed to divide body mass into multiple units. Doing so appears to divide both cognitive resources and physical strength between the units—until, at the size of insects, they act as a true hive mind. Most useful applications appear to be productivity and an escape tactic. All replicants have been observed to be identical in size and species, and mixing genetic traits from multiple species while in this mode of SS-GEN operation has not been observed. However, though no visual distinction between the units has been observed, the presence of a "Master" consciousness as a leader of the group, as well as accompanying "slave" consciousnesses has been established. Any injury sustained by a slave unit, up to and including death, will cause an injury to manifest itself within the subject once all units have been reclaimed into the main body. It is presumed that death of the unit playing host to the "Master" consciousness will induce coma or death of the subject. An experiment to prove this presumption has not been scheduled at this time.

This concludes the report on Subject: Maji Nyeusi.

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Personality: A carefree and spunky girl whose intuition of others doesn't match her sheltered background. Makes seemingly no effort to hide how she feels, going so far as to shapeshift to exaggerate her emotions, even if they make no sense to anyone but her—just to express her weird self. Will do just about anything for a laugh or at least a smile. Will stick her nose where it doesn't belong, but genuinely wants the best for everyone—including herself, unapologetically. She is kind, but not soft, and can become quite stubborn if anyone were to try to take advantage of her or those she designates as friends (whether they agreed to her friendship or not). Loves food and will try almost anything at least once, especially after the accident. Gets defensive when questioned too much, especially about her race, and about those "lying mutants," which, she will remind you, are extremely rare, compared to the number of liars among the other races.

Bio:

Is it possible to choose how to feel about a bad situation? Or is laughter a liar's mask, worn to cover up sadness?

This question plagued Maji's childhood. Born in the backwaters of a backwater planet seemingly only suitable for insects, for 20 agonizingly long Glonelian years Maji was an ordinary girl living an ordinary, boring life in her isolated little swamp island tribe, far away from the bustling tourist centers of the mainland. The elders of her tribe never did approve of any move to assimilate into intergalactic society, for fear that mingling with other races, especially those "morally bankrupt" humans and "freakishly terrifying" Arraxi, would be the destruction of Sapishti culture, and the subjugation of its people. Off-world technology was despised, and attunement to nature was prized highly. Occasionally, Maji's outspoken personality and lack of attunement would earn her some snarky and derisive comments from her peers—something about how her "high-and-mighty attitude" didn't match her rank—and when she refused to be upset by them, some chose to see her as a freak, while others merely thought of her as an airhead. In the end, when Maji chose to leave her tribe and join the intergalactic community on the mainland, no one was really surprised, and nobody really cared.

This new, busy town atmosphere was refreshing. Technology was amazing, and even though the humans seemed to lack the higher prosocial behavior known as "personal space," Maji considered their culture's presence on Glonelia valuable as well. They also, unlike her tribes-people, never asked her stupid questions about whether or not she was "really Maji," why she left home, or what kind of job she wanted—but if one had asked her, she would have told them that she wanted to help all of the sick humans, who were catching all of the exotic Glonelian maladies. As she studied to become a medical technician, nobody asked her where she got the money to pay for school—though if one had asked her, she would have told stories of the long dives at sea, looking for beautiful sea shells and pearls to make jewelry for tourists. It wasn't as if she didn't know why they didn't ask—of course, everybody just assumed—but while it was a bit of a culture shock at first, she eventually found their low expectations freeing. If what was assumed for a non-attuned Sapishte from the sticks was acceptable, then she couldn't possibly disappoint anyone even if she aimed higher and failed. She was enjoying this newfound freedom—freedom from constantly having her entire life being questioned, scrutinized and criticized—but that freedom was to abruptly come to an end, after the accident in the lab. Now, her life is nothing but being observed and analyzed. She'd wanted to spend her life doing that to other life forms, not having other life forms do that to her.

On the Alcatraz, there is a separate prison block with uniquely equipped cells for prisoners with unique abilities. None of the other prisoners have seen much of her, and most of the staff don't even know who she is, although her cell gets frequent visits from the same two or three labcoats. Unlike the other prisoners, she has no weapons, or even any possessions, and on the few occasions she was seen outside her cell, she was cooperative. Is she an experiment of some kind? Is she useful? Will she even help the other prisoners? Time for another game of twenty questions...