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NAME: Artix
AGE: 16
DOB: October 16, 1998
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: O-
HEIGHT: 5' 10"
WEIGHT: 95lbs
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION: Artix looks perfectly human except for one thing: his hair is pure white. All of it. Not one strand on any part of his body retained whatever original color it may have possessed. It was not artificially made this way, nor is there any way he suddenly became albino, for he lacks red eyes and any other genetic defects. The white is his mutation, though it does not seem to matter in the long run. Compared to others, he could very well get by in normal society. His eyes are a bright blue, like a cloudless sky over a warm, summer sea. Those eyes have seen much, and they tell all in the thousand yard stare he possesses. What caused such trauma that he adopted such a stare, no one knows, for he never tells. His skin is pale and not quite free of blemishes. His body is thin and light from the sickness that eats him alive as well as the lack of any activity except the endless functions that keep him alive.
NOTES: He is both a child and an adult in one, as if the middle ground between them that creates a mature awareness has been severed. At times, he responds as a child does: with innocence and naivety or perhaps with temper tantrums and selfishness. Then there are moments where he speaks as if with the voice of gods. He tells of all he has seen, all he has heard, all he knows, and in those moments he can be rather profound. These two sides are separate in what they embody, one being child, the other adult, but they are not separate identities as seen in a dissociative disorder. He is completely aware of himself and his actions, and he is in full control of it all. It is not determined what circumstances cause him to favor one response over the other, for though he is in control of himself the entire time, the responses themselves seem to manifest at random. How he interacts with others is based on how he responds to the situation at hand or what state he is presently in when confronted. He poses as a potential threat and should be monitored continuously. This is only in reference to his ability rather than him physically. The physical body and mind of the one known as Artix lie in an unshakable coma. The physical body also appears to be suffering from severe and multiple forms of cancer, only stayed off by transplants and therapies. This is a result from -taking into account what has been gathered from his ramblings- swallowing the Xinium whole.
ABILITIES: Artix' ability is both vague and formless yet bound by very specific laws. His ability is that of creating his own, personal reality. This reality exists in 'another dimension', as they say for the sake of keeping it simple. Artix' ability allows him to manipulate this reality as well as how it interacts with the real world. He can create a physical representation of himself to interact with things in the real world. He can pull things from his own reality into the real world and vice versa. He can temporarily take the very laws of hi own world and make them exist or replace the laws in the real world. As far as anyone is aware, the personal reality exists only in Artix' mind and is not actually some other dimension that science has been kept in the dark about for too long. In fact, several scientists who voluntarily were sucked into Artix' world did discover this to be so. It is also noted that if Artix dies, his personal reality and all manifestation of it (including what he brings into the real world from it) will die with him. This can be problematic, as anyone inside his reality at the time will die too.
WEAKNESSES: Artix' power has consumed him. His physical body degenerates and dies while his imagined representation of himself wanders the real world, oblivious and indifferent. His ability to wander the real world is limited by distance to the physical body. The farther it wanders, the weaker the representation becomes until it fades out all together. Artix also experiences violent, physical pain at random times for no explicable reason and without traceable pattern. Artix ability is also ineffective to those who possess psychic or mental abilities, as they can sense when he tries to manipulate them or draw them into his world and can therefore reject it, as his ability is completely psychic.
HISTORY: Artix was a name he chose for himself, but he could care less what it might have been before. As far as Artix knows, his life began the minute he made contact with the Xinium. Perhaps because just as Xinium consumed him, h consumed it. Literally. As it fell to him from the heavens, he caught it, burning, in his hands. And then, without conscious thought or full awareness, he brought it to his lips and swallowed it whole. He remembers, vividly, the fiery pain burning throughout his entire body, and then the wave of cold pass over him before he was lost to darkness.
When he awoke, that was all he saw. Darkness. It became a friend to him and he to it. He found he could manipulate this darkness. And when he did, they were no longer friends. He was its god and it had to obey.
He found his powers then, and though he is well aware of the way he has destroyed his true, physical body, he does not seem to care. He loves his imagined world, for it brings him the peace and solitude he craves for. He is in control when he is inside himself. Out there, in the real world, everything terrifies and defies him. In his mind, all he ever knew was what he had created, and therefore does not understand that he existed before. That he had a family, a name, and a life before the Xinium. He is Xinium. Xinium is he.
AGE: 16
DOB: October 16, 1998
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: O-
HEIGHT: 5' 10"
WEIGHT: 95lbs
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION: Artix looks perfectly human except for one thing: his hair is pure white. All of it. Not one strand on any part of his body retained whatever original color it may have possessed. It was not artificially made this way, nor is there any way he suddenly became albino, for he lacks red eyes and any other genetic defects. The white is his mutation, though it does not seem to matter in the long run. Compared to others, he could very well get by in normal society. His eyes are a bright blue, like a cloudless sky over a warm, summer sea. Those eyes have seen much, and they tell all in the thousand yard stare he possesses. What caused such trauma that he adopted such a stare, no one knows, for he never tells. His skin is pale and not quite free of blemishes. His body is thin and light from the sickness that eats him alive as well as the lack of any activity except the endless functions that keep him alive.
NOTES: He is both a child and an adult in one, as if the middle ground between them that creates a mature awareness has been severed. At times, he responds as a child does: with innocence and naivety or perhaps with temper tantrums and selfishness. Then there are moments where he speaks as if with the voice of gods. He tells of all he has seen, all he has heard, all he knows, and in those moments he can be rather profound. These two sides are separate in what they embody, one being child, the other adult, but they are not separate identities as seen in a dissociative disorder. He is completely aware of himself and his actions, and he is in full control of it all. It is not determined what circumstances cause him to favor one response over the other, for though he is in control of himself the entire time, the responses themselves seem to manifest at random. How he interacts with others is based on how he responds to the situation at hand or what state he is presently in when confronted. He poses as a potential threat and should be monitored continuously. This is only in reference to his ability rather than him physically. The physical body and mind of the one known as Artix lie in an unshakable coma. The physical body also appears to be suffering from severe and multiple forms of cancer, only stayed off by transplants and therapies. This is a result from -taking into account what has been gathered from his ramblings- swallowing the Xinium whole.
ABILITIES: Artix' ability is both vague and formless yet bound by very specific laws. His ability is that of creating his own, personal reality. This reality exists in 'another dimension', as they say for the sake of keeping it simple. Artix' ability allows him to manipulate this reality as well as how it interacts with the real world. He can create a physical representation of himself to interact with things in the real world. He can pull things from his own reality into the real world and vice versa. He can temporarily take the very laws of hi own world and make them exist or replace the laws in the real world. As far as anyone is aware, the personal reality exists only in Artix' mind and is not actually some other dimension that science has been kept in the dark about for too long. In fact, several scientists who voluntarily were sucked into Artix' world did discover this to be so. It is also noted that if Artix dies, his personal reality and all manifestation of it (including what he brings into the real world from it) will die with him. This can be problematic, as anyone inside his reality at the time will die too.
WEAKNESSES: Artix' power has consumed him. His physical body degenerates and dies while his imagined representation of himself wanders the real world, oblivious and indifferent. His ability to wander the real world is limited by distance to the physical body. The farther it wanders, the weaker the representation becomes until it fades out all together. Artix also experiences violent, physical pain at random times for no explicable reason and without traceable pattern. Artix ability is also ineffective to those who possess psychic or mental abilities, as they can sense when he tries to manipulate them or draw them into his world and can therefore reject it, as his ability is completely psychic.
HISTORY: Artix was a name he chose for himself, but he could care less what it might have been before. As far as Artix knows, his life began the minute he made contact with the Xinium. Perhaps because just as Xinium consumed him, h consumed it. Literally. As it fell to him from the heavens, he caught it, burning, in his hands. And then, without conscious thought or full awareness, he brought it to his lips and swallowed it whole. He remembers, vividly, the fiery pain burning throughout his entire body, and then the wave of cold pass over him before he was lost to darkness.
When he awoke, that was all he saw. Darkness. It became a friend to him and he to it. He found he could manipulate this darkness. And when he did, they were no longer friends. He was its god and it had to obey.
He found his powers then, and though he is well aware of the way he has destroyed his true, physical body, he does not seem to care. He loves his imagined world, for it brings him the peace and solitude he craves for. He is in control when he is inside himself. Out there, in the real world, everything terrifies and defies him. In his mind, all he ever knew was what he had created, and therefore does not understand that he existed before. That he had a family, a name, and a life before the Xinium. He is Xinium. Xinium is he.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/9463243.png?415)
NAME: Xanxus Saccharin
AGE: 17
DOB: August 2, 1997
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: n/a
HEIGHT: n/a
WEIGHT: n/a
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION: From what he has told, he was once an athletic young man with raven black hair and dark gray eyes, like pieces of coal. Now he is a nearly faceless, white being of human shape. A slit for a nose. Claws for fingernails. Skin burning cold to the touch. A body with only twelve percent body fat. He hardly needs to worry about that though. All his seeing, feeling, thinking, and sensing is done by his hosts. He could lie about what he used to be. What he really is. And no one would know.
NOTES: Xanxus is, to put it lightly, severely demented. The Xinium contact ruined his body, heart, and mind, to a breaking point that he cannot recover from. He describes himself as empathic, though now refers to his empathy in the past tense. Though his hosts say he is very caring about their physical and emotional needs, he admits to being indifferent. It is difficult to discern whether or not he says this just to keep the personnel off his back, or if they are his legitimate feelings. His hosts claim he is extremely sensitive and eager to please, despite keeping himself as much of a closed book as he can. He also has a violent temper that can lead him to do horrible things. He openly despises the personnel of Project Red, and he will do everything he can to rebel and not cooperate.
ABILITIES: Another one of the potentially dangerous subjects that must be continuously monitored, Xanxus is capable of possessing others' bodies: he is a parasite. He lives and breathes only when inside or connected to another. He can emerge partially from bodies, going so far as to be connected only by a bit of skin or hair, and still function normally. He can jump from body to body through touch. He can communicate to his host telepathically. He can also control his host's body at will, including their powers.
