Ohm
Organic. Hunter. Mechanic
NAME: (O.H.M) Organic Hunter Mechanic
FACTION: Looking for one
SPECIES: Droid/Human Hybrid.
AGE: Appears 31, has lived for less than 1
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6’4”
WEIGHT: 322lbs
EYES: Blue
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Tanned
FORCE SENSITIVE: No
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STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES (Required: 2 Weaknesses Minimum) :
- Killing instincts: Sometimes Ohm’s programming can sometimes size control. He has to be very careful how he wakes in the morning, and to steer clear of toy guns.
- Naive: Ohm has almost no experience living in the world. All his knowledge has been gleend from the net and his initial programming. It can leave him easy to exploit.
- Energy dependent: Being a fancy droid is all well and good right until the lights go out. Ohm’s body consumes massive amounts of energy in the form of calories and direct power. He can go about 24 hours before a complete shut down. This is lessened dramatically if he is forced to operate at higher than normal capacity.
+ Made to Kill: Ohm was designed with lethality in mind. He fights fast and efficiently and has strength to spare.
+ Gear Head: Its easy to work with computers when one is in your head. Ohm is adept at turning his ideas into creations.
+ Fast Learner: Ohm is gifted at acquiring new talents. His memory banks and organic instincts work in harmony to give him immense adaptability.
SHIP: “The Quixotic Nerf” - YG-4210 light freighter
ITEMS:
A single Set of clothes
BIOGRAPHY:
I was born on a table. 8’4” x 3’6”. Durasteel. Additional modifications for restraining a humanoid. Cold. There are better places to begin life. My creator Gregory Dulhan didn't seem to notice. He had just activated my internal Bio-Mainframe which in turn has begun running a full system diagnostic. Finding nearly all core systems dramatically under-powered and all peripheral systems offline it ran the emergency protocol for catastrophic failure. Tactile sensors detect restraints. Organic medical routines report high levels paralytics. Boot to Self Preservation protocol level 9. Those few commands were all that it took for me to end my first life. I had become a murderer before I had even realized I was alive and my victim had been the very man to give me life. The irony of this was lost on me at the time.
Normal operating protocols regained priority exactly 15 minutes and 54 seconds later. My data-banks told me I was standing in an advanced prosthesis lab. In the center of the room was a table. There was a body on it. Its head had been crushed. Blood leaked off the table. My confused thoughts jumbled together as the small data feed that linked directly from my input analyzing systems told me in a factual manner what I was looking at. Gregory Dulhan. Age 63-66 based on bone density. What the hell was this? Where am I? Who am I? Responses to each question arrived almost instantly.
//Current location: Advanced Prosthetic lab; Galactic coordinates unknown //
//Identification: O.rganic H.unter M.echanic Unit; Model 215 1st series//
Information was flooding my mind and I couldn't stop it. I fell to my knees clutching my head. My combat systems told me this was an in-optimal position for reacting to threats. I couldn't have cared less. Regaining my composure took precisely 19 minutes and 23 seconds. The first thing I did was remove the body. I didn't know what to do with it, so I just placed it in the freezer for lack of a better option. Next I turned my attention to my own preservation. Food. My internal diagnostics were beginning to send me warnings about “Low energy reserves”. It also informed me that I needed to find a source of protein as a power supply. Both were simple to obtain.
As I chewed the Galactic Core Crunch energy bar, I began to wonder what I was going to do with myself. My brain was finally catching up to all the data that had been stuffed inside of it and I knew I was going to need to leave. I downloaded all the information about my current residence from a local terminal and discovered that I had been born on the Asteroid ZJ352 in the outer rim near the system of Nar Shadaa. I also found a light freighter with the dubious name “The Quixotic Nerf”, docked in the small hanger. Suddenly the world was full of possibilities and I was eager to experience everything. I loaded the old freighter up with food, power supplies, and every piece of machinery that I could fit. I strapped myself into the pilots chair, booted up my flight training programming, and left without looking back.
KILLS:
BOUNTIES COLLECTED:
