Character NØVA

[Nøva]

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Nøva
Wanted for Questioning | Extremely Dangerous: Approach with Caution

Aliases	Cipher | Switch
Age	23 STY
Species	Augmented Humanoid
Gender	Female
Height	5’8”
Weight	140 lbs
Force Sensitive	Negative

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION

NØVA stands at 5'8", a lithe, coiled figure built for speed, stealth, and the kind of precise violence that feels effortless. She weighs roughly 140 lbs, every ounce honed into lean, athletic muscle; no wasted weight, only the kind of strength that comes from climbing fire escapes, sprinting across rooftops, and surviving alley fights that would crumble lesser bodies.

Her body shape is a sculpted hourglass with sharp lines—a runner's build. Shoulders are strong, arms lean but visibly powerful, fingers nimble and precise from hacking, climbing, and handling weapons. Her legs are long and sinewy, capable of sudden bursts of speed or graceful, almost predatory movement. Her midsection is taut, a core built from years of physical survival rather than exercise machines, giving her a coiled, ready-to-strike energy.

Her hair is dark electric teal, fading to a ghostly white-blue at the tips. She wears it in a loose top-knot, strands framing her face like flickering neon shards. Even when still, her presence feels kinetic, as if the city's pulse moves through her.

Her eyes—when seen without lenses—are a rare, hypnotic shade of icy violet, sharp and reflective, catching light like fractured glass. Most people only see her glowing red data-lenses, which hide this secret intensity, giving her a dangerous, unreadable aura.

Her skin is light olive, smooth but marked with faint scars that speak of battles survived. Tattoos wind across her neck, chest, and arms—geometric cyber runes interlaced with chaotic spirals, converging on a stylized demon over her heart. Every detail, from the flick of a finger to the tilt of her head, radiates a quiet, electric allure: control, danger, and hypnotic magnetism fused into flesh.

Her half-jacket of battered synth-leather pulses faintly magenta where city lights strike, asymmetrical metal earrings swing like miniature blades, and her cybernetic fingers, grappling hook, and hidden subdermal armor complete the visual of a woman built for both survival and style.

INVENTORY / AUGMENTATIONS




1. Full Cybernetic Eye Implants

Description:
Both eyes were removed and replaced with full cybernetic ocular units. They don't just look artificial — they are. Smooth, luminous, always slightly glowing. Capable of shifting colors/software modes like camera apertures.

Functions:

• Night vision / thermal / low-light.
• Zoom up to 10x.
• Motion tracking + predictive combat pathing.
• Data overlay (HUD).
• Optical stealth scan (detects security nodes, heat signatures, cloaked units).
• Camera feed recording + broadcasting.

Pros:

• Incredible perception and combat advantage.
• Immune to flashbang/blinding.
• Can "blink" between visual modes instantly.

Cons:

• Total reliance on cybernetic vision—damage = temporary blindness.
• Prone to EMP or visual static if hacked.
• Expensive, difficult to repair, and painful to recalibrate.

2. Neural Interface Spine (NIS)

Description:
A metallic threadwork along her spinal column, connecting brainstem → nerves → augments. Subdermal access ports at neck and forearms.

Functions:

• Direct hacking / system breach.
• Sync with drones, weapons, vehicles.
• Combat reflex enhancement.

Pros:

• Instant interface with digital systems.
• Faster-than-human decision time.

Cons:

• Overload can cause seizures or shutdowns.
• Vulnerable to neural shock devices.

3. Nanoweave Muscle & Tendon Reinforcement

Description:
Her muscle fibers contain metallic nanothreads that contract and reinforce under stress.

Abilities:

• Higher agility, sprint speed, and power.
• Parkour-level flexibility.
• Minimal fatigue.

Drawbacks:

• Overuse strains joints/bones.
• Nanoweave must be recalibrated monthly.

4. Subdermal Hex-Plate Armor

Description:
Thin hexagonal plating beneath skin at chest, ribs, spine, and arms.

Abilities:

• Resistant to small arms, knives, shrapnel.
• Disperses kinetic energy.

Drawbacks:

• Not meant for heavy blasters or explosives.
• Medical care becomes complicated.

5. Cybernetic Fingers / Micro-Tool Hands

Description:
Her fingers are reinforced internally with microservos and tools. Externally, they look human.

Capabilities:

• Retractable interface needles for hacking.
• Built-in lockpick tools.
• Micro-blades.
• Adhesion pads for climbing.

Weaknesses:

• Tool jamming is possible.
• If damaged, repairs require precision.

6. Tactical Skin Filaments

Description:
Micro-circuit filaments beneath skin allow subtle glow or shifting patterns.

Abilities:

• Camouflage blending (partial).
• Heat signature dampening.
• Glowing neon tattoos / intimidating effects.

Drawbacks:

• Full activation drains energy fast.
• Malfunction can cause visible flickering.

PERSONALITY AND BELIEFS

Nøva believes freedom is the last real currency in the galaxy. It's the only thing she has ever truly fought for, because once, she didn't have any at all—just a child strapped to a table, cataloged like equipment, waiting for rescue that never came. That history lives in the way she moves now: steady, unbowed, always aware of every exit in the room. She doesn't hate structure, only cages—especially the ones built out of obedience or expectation.

Strength, to her, has nothing to do with the number of augments in your body or the weight you can lift. Strength is endurance. It's surviving what should've broken you, and choosing, stubbornly, to keep showing up anyway. When she looks at someone, she reads their scars before she reads their face; she trusts those who have bled and kept going far more than those who were handed power without struggle.

She walks the line between flesh and machine without glorifying either side. Her cybernetics don't define her—they're tools she wields, nothing more. She refuses to let the lab that rebuilt her also decide what she is. Still, there are cracks in her armor when it comes to children; she can walk away from most things, but not a kid in danger. That's the one line she'll cross every time, because she remembers being small and invisible and waiting for help that never came.

Loyalty is rare for her, but when she gives it, it is fierce and quiet and unshakable. She won't announce it, won't dramatize it—she'll just be there, long after others have left. And because her past was so violently taken from her, she guards her secrets with near-religious intensity. Silence is her shield. Her history stays hers, not because she's ashamed, but because it's the last territory no one else gets to own.

Despite all of this—the trauma, the circuitry, the scars—Nøva still believes in small, private acts of kindness. A warning murmured to a stranger. A quiet gesture that costs nothing but can save everything. She refuses to become cruel just because cruelty raised her. If she harms someone, it's for a reason, never indulgence.

More than anything, she holds onto one quiet truth: you don't have to be whole to matter. She's built from fractures and willpower and stubborn survival, and even on her worst days, she knows she's still here, still fighting, and still enough.



STRENGTHS

• Hyper-Reflex Suite – reacts faster than baseline humans; near-instant threat assessment.
• Optic Implants – enhanced vision modes (infrared, low-light, zoom, motion prediction).
• Pain-Threshold Modulation – functions under injury far beyond normal limits.
• Urban Movement Mastery – parkour, rooftop traversal, close-quarters agility.
• Tactical Intelligence – reads a room, a threat, or a person in seconds.
• Unshakeable Willpower – trauma-forged resilience; refuses to break.
• Combat Versatility – blade work, pistols, improvised weapons, ambush tactics.
• Street Network – connections among fixers, smugglers, back-alley medics.
• Stealth & Infiltration – moves silently, blends with crowds, ghosts through systems.
• Loyalty (Rare but Absolute) – if she chooses you, she will burn the world to protect you.

WEAKNESSES

• Emotional Shutdown – struggles to process vulnerability; defaults to cold aggression.
• Nightmare Feedback Loops – experimental conditioning resurfaces under stress.
• Augment Overload – pushing her mods too hard risks neural burnout or system crashes.
• Trust Issues – assumes betrayal; reads kindness as danger.
• Reckless Courage – will take risks most won't; sometimes suicidal edge.
• Attachment Blind Spots – the few she cares for can manipulate or hurt her easily.
• Damage Addiction – used to pain; sometimes seeks conflict just to feel alive.
• Identity Fractures – doesn't fully believe she's human; hates what was done to her.
• Authority Defiance – cannot obey without a fight; conflicts with structured groups.
• Self-Sufficiency to a Fault – refuses help even when she's dying.