WEAKNESSES: The longer he remains outside of a body, the more he will grow weaker and waste away, only able to restore himself once he is back inside a body. He can only possess those who have corporeal bodies. Anyone whose body is in a different molecular state cannot be possessed. However, if he has already latched onto a body, he cannot be shaken off by phasing: he will merely phase with them. Even though he can take control and use their powers, he is more susceptible to harming himself and his host when using their powers. Not necessarily from inexperience, but for the reason that he himself does not actually possess them himself. Same comes to controlling a host's body. As it takes up a lot of energy, both physical and mental, he can cause considerable drain on himself and make more mistakes. These mistakes can span from any varying degree, whether he simply trips over random objects in his path or completely overestimates his strength and breaks bones trying to lift an object. One of his weakness that does not stem from self-infliction involves electricity, which can throw him from a body he infests and make him lose consciousness, though it does depend on the amps. He is also very prone to psychic attacks, as he has to try and filter two sets of psyches at once.
HISTORY: Xanxus Saccharin. That is his real name. The personnel in charge of the records on these Xinium-touching freaks know who he is, where he's from, what he's done. Xanxus Saccharin was his name after he went into witness protection. Project Red managed to pull the records from before then. He was some backwater kid from Iran. His parents, desperate for money because of the war, signed up for volunteer drug testing at a hospital that opened up outside their town. They were the subjects for a new line of Ebola virus cures. But they died of a severe strain of Ebola soon after. He was only eight years old. He went off to live with his eighteen year old sister and her husband. She loved him very much, but her husband could care less, and his word is law. Xanxus had a roof over his head, but that was it. He had to pretty much fend for himself and stay out of her husband's way. She was the good one. The kind one. She looked out for Xanxus and became the mother he needed and the sister he wanted. But her husband had enemies of all the wrong people, and they decided to teach him a lesson through the wife. Xanxus hid and was left no choice but to watch as they had their way with her and left her to die. Her husband never wanted him, and now that his wife was gone, he had no obligation to keep the brat, so he kicked Xanxus to the curb.
Xanxus was found by one of the doctors from the hospital, and out of pity, she pulled every known string and finally managed to adopt him. The war pressed closer and closer, and the American government forced the hospital staff to evacuate. The doctor returned to America with Xanxus, unaware of what a broken thing she had picked up. He was twelve when he became a legal citizen, only a few months after arriving. He was allowed to go to school, but the kids there hated him for no other reason than their own parent's talk of the war. They called him a terrorist and bullied him to no end. It dragged on for years, always some kind of excuse cropping up that demanded every adle-brained, egomaniac to take a shot at him. He spiraled down into depression, eventually turning to vigilantism as a way out. He found a group. Shot them up. Prevented armed roberies by gunning them down first. Knocked over a few amateur B and Es. But he wasn't perfect. Far from it. The vigilante bit was the last bit of his old soul screaming for a way out, pleading with him to do good again. He didn't want to listen. When he was sixteen, he turned to drugs. He and his dealer -as he later described her, 'some dame with a bad name' - would hide in empty houses and shoot up in the bathrooms. She got her hand on some bath salts, and they did their thing. But then the floor started warping and the walls kept screaming. He woke up with a cop knocking down the door and a mouthful of blood. He had eaten her.
He was arrested and pleaded insanity, which was approved considering the evidence of the bath salts. He also told the judge in confidence that he was the vigilante they had been trying to hunt down. He as given a Witness Protection-esque name change to keep inmates from trying to kill him after what he did. He was sent to an institute for the criminally insane. During his imprisonment, one of the Xinium bearing meteors hit the asylum and razed it to the ground. Xanxus thought -hoped- he was dead, but waking up in someone else's body in a white walled room with a speaker blasting someone's skin-crawling voice, he knew he wasn't.
Pity.
AMENDMENT: Evidence of personality shift points to trauma from the deaths of his previous hosts. Possible traumas in his history may also contribute. Suggested severe psychotherapy.
AGE: 17
DOB: August 2, 1997
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: n/a
HEIGHT: n/a
WEIGHT: n/a
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION: From what he has told, he was once an athletic young man with raven black hair and dark gray eyes, like pieces of coal. Now he is a nearly faceless, white being of human shape. A slit for a nose. Claws for fingernails. Skin burning cold to the touch. A body with only twelve percent body fat. He hardly needs to worry about that though. All his seeing, feeling, thinking, and sensing is done by his hosts. He could lie about what he used to be. What he really is. And no one would know.
NOTES: Xanxus is, to put it lightly, severely demented. The Xinium contact ruined his body, heart, and mind, to a breaking point that he cannot recover from. He describes himself as empathic, though now refers to his empathy in the past tense. Though his hosts say he is very caring about their physical and emotional needs, he admits to being indifferent. It is difficult to discern whether or not he says this just to keep the personnel off his back, or if they are his legitimate feelings. His hosts claim he is extremely sensitive and eager to please, despite keeping himself as much of a closed book as he can. He also has a violent temper that can lead him to do horrible things. He openly despises the personnel of Project Red, and he will do everything he can to rebel and not cooperate.
ABILITIES: Another one of the potentially dangerous subjects that must be continuously monitored, Xanxus is capable of possessing others' bodies: he is a parasite. He lives and breathes only when inside or connected to another. He can emerge partially from bodies, going so far as to be connected only by a bit of skin or hair, and still function normally. He can jump from body to body through touch. He can communicate to his host telepathically. He can also control his host's body at will, including their powers.
WEAKNESSES: The longer he remains outside of a body, the more he will grow weaker and waste away, only able to restore himself once he is back inside a body. He can only possess those who have corporeal bodies. Anyone whose body is in a different molecular state cannot be possessed. However, if he has already latched onto a body, he cannot be shaken off by phasing: he will merely phase with them. Even though he can take control and use their powers, he is more susceptible to harming himself and his host when using their powers. Not necessarily from inexperience, but for the reason that he himself does not actually possess them himself. Same comes to controlling a host's body. As it takes up a lot of energy, both physical and mental, he can cause considerable drain on himself and make more mistakes. These mistakes can span from any varying degree, whether he simply trips over random objects in his path or completely overestimates his strength and breaks bones trying to lift an object. One of his weakness that does not stem from self-infliction involves electricity, which can throw him from a body he infests and make him lose consciousness, though it does depend on the amps. He is also very prone to psychic attacks, as he has to try and filter two sets of psyches at once.
HISTORY: Xanxus Saccharin. That is his real name. The personnel in charge of the records on these Xinium-touching freaks know who he is, where he's from, what he's done. Xanxus Saccharin was his name after he went into witness protection. Project Red managed to pull the records from before then. He was some backwater kid from Iran. His parents, desperate for money because of the war, signed up for volunteer drug testing at a hospital that opened up outside their town. They were the subjects for a new line of Ebola virus cures. But they died of a severe strain of Ebola soon after. He was only eight years old. He went off to live with his eighteen year old sister and her husband. She loved him very much, but her husband could care less, and his word is law. Xanxus had a roof over his head, but that was it. He had to pretty much fend for himself and stay out of her husband's way. She was the good one. The kind one. She looked out for Xanxus and became the mother he needed and the sister he wanted. But her husband had enemies of all the wrong people, and they decided to teach him a lesson through the wife. Xanxus hid and was left no choice but to watch as they had their way with her and left her to die. Her husband never wanted him, and now that his wife was gone, he had no obligation to keep the brat, so he kicked Xanxus to the curb.
Xanxus was found by one of the doctors from the hospital, and out of pity, she pulled every known string and finally managed to adopt him. The war pressed closer and closer, and the American government forced the hospital staff to evacuate. The doctor returned to America with Xanxus, unaware of what a broken thing she had picked up. He was twelve when he became a legal citizen, only a few months after arriving. He was allowed to go to school, but the kids there hated him for no other reason than their own parent's talk of the war. They called him a terrorist and bullied him to no end. It dragged on for years, always some kind of excuse cropping up that demanded every adle-brained, egomaniac to take a shot at him. He spiraled down into depression, eventually turning to vigilantism as a way out. He found a group. Shot them up. Prevented armed roberies by gunning them down first. Knocked over a few amateur B and Es. But he wasn't perfect. Far from it. The vigilante bit was the last bit of his old soul screaming for a way out, pleading with him to do good again. He didn't want to listen. When he was sixteen, he turned to drugs. He and his dealer -as he later described her, 'some dame with a bad name' - would hide in empty houses and shoot up in the bathrooms. She got her hand on some bath salts, and they did their thing. But then the floor started warping and the walls kept screaming. He woke up with a cop knocking down the door and a mouthful of blood. He had eaten her.
He was arrested and pleaded insanity, which was approved considering the evidence of the bath salts. He also told the judge in confidence that he was the vigilante they had been trying to hunt down. He as given a Witness Protection-esque name change to keep inmates from trying to kill him after what he did. He was sent to an institute for the criminally insane. During his imprisonment, one of the Xinium bearing meteors hit the asylum and razed it to the ground. Xanxus thought -hoped- he was dead, but waking up in someone else's body in a white walled room with a speaker blasting someone's skin-crawling voice, he knew he wasn't.
Pity.
AMENDMENT: Evidence of personality shift points to trauma from the deaths of his previous hosts. Possible traumas in his history may also contribute. Suggested severe psychotherapy.
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NAME: Eva Dogwood
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: liquid manipulation
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: liquid manipulation
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
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NAME: Montmorency Blue
AGE: 16
DOB: March 2, 1998
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: AB-
HEIGHT: 5' 8"
WEIGHT: 100lbs
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION: His hair is a pale blue, soft as downy feathers, and grows past his ears. It never stays short for long, and needs a lot of maintenance. It falls in his face in messy bangs. He often has a cute, bed-head look. His skin is very pale, like coffee with way too much cream. His lips are also tinted slightly blue, but not from the cold. He maintains a regular body temperature. His eyes are the same color as his hair. Pupils narrowed to pinpoints, his gaze stares right through everything. They have a name for it. The thousand yard stare. The stare dead men that can't die often make.
NOTES: Montmorency is like a snail: hard on the outside, soft on the inside, and prone to retreat into his cold, hard shell when confronted by strong opposition. He is not weak or scared, just tired of being stepped on all the time. But he doesn't have the strength left to rise to the challenge, so he becomes a useless ball of worthlessness in the hopes the antagonist or whatever is bothering him will lose interest and leave him be. Montmorency is a rather simple individual. He doesn't like anything that sticks out from the ordinary, since he does already. He doesn't want to be further labeled as a freak. He sticks to plain clothing. He doesn't do much in terms of activities. He can't even say what he likes or doesn't like, so he doesn't think he's missing out on anything. Alone is his best state. Groups of people disturb him. Make him clam up. He resents people for simply being there rather than any personal reasons. If he ever opened up or dropped his stupid all, people would probably see a kind but desperate soul who just wants to fit in and not be ostracized by everyone around him. A bit ironic since he is the one pushing everyone away.
