Darth Eversor
Burning Forever
Name: Atx - Designation #737Faction: Independent
Rank: Unassigned
Species: HRD
Gender: None
Age: Fifteen - Created in 835 ABY, made as an adult appearing in their mid-twenties
Height: 5'10
Weight: 220 lbs
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brunette
Skin: Fair
Force Sensitive: No
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Personal Traits- HRD: Not being organic has its perks, most effectively the lack of a true skeleton or the sensation of pain which would normally hinder most. Graced with agility, strength, and endurance, Atx has blossomed into a skilled combatant as well as a cautious tactician.
- Freethinker: Independent, and extremely self-aware; rebellious through and through, Atx does not care to conform with any sort of political agenda. Finding them futile, the HRD will go out of its way to prove a point with no fear or apprehension.
- Oddity: Atx does not yet understand the consequence of immoral or moral actions. Coming from a place where chaos typically reigned, it has had to resort to quite disturbing methods of survival. Ruthless, yet efficient. Atx debases itself entirely from the lesser instincts of humanity, choosing to erase these flaws within its own self-image in order to uphold a higher claim to what being "human" is.
- Just A Machine: While being above the margin of humanoids, Atx is very vulnerable to intense currents of electricity. While it will not kill it if exposed briefly, internal systems can be compromised and damaged. Should any core functions cease to execute, Atx will become a pile of junk.
- Prototype: While being an HRD would have its own set of advantages over live flesh and blood, Atx's chassis is less resistant to extreme stress or heat, making energy weapons or heavy impact significant to avoid.
- Hermit: Atx has been essentially trapped and confined inside of a mega-structure for fifteen years until now, having difficulty understanding the world outside of what it presumed to be the only true realm of existence.
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Skills & Abilities- Unbiased: Having to use whatever means necessary to survive, Atx has acquired a multitude of offensive methods. From traps to learning a blaster - even close quarters or using more savage ways to permanently dispose of a target. It is not shy nor opposed to death when the moment calls for it.
- Terminal Jock: Atx has found a knack for hacking, being able to decipher encryptions and disarm security systems without hassle. Having plenty of time to gather information, it considers this a purely educational opportunity and will seize it at every turn.
- Covert: There was a long period of time where Atx did not comply with offensive tactics, opting to sneak or hide away from the threats looming all around the mega-structure. In performing this action multiple times, Atx has developed a skill for being stealthy should a predicament call for it. Or if combat is not the answer.
- Survivalist: Atx is an individual that has had to rely entirely on themselves to escape their imprisonment. Whether it be fending off malfunctioning drones, or slaying crazed organics simply because they could not control their hostility. When times get rough, no one or anything is needed to defend Atx.
Biography
Darkness, the absence of any light to illuminate the unknown. Pale, concrete walls spanning beyond the stars. The constant quiet of nothingness blends and stagnates the world, until all that is still comes alive to seek a kind of vengeance - or purpose. Long dead are flames that still produce lingering smoke; ashes that fall so peacefully like snow.
But it is all the same, that prison. A maze of lost hope and the scraps of once marvels that was overthrown by the wrath of an intelligence far more spiteful than any organic heart is capable of. Death was strewn for miles, coagulated blood painting the monotony of the otherwise gray artificial landscape. The droning of generators and terminals being the final dying hum of an indifferent world.
There was no shelter, no home to run and hide inside of. The brokenness of the fragile minds that could not remain strong proved futile, and the flesh of madness was peeled away until bone littered the depths of the floors. For ages, the ones borne from creation stalked and monitored the halls and absence of light to snuff out remaining lungs - the frightened and hopeless.
Their metallic grasp which extracted sinew and fragments, the hollowing screams of torture never escaping beyond the impregnable fortress that could be measured in both cities and vast wilderness - a technological nightmare where time ceased to exist.
There was only one, however; a lost shell without a soul, much like the others. Unaffected by the corrupting tide that washed over the entirety of the mega-structure. Awoken without voice nor knowledge of who - what it was. A blank canvas to learn all of violence and the morbid, a child to observe the desperation awaiting its untrained mind.
And for years, confusion and survival is all that was acquired. Countless death, imagery of disturbed practice forever ingrained into memory. It was required - necessary to adopt a savagery in order to quell the nigh endless confrontations. Beasts of mechanical disarray fused with the bones of mortals - the starved and mindless hellbent on distorted persistence.
A suffering embodied by the gargantuan vines of wires and screens - endless depths and halls of infinity. The occasional static of decaying components did little to overcome the foreboding silence that always hung in the stale air. The eyes that were always watching, waiting for a new prey to expose itself.
A world of chaos - a cancer of man-made creation.
- To Be Continued -