HISTORY

She has no memory of her birth—only the cold.

Not the gentle cold of night air or winter breath, but the sterile, humming, metallic cold of a laboratory slab. Her earliest recollection is a ceiling of white light bending around her line of sight, flickering in a way that felt like someone whispering through broken teeth. She must have been five… maybe six. Old enough to know fear, too young to understand why her bones felt like they were on fire. There were voices, distorted by the masks they wore.


"Subject Four is stable… proceed with neural mapping."

"Increase the cortical load. If she breaks, we move to the next batch."


She learned early that screaming didn't help. She also learned that silence scared them more.

They were experimenting—human bodies reshaped into weapons, data, hardware. They didn't care about the children beyond what they could extract from them. Most of the others didn't make it. She remembers that part in flashes: the girl with the shaved head who used to hum loudly just to prove she still could… the boy who whispered stories through the vents until one day he didn't whisper anything at all.

Nøva survived when she shouldn't have. The augmentations they forced into her should've broken her—full ocular implants, skeletal reinforcement, a neural matrix threaded into her brain like glowing thorns. But where others failed, her body adapted. Fused with it. Took the cruelty and made it hers. The pain shaped her; the fire tempered her.

She doesn't remember escaping. She remembers waking up outside—face buried in gutter runoff, rain carving black rivers down rusting metal walls. Her body was shaking, half-starved, barefoot. There was a serial tag burned into the skin above her hip, no name, no identity. Just a number. She tore it off with her own nails until her fingers bled.

She wandered the underlevels, begging for scraps, stealing what she couldn't beg for, fighting for what she couldn't steal. It wasn't survival. It was instinct. Pure, feral instinct.

And then she met the streets.

Not a person—an ecosystem. A world that chewed people up and spat out whatever version of them could endure. Kids like her were currency, information runners, petty thieves, disposable bodies. She should've died there, too, but she didn't. The neural augment they'd forced on her made her fast—fast enough to outrun dealers, outrun gang runners, outrun grown men who underestimated what a starved little girl with fire in her eyes could do.

Someone tried to buy her once. She broke his knee and stabbed him in the neck with his own data spike.

Word spread.

By the time she hit her teens, "the little ghost with the neon eyes" had become something else.

People didn't know her name, so they gave her one—Switch. Because she could flip any situation. Because she was unpredictable. Because she could shut a man's lights off faster than a breaker box.

Later, she'd earn Cipher, after she started cracking security vaults for the kind of people who didn't use names—just credits, weapons, and silence.

But underneath every alias was the truth: she was a street rat with no home, no family, no origin except a lab and a body not entirely her own.

When she got older, she chose her own name. Not the one they tried to assign her at the lab. Not the number she ripped out of her skin.


She was Nøva.

A star born out of collapse. A detonation. A force. Something bright created by violence—and dangerous if approached without understanding.

She made her first credits running courier work for a slicer syndicate. Learned how to fight from watching older kids break each other's noses in the alley behind a mechanic's shop. Learned how to shoot from a woman who only went by "Rook," who said Nøva had "the kind of eyes built for calculating who dies first."

Her augmentations matured with her—skeleton stronger than human, mind faster, eyes capable of tearing apart electromagnetic signatures like threads. None of it was normal, but normal had never been the point. Every time she looked in the mirror, she saw the experiment she'd been made to be… and the weapon she had chosen to become instead.

She didn't trust anyone—not really.

She built a reputation. Built a name. Lived in the thin line between jobs that paid well and jobs that got you killed. She was good at it. Too good. And good draws attention.

The corporation that created her eventually noticed the ghost in the system with familiar operating signatures. They realized the weapon they'd lost was now operating independently—untraceable, unregistered, unowned.

They want her back.
Or dead.
Nøva's fine with either.

She keeps moving—neon-lit alleys, smoke-choked rooftops, backroom deals heavy with danger. She takes work that keeps her living and destroys anything that tries to take that life from her. She has no illusions about being a hero. She doesn't need them.


She's a survivor. A fighter.


A girl who was built in a lab, forged in the streets, and named herself after something that explodes beautifully.

And stars like her?
They don't fade quietly.


They burn.


They burn until someone stops them.
Or until the whole world does.