ABILITIES: After successfully contacting two pieces of Xinium, he has attained the ability of seeing the past and cloning. He can see glimpses of the past or sometimes overlapping images of the past with the present, though he hardly knows what they mean. The visions are not anything to 'oo' and 'ahh" about. Most of them are trivial at best. The important ones though, they cause violent, physical pain, and then he knows something big has happened there. But, unless he actually sees a newspaper or a landmark, he cannot tell when and where these things occurred. His cloning ability is a little more complex. He can only generate clones of himself. These clones can exist until they are killed or until Montmorency makes them go away. Usually the latter, as Montmorency has found that he is connected strongly to his clones (able to feel their feelings, etc) and he does not know what will happen if one actually died. They came close to it before, but he does not want to risk it. His clones also have semi-sentience and self-awareness. They are capable of thinking and acting on their own.
WEAKNESSES: Verbal abuse will hurt him more than physical pain. His greatest threat is self-destruction through his own lack of self-worth and every rising insecurity. He pushes people away and does not make allies easy, which could cause problems for him in the future. As to weaknesses attributed to his abilities, everything takes up energy. The visions, the cloning: he may as well have been running a couple marathons in a row with all the energy he wastes. His cloning ability also poses a threat to him. He is strongly connected to the clones. Whatever they feel, he feels. If someone hurts a clone, he will feel the pain even if he remains unaffected.
HISTORY: Freak. Montmorency woke up not in a white walled room, but a cage made of iron surrounded by brutes who called him 'freak'. Freak for his blue hair. Freak for his abilities. Freak for the way he wound up staring straight through people, as if they were a million miles away.
He remembered nothing of his past save his first name, Montmorency, though he couldn't remember the significance of it. He vaguely remembered gathering rocks that glowed red, but that was it. The past hardly mattered, not after he woke up anyway.
Montmorency's cage was one of several that a ruthless gang had trapped children like him in -the freaks that is. Their own leader had come into contact with the mysterious red stone, and he had gained a rather dangerous power from it. He could create explosions with a snap of his fingers. He used this power to dominate his own gang, and then, used it to force the other freaks into submission. But what plans he had for them? World domination? A personal army? No. He just wanted entertainment. He pitted them against each other, forcing them to slaughter each other with their powers. The game did not last long, barely even a month. Project Red swooped in like knights in shining armor and rescued the kids, wiping the gang itself off the face of the earth. Good riddance. Montmorency only regrets he did not kill the leader himself.
Montmorency does not open up about his limited past, and for good reason. He doesn't think it will help him fit in any better if people knew how many people he killed and exactly how he did so.
AGE: 16
DOB: March 2, 1998
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: AB-
HEIGHT: 5' 8"
WEIGHT: 100lbs
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION: His hair is a pale blue, soft as downy feathers, and grows past his ears. It never stays short for long, and needs a lot of maintenance. It falls in his face in messy bangs. He often has a cute, bed-head look. His skin is very pale, like coffee with way too much cream. His lips are also tinted slightly blue, but not from the cold. He maintains a regular body temperature. His eyes are the same color as his hair. Pupils narrowed to pinpoints, his gaze stares right through everything. They have a name for it. The thousand yard stare. The stare dead men that can't die often make.
NOTES: Montmorency is like a snail: hard on the outside, soft on the inside, and prone to retreat into his cold, hard shell when confronted by strong opposition. He is not weak or scared, just tired of being stepped on all the time. But he doesn't have the strength left to rise to the challenge, so he becomes a useless ball of worthlessness in the hopes the antagonist or whatever is bothering him will lose interest and leave him be. Montmorency is a rather simple individual. He doesn't like anything that sticks out from the ordinary, since he does already. He doesn't want to be further labeled as a freak. He sticks to plain clothing. He doesn't do much in terms of activities. He can't even say what he likes or doesn't like, so he doesn't think he's missing out on anything. Alone is his best state. Groups of people disturb him. Make him clam up. He resents people for simply being there rather than any personal reasons. If he ever opened up or dropped his stupid all, people would probably see a kind but desperate soul who just wants to fit in and not be ostracized by everyone around him. A bit ironic since he is the one pushing everyone away.
ABILITIES: After successfully contacting two pieces of Xinium, he has attained the ability of seeing the past and cloning. He can see glimpses of the past or sometimes overlapping images of the past with the present, though he hardly knows what they mean. The visions are not anything to 'oo' and 'ahh" about. Most of them are trivial at best. The important ones though, they cause violent, physical pain, and then he knows something big has happened there. But, unless he actually sees a newspaper or a landmark, he cannot tell when and where these things occurred. His cloning ability is a little more complex. He can only generate clones of himself. These clones can exist until they are killed or until Montmorency makes them go away. Usually the latter, as Montmorency has found that he is connected strongly to his clones (able to feel their feelings, etc) and he does not know what will happen if one actually died. They came close to it before, but he does not want to risk it. His clones also have semi-sentience and self-awareness. They are capable of thinking and acting on their own.
