Post by Zex on Feb 28, 2020 14:37:13 GMT
Character Name: Zex
Canon Character or Original Character: OC
Face Claim: Spike Spiegel
Character Race: Cyborg
Character Racial Traits:
Unlimited Energy: While you still have 50% or more of your HP remaining, you automatically receive 2 respites and regenerate 20% fatigue per turn (as you are already using the maximum number of respites, you cannot spend additional actions to recover more fatigue). Once your health drops below 50%, you must spend actions to regain fatigue as normal.
Android Barrier: Allows the total negation of any one technique used against the player, also makes the user's next action hard to deflect/dodge. Costs no fatigue and 1 action to perform. Once per battle.
Character Gender: Male
Character Age: 38
Character Alignment: Neutral
Starting Planet: Hera
Starting Items:
Plasteel Armour Plating: No one can say you weren’t built to last (Slot: Accessory | Reduces damage from Physical attacks by 5%)
Internal Scouter: External scouters are so last year. This is built into your head! (Slotless | Functions as a Scouter, providing access to Sense)
Starting Technique: Tri-Beam - 10% Fatigue - 15% Ki - The user puts their hands together in front of them in the form of a triangle. The centre of which can be used to ‘zoom in’ as it charges energy. Can sacrifice up to 10% HP to increase damage up to 25% Ki.
Stats:
Strength: 100
Ki: 150
Agility: 150
Durability: 100
Personality: Having a few different parts going into a personality doesn't make it complicated, per se.
A self classified chill guy, Zex doesn't sustain any soul staining sense of malice and he's generally disinclined to be angry; what frustration he does accumulate releases as snark and oftentimes he abides by a mechanical doctrine of logic. An idea of control helps, as his entire idea of a "lifestyle" revolves around being free to do what he feels like doing and pursue those targets he chooses on his own personal grounds. Obviously, this is a choice, and one made from a place of immense pain. The best repression is absolute repression, so the real person screaming in agony was just a hum in the back of the cyborg's mind. It does leave this blue tint over life, though, a little bit sad or melancholy... Sometimes, people need things to be good, and sometimes that's just what he does. Make good.
Fun is a rough concept for a being whose sentience is a byproduct of electrical signals from artificial axons but that's never stopped anyone before. Money brings a certain content security that's rare in the universe, and battle broadens the breadth of a being's boundaries beyond what is ordinarily achievable. Zex likes having fun and enjoys committing to activities that revitalize and invigorate his parts. Exploring and finding new things brings out a cool kind of rush. Power, strength, ability, they feel so associated with freedom, and therefore, acquiring more can't be bad either. Fun is a key part of maintenance. That was a fundamental something the old doctor never, ever understood about life.
Now, when business comes down to business and a serious matter merits taking care of it, that's all there is to it. Business be taken care of. Zex is a self styled galactic pirate cowboy warrior, which means that sometimes his business end is too sharp to see before it's too late. He likes money and loot and exploring, and he likes fighting what gets in his way. Bad things happen, casualties in a war for property and survival spanning all life, and if they happen around him.
Sometimes, bad things are fun. Blowing up something important or burning down someone's home.. sometimes, that's just what needs to happen. Sometimes, that person deserved and sometimes it should feel good, right? Actual flesh and bone, blood, they fail so fantastically that it feels like living to be surrounded by death. It made the utter self loathing of being a monster birthed from the unholy union of man and adaptive machine feel more like elation. Momentarily.
History: There were… reports… of a boy. Visual accounts from the leader of a colony of semi-reliable, semi-intelligent aliens of an almost society on the fringes of North Galaxy. If they were to be believed, then there was a large family of nomadic humanoids belonging to the more intelligent race of the planet. They were squishier than the bug like primitives, but their tool using capabilities kept the species' death rate just low enough to maintain neutral populations. Eventually, when structures started to fail because of a particularly harsh monsoon season sweeping across the globe, the various large beetle like fauna and numerous smaller insect like creatures crept into their settlements, devouring crops, infants, grass houses and warriors alike. The remainder, naturally, were the few capable of surviving in gypsy-like wandering while the most effective bipedal bug slowly became intelligent enough to dominate a group and form the first settlement.