WEAKNESSES: Verbal abuse will hurt him more than physical pain. His greatest threat is self-destruction through his own lack of self-worth and every rising insecurity. He pushes people away and does not make allies easy, which could cause problems for him in the future. As to weaknesses attributed to his abilities, everything takes up energy. The visions, the cloning: he may as well have been running a couple marathons in a row with all the energy he wastes. His cloning ability also poses a threat to him. He is strongly connected to the clones. Whatever they feel, he feels. If someone hurts a clone, he will feel the pain even if he remains unaffected.
HISTORY: Freak. Montmorency woke up not in a white walled room, but a cage made of iron surrounded by brutes who called him 'freak'. Freak for his blue hair. Freak for his abilities. Freak for the way he wound up staring straight through people, as if they were a million miles away.
He remembered nothing of his past save his first name, Montmorency, though he couldn't remember the significance of it. He vaguely remembered gathering rocks that glowed red, but that was it. The past hardly mattered, not after he woke up anyway.
Montmorency's cage was one of several that a ruthless gang had trapped children like him in -the freaks that is. Their own leader had come into contact with the mysterious red stone, and he had gained a rather dangerous power from it. He could create explosions with a snap of his fingers. He used this power to dominate his own gang, and then, used it to force the other freaks into submission. But what plans he had for them? World domination? A personal army? No. He just wanted entertainment. He pitted them against each other, forcing them to slaughter each other with their powers. The game did not last long, barely even a month. Project Red swooped in like knights in shining armor and rescued the kids, wiping the gang itself off the face of the earth. Good riddance. Montmorency only regrets he did not kill the leader himself.
Montmorency does not open up about his limited past, and for good reason. He doesn't think it will help him fit in any better if people knew how many people he killed and exactly how he did so.
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3987878.jpg?398)
NAME: Dakarai
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: soul sucking and flight
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: soul sucking and flight
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
![Picture](https://www.editmysite.com/editor/images/na.png)
NAME: Rangiku Foxtare
AGE: 14
DOB: September 15, 2000
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: AB+
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: He becomes people. From reading their memories merely by being in the same room as them, he adopts on everything they have been and are. He remembers the things with such vivid clarity, it's as if he is that person. Often, he himself believes so. He is often lost in some other life and lifetime. Having been near the young and the old, the sick and the strong, the good life and the bad, he has adopted so many walks of life that it is hard to say what is really him and what is not. He very rarely is himself. One can usually tell just by asking his name or seeing what mood he is in. But then again, he could flip into a different memory halfway through a conversation. It is hard enough for him to keep track of everything, so anyone working with him has their hands full as well.
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY: He's a thousand and one things but none of them at all. He's complex but so easy to read. He is and was and never will be and always will. He loves and hates and yearns and fears. He existed then but not tomorrow because he's dead, dead I tell you! But he was born yesterday and he can't remember where the time goes. He's so old now. He's always waiting for his children to come home but he doesn't want children when he grows up because he's not ready to grow up and now he waits for it all to end. A deathbed. A hospital. Oh god! What's that sound? Classical music in a music box with a broken latch. A door that won't open. Silence. Sound! Suddenly. Fire and water and the loss of life. Tears falling like rain while a ship sails over a sea of sand and the children gather around a bonfire where a witch shrieks her last breaths into the sunset of morning. And vaguely, so slowly, a cat comes creeping down a mountain where everything drowns in a pond made of oil that no one can forget. All sinking down to ashen graves in the end. He lives in the middle of nowhere and has no neighbors in the center of a crowded city where there's no privacy, and that filthy apartment he lives in is so cramped with the lady down the hall and her fifty cats and his condo needs new wallpaper. He hates cats but he loves them so much. He owns two, thirty, four, one. It died yesterday. He just bought it an hour ago. He's allergic to cats. No he isn't. Deathly allergic. He died from a cat allergy. His grandma died of a cat allergy. No she didn't. His grandma is still alive. She lives in Mexico and makes cookies and everyday she walks to the bookstore near the Eiffel tower to buy the latest doilies that she made, she can't even make doillies, she knits on her porch in Italy because she doesn't like omelets without cheese and he never met his grandmother. He killed his grandmother. His mother was so upset and she was in prison for murdering his little sister while she bikes everywhere because she's into health and fitness she was never pregnant with a new baby, but she hates frozen meals and snores while she sleeps. She carries a knife. It's blue like the sky, the sky, a park a swing and he swings on the swing while a man in an orange coat with rotten teeth bangs his head on a wall and there's no sound because the world has ended in fire and the people are melting and there's a cloud in the sky that looks like an umbrella. Oh god the people are melting! And he drinks and drinks the pain away and he can hardly make the proper incision to save the melting man under his quivering hands. Old hands, they're so young and pockmarked and wrinkled and black and white and black and he's in a field picking flowers. And there's men all around him singing a song he knows but he's never heard it before. They sing themselves to sleep, locked in cages where he can't reach them. Unreachable. Come children. Let him carve you up again. And he dances with the lady in the red ball gown with the black mask covering her face. And she's beautiful, so beautiful. And she spins and twirls and dances and the candles light her eyes till she's naught but a sparkling gem for him to hold in his arms and immortalize in his heart. His eyes! His own! What color were they? No mirror. No world to behold. There's dust everywhere, a house never used, always, lights. See that. It's gray. Gray is like the train that he leaped in front of to end the day, and he crawls back up to see sunlight filtering through blinds of a tiny shack on a beach, and there's nothing but houses around him. No sound can silence that. And he laughs because he hates her. He beats her over and over again while they roll on the bedroom floor and until her face is black and purple and red and he mauls that beautiful face because he hates her so much after he broke that vase while a mockingbird cried out and he shot the old man so he could have money and live another day. And he stands in the doorway and cries because the knife he holds is red. RED! He made it red. It's all over his arms. Oh god, please end it. So beautiful! Oh please, don't make it end. Let him see blood and blood forever and he laughs in the face of a child eating mud because their's no food. And they huddle under moth eaten blankets while icicles grow round the foot of their bed and they curl into their mother's stiff body, she already died of the cold, and all his little siblings turn to stone one by one till the only heart beating is his and he waits and waits for his father to come and take them away from this cold house. His father is coming, coming for him, coming to beat the life out of him. So he huddles under the stairs and waits, and his breath catches in his throat and they're at a table, laughing and talking and passing the food around and then it's so loud and noisy and where are his car keys? They're always in his right pocket. He's left handed and lost his left hand in the war when he was overseas scuba diving in the coral reef, Australia, with kangaroos and then the zookeeper tells him to leave while he wonders where his mom is and they're all going to the fair but he hates the roller coasters so he eats cotton candy while watching a 3D movie and then there's a giant bat flying down from a cave roof and he trips and falls but he's alright so they ring another doorbell and say trick or treat to get candy and they're on the bus to Disney. He's loved, unloved, unwanted, hated admired. Oh he's so pretty and smiling and he's all crying and lying bleeding in an alley and no one will save him. No one will save him. He failed them... failed them all. He coughs up blood and struggles to breathe, and the air in his lungs is foul. He breathes in blood. It bruns. It burns. An no one comes to see the boy drifting away. No one but the sky as it breaks down and cries for him, its cold tears showering him in pity and ice.
He exists.
He can't remember his name.
He wrote it on his arm.
Carved it in with a knife.
So he can always check and see.
Every red stripe he makes helps him remember.
Who he is.
How old he is.
Where he comes from.
What he's doing here.
He can't remember.
Because he remembers everything else.
Because he remembers what everyone ELSE remembers.
And nothing more.
AGE: 14
DOB: September 15, 2000
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: AB+
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: He becomes people. From reading their memories merely by being in the same room as them, he adopts on everything they have been and are. He remembers the things with such vivid clarity, it's as if he is that person. Often, he himself believes so. He is often lost in some other life and lifetime. Having been near the young and the old, the sick and the strong, the good life and the bad, he has adopted so many walks of life that it is hard to say what is really him and what is not. He very rarely is himself. One can usually tell just by asking his name or seeing what mood he is in. But then again, he could flip into a different memory halfway through a conversation. It is hard enough for him to keep track of everything, so anyone working with him has their hands full as well.
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY: He's a thousand and one things but none of them at all. He's complex but so easy to read. He is and was and never will be and always will. He loves and hates and yearns and fears. He existed then but not tomorrow because he's dead, dead I tell you! But he was born yesterday and he can't remember where the time goes. He's so old now. He's always waiting for his children to come home but he doesn't want children when he grows up because he's not ready to grow up and now he waits for it all to end. A deathbed. A hospital. Oh god! What's that sound? Classical music in a music box with a broken latch. A door that won't open. Silence. Sound! Suddenly. Fire and water and the loss of life. Tears falling like rain while a ship sails over a sea of sand and the children gather around a bonfire where a witch shrieks her last breaths into the sunset of morning. And vaguely, so slowly, a cat comes creeping down a mountain where everything drowns in a pond made of oil that no one can forget. All sinking down to ashen graves in the end. He lives in the middle of nowhere and has no neighbors in the center of a crowded city where there's no privacy, and that filthy apartment he lives in is so cramped with the lady down the hall and her fifty cats and his condo needs new wallpaper. He hates cats but he loves them so much. He owns two, thirty, four, one. It died yesterday. He just bought it an hour ago. He's allergic to cats. No he isn't. Deathly allergic. He died from a cat allergy. His grandma died of a cat allergy. No she didn't. His grandma is still alive. She lives in Mexico and makes cookies and everyday she walks to the bookstore near the Eiffel tower to buy the latest doilies that she made, she can't even make doillies, she knits on her porch in Italy because she doesn't like omelets without cheese and he never met his grandmother. He killed his grandmother. His mother was so upset and she was in prison for murdering his little sister while she bikes everywhere because she's into health and fitness she was never pregnant with a new baby, but she hates frozen meals and snores while she sleeps. She carries a knife. It's blue like the sky, the sky, a park a swing and he swings on the swing while a man in an orange coat with rotten teeth bangs his head on a wall and there's no sound because the world has ended in fire and the people are melting and there's a cloud in the sky that looks