The strongest son of the leader of this group, the first colony of the planet first called something like Eeeroch, 27th in the first brood of civilization, an entity known as Kwardd, would be the one sighting a young human boy. This would lead to the eventual death of the last family of land-borne mammals on the planet.
There were very few humans left on this planet anymore, as they'd been run to extinction. Potential locations for remaining specimens were low and the area in which specimens were spotted was singular. One group left. They were adept at escaping with only nominal casualties, and the beetle society had chiefly left them to become urban legends in order to avoid wasting time and bugpower that could be better used for tunneling and nest construction. Two generations of humans managed to survive under these conditions, but there was no hope for the species to recover in the circumstances. In the last family, there was a boy who felt only hatred, rage, and desperation, and this child, only just preparing to enter his adolescence, would not feel helpless any longer.
Quick as lightning, he leaped from the thick jungle canopy with a stick and a rock. The effectively nonngendered bug man carrying some massive pile of fruit was struck in the side of his mouth. Yellow "blood" and fruit juices spattered the nearby noble's entourage, and Kwardd would see the dark haired boy's eyes flash at him for only a moment before the makeshift spear sank between the future leader's mandibles and lodged into his soft throat. Chaos burst and screeching noises echoed through the trees as the pack of beetles dropped their cargo and scattered to save their royalty as well as end their perceived threat. Though they were fast, numerous and large, the boy was too quick. The small battalion of bugs broke their chase and regrouped. Alas, had he known what consequences this action would have for his people, it may not have taken place. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and the crippled bug prince would not take his injury without also taking a blow to his pride. Bug politics aside, he became a strong and soft spoken leader who saw to the procedural acquisition, torture, and release of humans to hunt them to extinction. Instead of killing every member of the species as they were found, he would mark and release them to track down the rest of the population and wipe them all out. All save the three siblings not present for the extinction event, including the dark haired boy, whose hatred had only multiplied itself further after the vengeance wrought years before. The young adults would not return to their encampment.
Eventually, a researcher found his way to this rather out of the way planet, not for any truly valuable resource but test subjects. He was a rather large man with greyish skin and absolutely no hair anywhere. Upon establishing a laboratory and outpost from which he could gather supplies, the mad professor was astounded by the approach of the siblings. He had not expected any mammalian life forms, let alone ones so close to the physiology he would normally ahve sought after. This would not just be a test of the properties of insectoid life on large scale in oxygen rich atmosphere, as his expedition was named hitherto, but an opportunity for discreet human experimentation.
Led by group mentality and driven by starvation, they had approached slowly and carefully, but with a sureness only held by those in their last moments of nutrition with no hope of food. It smelled unlike anything they had previously experienced, and indeed, they were overwhelmed by the taste of breaded, seasoned, cooked meat, and the doctor originally welcomed them with inexplicable altruism. The wild seldom left room to share.
The oldest of them, designated as ZEXPERION, was in the best physical condition that could be expected, and the heavy amount of oxygen in the atmosphere contributed to the development of a stronger breed. It was, in truth, remarkable how the increased oxygenation lead to much faster movement and more powerful musculature without overly increasing the need for consumption. Sir Junkins had found that they would eat only slightly more than was average for their respective sizes. Each was caged separately and they would typically be capable of seeing and communicating with each other, but were tested and eventually fed separately. The youngest was a female of above average size, and the doctor deduced through her eventual death, caused by the gradual lessening of rations over time for examination of entropy and malnutrition, that these specimens were not only far below prime condition upon the commencement of experimentation, but also wont to die of starvation faster and with less apparent malnutrition. The other specimen, designated HOPARANDUM, underwent strenuous training in order to increase his muscle mass. As long as he was in his native atmosphere, the subject performed extreme feats of strength, at multiple points breaking not only parameters but also containment. The subject abruptly terminated due to rapid onset emotional turmoil during oxygen deprivation training, suffocating and choking on bodily fluids upon discovery of his older brother's ongoing modification. ZEXPERION was tested, measured, vivisected and experimented on, disassembled and reassembled over and over again to perfect his various attributes. Midway through receiving bionic augmentation, ZEXPERION watched, sedated, as his younger brother physically and mentally broke attempting to save him from the procedure. Nothing that either of them did could have saved the other.
There was nothing else to see of him for a very long time. His planet was a casualty of P.T.O. expansion, eventually, but that would only be a reason for Junkins to return to his headquarters.
Some time later, Zex surfaced in Hera. He knew the name of the man who had made him, Sir Professor Doctor Junkins III, and the peculiar nature of his form left him with the impression he had been designed for combat. The young boy, full of hate, multiplied not once, not twice, but three times over still lived, somewhere in the back of his processing center. But that was a spiritual ghost in a brain only half alive. Now, ZEXPERION had decided his name would be Zex.
His life, from creation, was one of training and relative solitude. Running aptitude tests, heavy exercise and energy control lessons. Much of his knowledge was preinstalled but it was in his nature to ask questions and learn more. It was clear that his form was not aging as fast as an ordinary person's would, and his overseer, Junkins, explained this was a byproduct of his semi-robotic nature. His skin was not in fact skin, but an alloy that aged significantly slower than mundane organic epidermis, and his body was capable of biomechanical cell mitosis that wouldn't stop unless his energy core was fully depleted. This was the same basic premise that would allow him to use Ki in various ways. Exploring the spaceport on controlled excursions provided learning material about society and individual mannerisms. Plenty of evidence existed to state that people were scum, not only from stories overheard but made clear by the men inhabiting the busy spaceports.
Much of his time was spent thinking. Thinking about the nature of life, especially his own. But also the nature of human life and the actions they committed to. Such as creating his life. Much of his thought was centered around his own vitality and why he existed, what kind of thing he was. His thinking never stopped and he did, in a sense, dream. His mind raced through scenarios and memories thrashed from his formerly independent child psyche to the forefront of his subconscious.
One day, Zex woke from a nap to discover the laboratory outpost sacked and Junkins missing. No blood, a huge mess, and some looting evident. And, having to determine his purpose independently, he decided to follow his past and present persisting purposeless disposition, right out onto the streets. It was less than 24 hours before he had been made into the leader of an unofficial pirate crew, a meaningless arrangement if ever there was one.
Sample RP:
Everything was scattered.
That was the first detail worth any real note, all the various possessions of Sir Professor Doctor Junkins that remained were scattered about the chamber.
The sleep pod was a thin square built into the wall that wasn't even the depth of a closet. It had lifted open from the outside, the hydraulic locks disengaged without Zex's usual push, and as his eyes flicked open and visual processors took in the room at a fraction of the speed of light, a brief but audible hum sounded the energy core of Zex powering his body for the first time after a surprisingly long nap; it was infrequent that he lay without movement in standby for more than two hours, and his internal clock registered the time as six hours after initial shut down.
"I take an extra minute of shut eye and you trash the joint, old man?"
Not that it would be apparent in any sense, but he was experiencing his equivalent of fear. A controlled assessment suggested that Sir may have been removed by force and was likely not in healthy condition on the premises. Audio receptors indicated… not a vibration as subtle as a heartbeat on the premises. That almost felt like sadness, the isolation of his 'home' and the disappearance of his 'father.' A subroutine ran through his main frontal processing unit, the one about mutilating the old human, and the purposefulness of ending the life that had created his own twisted existence.
Softly, the cyborg released a sigh, a soft breath of almost pure hydrogen that lingered for a moment before it was dissipated by his movement.
Zex walked quickly through the room to what was the scientist's desk. A mess of paper was left, and a swift push through told him it was chiefly useless. A word caught his eye, though, and he grabbed one paper up for a look. Ship. It confirmed nothing but mentioned an old ship and how to program himself as the captain, along with a last known location. That was a starting mission. Besides, he had been out on the town before to warm up and assess his capabilities. There was a pub. In another few steps, he was at the door and on the way out. Except, there was a code out, some silly 37 digit number that was meant to stop him. Zex would make the effort of 30 caluculated moves, kicks up the seam of the door and back down again, ripping open the door beyond any sense of reasonable integrity. Recently, all his time had been spent charging and learning how to distribute his energy. It was not a difficult task, but more than anything boring. As such, even the flurry of blows was a welcome stimulus, a nice stretch. And at a brisk jog, he headed up and out the stairs of his cell and home, seeking freedom in the universe beyond. What awaited above would be a busy mess to get lost in.
Five minutes of freedom from his prison had him with a free drink, another ten seated him at a new card game. Mechanically speaking, every card matched two other cards, and it seemed points were in pairs and triples made from the hand and the board of six cards at a time. Thirty minutes and he had cleared out the table, five other people beaten at their own game by a machine they couldn't hope to beat.
Zex ran his hand through his hair, leaning back and showing his teeth in a bashful smirk. He could drop a one liner on them all right now, but that would probably only serve as evidence that somehow he'd sleeved cards or cheated them out of their currency. Instead, he reset his expression in cemented pleasure and watched each of the variously colored alien gamblers carefully tread out of the room. Most of them shot him glares or had coldly focused on their migration, but the last one, as it is always the slowest with the longest opportunity who feels pushed the most to act, stopped before reaching the sliding door of escape. Purple and beefy, built like a minotaur with two stalk eyes instead of horns and some gnarly ham hands, he had turned all the way around after he passed the winner's chair and leaned down to poke his lengthy, autonomous eyes in the cyborg's face. Normally, it would have been a fitting distraction, and slamming that huge palm on the table would have made a lesser organic being jump with apprehension.
But, alas, this was not to be.
Originally, Zex had his back to the door, but he had spun his stool to face the would be attacker, and whipped his left hand up in a little gun shape. A flash of light came then, an almost quiet disc shape that shot from in between the two fingers and completely severed the being's other hand; it had been making for the gun on his belt, an inefficient but insulting maneuver. Barney cried out in pain before his mandible was kicked into the roof of his mouth and he lost consciousness from the pain of his nerves being severed. Where the entity's head had been, now pointed the finger gun. Though the rest of the party had already made their way out of the chamber, almost all of them had turned around when Barney lost his firing hand. Two had their hands on their respective firearms but nobody drew. The shooter found his fingers pointed right at the entrance to the bar, which was currently an exit for the quickest participant of the poker game.
Having assessed the situation, Zex put his hand back into his pocket and strolled out to the middle of the floor. After a moment of digging, he pulled out an oblong piece of metal that was valued as currency here; a leftover from his last training excursion that would hopefully ease the establishment's burden, the one bleeding all over the private room floor.
Now, in the plan, this was where he would typically drop a sick line and get the fuck out of dodge while he was at the intersection of looking cool and looking deadly. And he wanted to find that man who had escaped without incident, because surely if there was an entity of worth at the table, it would be the one who was most likely to survive. The runner had caught his interest, and that insignia on hs jacket had been burned into the back of his neck. Oh, but this time, the alas was on the cyborg's foot.
"Hey, wait! You can't just walk out of here like that!"
One of the gamblers walked closer to him. But Zex would've heard the draw of a gun or even a raising hand, the heartbeat of a man about to strike. None of these things registered. He allowed the man his steps. "Orgeffer was a shit sport and a slow draw, lemme buy you a drink. You ever do any work before? Good, honest stealing work?" This one was yellow and white and black, with bumps across his circular forehead, and he sounded sincere. Zex spun around with a smile, the idea of finding the other patron having flitted away with the prospect of adventure and loot in front of him. Soon enough, he was seated at the bar with the alleged quartermaster of an amateur space pirate crew whose former captain was no longer in order giving shape. There were only four members of this organization now and only two had been in space, but the most capable definitely had to have been the one who dispatched the former leader.
Thus, Zex had become the captain of a group of "pirates."
Referred By: Fenrir