like an umbrella. Oh god the people are melting! And he drinks and drinks the pain away and he can hardly make the proper incision to save the melting man under his quivering hands. Old hands, they're so young and pockmarked and wrinkled and black and white and black and he's in a field picking flowers. And there's men all around him singing a song he knows but he's never heard it before. They sing themselves to sleep, locked in cages where he can't reach them. Unreachable. Come children. Let him carve you up again. And he dances with the lady in the red ball gown with the black mask covering her face. And she's beautiful, so beautiful. And she spins and twirls and dances and the candles light her eyes till she's naught but a sparkling gem for him to hold in his arms and immortalize in his heart. His eyes! His own! What color were they? No mirror. No world to behold. There's dust everywhere, a house never used, always, lights. See that. It's gray. Gray is like the train that he leaped in front of to end the day, and he crawls back up to see sunlight filtering through blinds of a tiny shack on a beach, and there's nothing but houses around him. No sound can silence that. And he laughs because he hates her. He beats her over and over again while they roll on the bedroom floor and until her face is black and purple and red and he mauls that beautiful face because he hates her so much after he broke that vase while a mockingbird cried out and he shot the old man so he could have money and live another day. And he stands in the doorway and cries because the knife he holds is red. RED! He made it red. It's all over his arms. Oh god, please end it. So beautiful! Oh please, don't make it end. Let him see blood and blood forever and he laughs in the face of a child eating mud because their's no food. And they huddle under moth eaten blankets while icicles grow round the foot of their bed and they curl into their mother's stiff body, she already died of the cold, and all his little siblings turn to stone one by one till the only heart beating is his and he waits and waits for his father to come and take them away from this cold house. His father is coming, coming for him, coming to beat the life out of him. So he huddles under the stairs and waits, and his breath catches in his throat and they're at a table, laughing and talking and passing the food around and then it's so loud and noisy and where are his car keys? They're always in his right pocket. He's left handed and lost his left hand in the war when he was overseas scuba diving in the coral reef, Australia, with kangaroos and then the zookeeper tells him to leave while he wonders where his mom is and they're all going to the fair but he hates the roller coasters so he eats cotton candy while watching a 3D movie and then there's a giant bat flying down from a cave roof and he trips and falls but he's alright so they ring another doorbell and say trick or treat to get candy and they're on the bus to Disney. He's loved, unloved, unwanted, hated admired. Oh he's so pretty and smiling and he's all crying and lying bleeding in an alley and no one will save him. No one will save him. He failed them... failed them all. He coughs up blood and struggles to breathe, and the air in his lungs is foul. He breathes in blood. It bruns. It burns. An no one comes to see the boy drifting away. No one but the sky as it breaks down and cries for him, its cold tears showering him in pity and ice.
He exists.
He can't remember his name.
He wrote it on his arm.
Carved it in with a knife.
So he can always check and see.
Every red stripe he makes helps him remember.
Who he is.
How old he is.
Where he comes from.
What he's doing here.
He can't remember.
Because he remembers everything else.
Because he remembers what everyone ELSE remembers.
And nothing more.
![Picture](https://www.editmysite.com/editor/images/na.png)
NAME:
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER:
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: He grant you your wish, but he cannot make you happy.
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER:
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
NOTES:
ABILITIES: He grant you your wish, but he cannot make you happy.
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/7167148.jpg?260)
NAME: Doctor Bernard Wesselton
AGE: 44
DOB:
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: A
HEIGHT: 6'
WEIGHT: 212 lbs.
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
JOB: The head psychiatrist for the subjects.
SUBJECT OF STUDY: Not required and for scientists and trainers only; a certain Subject in the lab they may focus most of their time on; a "teacher's pet"; a favorite; be sure to also say why this person is their SoS and what kind of relation they share with them
NOTES:
STRENGTHS:
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
AGE: 44
DOB:
GENDER: Male
BLOOD TYPE: A
HEIGHT: 6'
WEIGHT: 212 lbs.
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
JOB: The head psychiatrist for the subjects.
SUBJECT OF STUDY: Not required and for scientists and trainers only; a certain Subject in the lab they may focus most of their time on; a "teacher's pet"; a favorite; be sure to also say why this person is their SoS and what kind of relation they share with them
NOTES:
STRENGTHS:
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1776598.jpg?381)
NAME: Dr. Belladonna Heathcliff
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER:
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
JOB: Their focus in the lab, whether it be combat training, weaponry, scientist, doctor, or even custodial (mention if they are a senior Personnel; 6 positions open; ask Krys first)
SUBJECT OF STUDY: Not required and for scientists and trainers only; a certain Subject in the lab they may focus most of their time on; a "teacher's pet"; a favorite; be sure to also say why this person is their SoS and what kind of relation they share with them
NOTES:
STRENGTHS:
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY:
AGE:
DOB:
GENDER:
BLOOD TYPE:
HEIGHT:
WEIGHT:
IN-DEPTH DESCRIPTION:
JOB: Their focus in the lab, whether it be combat training, weaponry, scientist, doctor, or even custodial (mention if they are a senior Personnel; 6 positions open; ask Krys first)
SUBJECT OF STUDY: Not required and for scientists and trainers only; a certain Subject in the lab they may focus most of their time on; a "teacher's pet"; a favorite; be sure to also say why this person is their SoS and what kind of relation they share with them
NOTES:
STRENGTHS:
WEAKNESSES:
HISTORY: