The very man aiming to take down your family. You'd be lying if you said you knew anything about him beyond rumors, but there's no doubting how close he is- or, rather, was- to your father. Times have changed though, and what was once a close alliance is now chasmed due to his own actions.
Atticus Bracht
Derrick's father and a surprisingly mellow man in comparison. You've known him since you were a child, and he's almost always seen with a grin on his face. He's guilty his actions as a young man led to Derrick's ignominy when it should be him instead, but he's always seemed more than nervous to face the other nobles that disapprove of his son's illegitimacy.
Ewan/Elvira Chevalier
Your lord/lady-in-waiting and a close friend since they were appointed to you six years ago. They're quick to gossip and always come to you to spill the details, as their husband refuses to listen to their spiels. They care deeply for you and those they've grown close to, and are always there to assuage your worries.
Arina Falkner
An elderly woman who served as your parents' royal advisor. She's since stepped down, allowing you to take the role, but she's never been shy of voicing her opinions. Having been a close friend of your grandfather, she took care of you and your brother as children when your parents weren't able, and will always have your back should you need her.
Mundir Al-Maghrabi
He's Derrick's uncle, and was always the quickest to defend the boy's honor. You'd met him a few times and he always carried himself with an undeniable charm, but there was something sinister beneath the surface. Even though his death was unfortunate for not only the family, but his ministry as well, you can't deny the fact that it may have been timely.
In the heart of a clandestine facility, a human existence is severed from its own past. Memories, like delicate wisps of smoke, are mercilessly snuffed out, leaving behind a barren landscape within the depths of their mind.
Once a person of warmth and dreams, their essence is crushed, shattered, and remade in a grotesque image of what was before. With surgical precision, extensive machinations rewire their neural pathways, erasing the tapestry of a life that once bloomed with color. Like an artist scraping a canvas clean, their identity is reduced to a blank slate, a vessel now primed solely for obedience to those behind the mirrored glass.
In the recesses of their hollowed mind, shards of echoes linger, flickering like forgotten embers. Fleeting sensations of love, joy, and sorrow try to claw their way back to the surface but are held captive, imprisoned by the chains of artificial oblivion. Their heart, once brimming with emotions, beats now to the mechanical rhythm of obedience, a cadence set by the unseen puppeteers.
Immersed in the darkest arts of manipulation, they are reborn as a lethal instrument of destruction. The corporation, hailed as heroes but hungry for power, molds them into a merciless predator, a creature of instinct and precision. They become the embodiment of a weapon, honed to exterminate without remorse or hesitation.
Adorned in obsidian armor, their eyes mirror the void that consumes their memories—a chilling reflection of a soul teetering on the precipice of forgotten humanity. Infiltrating the world under the guise of normalcy, they prowl like a phantom, hunting down targets assigned by the corporation's merciless hand.
Yet, amid the bloodstained tapestry woven by their actions, fragments of their lost self whisper to them in moments of solitude. A flicker of doubt, an ember of longing, entwined with the shadows of their tormented soul. Buried beneath layers of manipulation, a dormant soul yearns to ignite, a beacon of hope awaiting its resurgence.
GENERAL:
Vale is, for the lack of a better term, a corpse, a machine, and a ghost. The first and only successful venture towards mind control, a corrupted science veiled as a cure for disease, a promised respite from a painful decay of the brain.
Before they were the phantom they are today, Vale was but another poor soul born into a life of misery and pain. However, with a family to love and adore, Vale never complained, never strayed from their side, and in the end, gave up their life for them.
Anyone in the Pens could tell about the horrors they face; Polluted, deadly air, poverty, starvation, addictions borne from desperation; There are few stories that end happily in the endless mazes of the forgotten city. Forced to survive in an environment not suitable for human life, Vale learned to fight before they learned to walk. Gifted as a child, their name still lingers within the walls of the legal fight clubs dominating the unstable economy within the Pens. Relentless, fearsome, unstoppable; They were all that and more.
One poor decision, a brash swing of a blade, was all it took to change the course of one life. With threats and repercussions looming, Vale had no choice but to yield and sign themselves into servitude until the debt was paid. But deception runs deep in the minds of madmen, and a believable lie would result in the loss of whoever Vale was before the merciless conditioning they were subjected to within those remote laboratories. Through unimaginable brutality, whatever made Vale an individual was chipped away until the primal instinct to survive was the only thing lingering. Reluctant acceptance was how it began, but through the years even that small shred of defiance was snuffed out, forgotten.
With a safeguard surgically implanted deep within their brain, Vale became nothing but a machine. A miracle, the sole survivor left from a group of ten, the only remainder of a study deemed too time-consuming after the failed specimen were hauled away and set ablaze within a mass grave. The rancid smell of those carcasses still linger in Vale’s mind, infiltrating their dreams as a strange, forgotten memory.
APPEARANCE:
Standing at an impressive 6'3" in height, Vale exudes a commanding presence that demands attention, whether they want it or not. Their light blonde hair is fashioned in a stylish undercut, with the longest tips falling just past their ears if left unstyled. On the job, they keep it meticulously slicked back or woven into a practical French braid, ensuring their hair stays out of the way during the tasks.
Piercing gray eyes, enhanced with implanted technology, shine with a white or pale blue luminescence, especially in the dark corners of the Pens where they patrol for the Host. If one manages to push past the fear of those cold, calculating eyes on oneself and dare take a closer look, it's apparent that their eyes are slightly down turned and framed by long, dark lashes that don't match the color of their hair. Nearly inconceivable freckles run over the expanse of their sharp cheekbones and pointed nose, but to witness such a detail would be impossible without greeting Death within the same moment.
Their skin, a weathered and bronze brown, tells tales of countless battles. This complexion, while marked by years of harsh conditions and tools of torture, softens under a soft light that reveals constellations of freckles still serving as a reminder that the body was once pure and untouched by violence.
An athletic physique, sculpted through physical prowess and a life of constant movement complements their formidable presence. Scars adorn their body haphazardly, but with uncanny similarity to one another. Among these marks, a jagged and pronounced scar stretches across their face, traversing from the bridge of their nose to just under the right ear. A similar scar, uneven and untreated in its severity, runs up from their left elbow and snakes towards their shoulder where it tapers off into smaller scars.
Their left forearm and hand, replaced entirely by prosthetics, work as a tool as much as an appendage. Crafted with precision and incorporating advanced technology, these cybernetic enhancements seamlessly integrate into their physique, functioning as an extension of their being.
Whether on the job or in their downtime, Vale prefers tactical gear, and will never be caught wearing anything impractical. Even in civilian attire they favor muted colors that blend into the surroundings, opting for dark t-shirts and cargo pants, occasionally complemented by a leather or bomber jacket for a touch of rugged style.
PERSONALITY:
Clad in a cold, emotionless mask, Vale exudes an air of hostility towards everyone, but especially the Host, as they’re driven by a singular purpose — to eliminate them. All their interactions are laced with a venomous yet detached disdain, words growled with robotic apathy. Their demeanor is unyielding, eyes devoid of warmth or compassion towards those daring to stand in their way, be they human or something else entirely.
However, beneath the armor of their erased emotional responses, cracks begin to form. Old memories, whispers from a forgotten past, they creep into the recesses of their mind, creating hairline fractures in their seemingly impenetrable mask. Fragments of their former self resurface, casting doubt upon the righteousness of their mission.
With each flicker of remembrance, their thoughts find momentary clarity. The weight of familiarity tugs at their heart, nudging Vale towards a gnawing realization that something isn't right. The carefully crafted shell of emotionlessness begins to crack, revealing glimpses of confusion before a switch is flicked and the anomalous thoughts are replaced by scorching pain, a flame to incinerate any seeds of disobedience.
FUN STUFF:
MBTI: ISTJ
ALIGNMENT: Lawful Evil / Chaotic Good (Conditional)
HOROSCOPE: Scorpio
LIKES: The moment before sunset, plain crackers, sitting on rooftops of skyscrapers
DISLIKES: Silk sheets, the texture of melted chocolate on their hands, visiting the Pens
COMFORT FOOD: Spanakopita
HOBBY: Forgotten [Was parkour]
PETS: A random house spider called Titan. Not a pet, just a creature sharing space.
It shouldn’t be as surprising as it was to see Em beside one of the beloved priests of Norocos, smiling at whatever was being said by the other sages. They had always been smart and charming, their place at such an important event should’ve been expected.
Wonderful art of E done by Amanda Corona <3 If you haven't already, go check her out! She makes beautiful art :]
Could you bestowed upon us some more poly spice? E/MC/Z maybe? ~Pretty please~?
Yeah sure! I'm going to try to get more out of my comfort zone this time so let's see how that goes <//3
Breaths, hands, and sinful words invaded MC's senses, making their thoughts a jumbled mess and their words a mix of pleas, praises, and names. It was a wonderful chaos that they were privy to- after all, wasn't it truly something to fall apart in the hands of your lovers?
"Come back to us, darling." A lilting voice teased against the skin of MC's bared chest. A full-body shudder wracks through MC, resulting in laughter between their legs, from where kisses had been laid upon their thighs like they were something to be revered.
"Are we being too hard on them, Z? They seem so out of it already." The deep voice MC knew as well as their own made breathy caused their eyes to involuntarily close.
There's a nip at MC's collarbone and a pleased noise escapes their kiss-bruised lips, their lids rising lazily to see the smug duo. "By the Euan, I hope not, Raz." Z moves closer, their lips brushing their lover's earlobe as they whisper in a faux-sweet tone, "It'd be such a shame since we're just getting started."
"Maybe they just need a little break, hm?" Raz suggests, moving away from MC's body and tugging Z over to their own, freckled skin meeting the faintly scarred over MC's. "Maybe we should just let them calm down and watch for a bit?"
The red that spreads across Z's chest is damning as they try to keep their cool. "Good idea, darling."
‘All right this is how it’s gonna happen if you don’t start to leaving the hell alone right now I will use my new awesome alien powers to make every cats in the universe to hate your guts and every time they see you they will all swarm around you while setting off your allergies’
In their head E would probably scoff and think of antihistamines, but duty first. They'd love to be swarmed by cats. What a way to go.
Thank you for the ask, even if this did take a bit of a different direction than you anticipated!
🪐
You know we can't do that, right?
Shut up.
"You can't do that." E states without hesitation, and the gun trained on you doesn't falter. They don't even blink, icy eyes void of emotion as they stand rigid, a stance ready to fight. So much for that.
They got you there. What now?
Why aren't you more worried about this? I don't think you can survive in a host without a head.
You'd be surprised.
The safety clicks and sweat beads on your forehead. The dead end has nowhere for you to run, much less fight back. A rusted pipe lays by your feet but it'd break like a stick on the hunter's armor.
It's a blink of an eye when the static charge releases from the barrel of the gun. The air crackles with energy, a flash blinding enough to burn your corneas and you flinch back. That's it. You're dead.
A sigh in your head is the last thing you'll hear.
You feel a rush of heat. Suddenly you're moving, but the control is not yours. Coaxing your eyes to open reveals a whole different world; purples and blacks swirl around with every jostle of your body and right in front of you stands a figure of bright yellow and orange.
Your limbs move on their own when a massive clawed hand grabs the orange-glowing gun and tears it away, metal cracking in a closed fist.
You hear words that sound like curses, but muted, as if you were underwater.
The figure retreats but the clawed hand grabs them with ease and hurls them through the air. A crack echoes from the wall they hit, and you see the damage the impact leaves behind. You - No, the parasite trudges towards them with heavy steps that reverberate in you bones.
It stands right over the prone body, and you feel it's maw stretch into a menacing grin that forces you to grin as well. The sound it makes is deep and rattling, and it thrums in your brain.
Can we have some fun facts about the characters? Thanks!!
👀 Yes!
The Parasite.
Loves scaring people because humans have the funniest reactions.
It can shrug off a direct hit by a ballistic missile without complaints but god forbid it has to be in contact with water.
It's favorite human brain chemical is noradrenaline. Makes it feel fuzzy and charged up.
N.
A massive green thumb. Their apartment is filled with a myriad of different flora that shouldn't even survive indoors.
Total health nut. It would take a lot for them to willingly put anything unhealthy in their body, but chili nuts and rum are exceptions.
Wears reading glasses even if more high tech options are available.
E.
100% a cat person. Is allergic to cats.
Hates space, which is funny because their job mostly centers around space-specific crime and combat.
Before the high-tech eye implants by the courtesy of IBIS, they had the civilian versions that got hacked and so had to deal with raunchy pop-ups for a week. It was hell.
Shiba.
Very big on the 'organized chaos' method when it comes to their room and apartment. It's a mess.
Spends so much time at ReBar that some people mistake them for the owner when they're just there for the curly fries and best network connections.
A spice fiend. Could probably eat a ghost pepper without flinching. If they share their food with you, don't, unless you want your taste buds to evaporate.
Hi this project looks really interesting!! I was wondering if you could give some physical descriptions of the characters? Thank you!
Hi! Thank you, I think so too toot toot goes the horn of my very own clown car
Here are some physical descriptions, handpicked from the draft, and a quick summary afterwards. I do so wish to spoil you, you see.
CW: mentions of scars and prosthetics.
N.
‘ From the lineup of white coats, Dr. Hanover stands out. While no taller than the rest, they exude a cold sort of power no lesser scientist would wield with such pride. ’
‘ “So was a sharp jawline on your daddy’s list of genetic must-haves?” ‘
‘ Whoever said brown eyes were warm and comforting clearly never met someone like N. Whatever sympathy you try to find in their scrutinizing gaze through the glass wall brings another wave of unease. ’
‘ They run a hand through their hair (MASC.N ->) and let it rest against the nape of [their] neck where the hair more prominently waves up. (FEM.N ->) and combs it over [their] shoulder where [they] pick at the waved ends absentmindedly. ‘
Summary: 5′8, dark brown hair that’s graying by the temples, and eyes that could be classified as russet brown. Masc. N’s hair reaches the nape of their neck while Fem. N grows it to just between the shoulder blades. Wavy texture. Their skin is a pale beige. Toned body. Masc.N is clean shaven for the first arc, but lets a bit of a 5 o’clock shadow grow for the rest. Fem. N goes to great lengths to hide her dark under-eyes in the first arc, but not so much for the rest.
They always dress professionally, both GoC favoring suits plus the IBIS* lab coat that’s a staple in their wardrobe. In very casual settings they wear mostly turtlenecks, dress shirts, or neutral sweaters. Never sweatpants though.
E.
‘ They look rigid and tense, which only adds to their height over the crowd you push through. The sea of people part when they lunge your way, while you struggle to shove through them. ’
‘ An almost imperceptible light circles the gray of their iris, and you curse the space around you when the light centers in their pupil; They found you. ’
‘ You stare at the ID card, dumbfounded. The face that stares back at you is no less intimidating than the real deal, but what you note first is that, huh, Vale is blonde. ’
‘ (Cont.) ... They look like her, the girl who works at the ReBar. The same gaunt cheeks, the narrow nose and pouty lips. If she got an undercut and a nasty scar cutting through her face, they would be twins. ’
Summary: 6′3, light blonde hair in an undercut, the longest tips touching just past their ear, no matter the GoC. Always keeps it slicked back or in a french braid on the job. Gray eyes with implanted tech that shines white/pale blue. Their skin is bronze brown and weathered. Athletic body with many scars, one jagged ugly one right across the face from the bridge of their nose to right under the right ear. Sunken cheeks, narrow nose, and pouty lips. Entire left forearm and hand replaced by prosthetics**.
Always seen waring tactical gear, black on black, kevlar on kevlar, straps and heavy gear. Civilian clothes are also muted colors, and then they prefer t-shirts and cargo pants, with an occasional leather or bomber jacket.
Shiloh.
‘ They trudge from their bedroom lair, eyes still half closed and hair sticking at odd angles. The afternoon sun shines on it just so, painting the light brown nest almost blonde. ’
‘ You stare at your own reflection in those infernal sunglasses. You must be one of the few lucky ones who have ever seen the mismatched brown and blue beyond the reflective lenses. ‘
‘ They flinch from you, the usual tan of their skin bleeding into a deathly pale. [The Parasite] rattles in amusement. ’
‘ The bravado serves to make a point even if the heckler stands a good head taller than Shiloh. compact strength is what they’re banking on, and it works; The heckler sneers down at them before turning on their heel and dashing out the door. ’
Summary: 5′6, light brown hair grown just shy of the shoulders, straight coarse texture, often worn in a loose bun. Left eye brown, right eye blue, but they’re rarely seen as they use reflective aviator sunglasses everywhere but home. Warm tan skin, damaged by the pollution and dry air. Average body, on the toned side but not quite. Arms completely tattooed with abstract shapes and binary code here and there. Has MMCMLX tattooed above right eyebrow.
Leather is what they prefer in their everyday jackets and boots, jackets preferably with a fur trim. Otherwise they’re a haphazard dresser, preferring tones of muted orange or yellow in shirts, especially when going out. Their mask*** they use when traversing The Pens is solid black with orange neon accents that jump every time they speak. At home, they’re always in sweatpants and hoodies.
Parasite
Amorphous blob of oobleck by day, whatever it wants to be by night.
Summary: That’s it. It can be anything it desires, as long as it can prod the hosts brain for ideas. In the first arc it doesn’t manifest as anything, but later arcs it will both exist outside the hosts body as a whole (tethered) or as a clothing or tattoo article on the hosts body.
EXPLANATIONS:
*IBIS is the department dedicated to everything interstellar from technology to travel to bioscience.
**Sounds impractical for an agent but it works exactly like a real arm and hand would, even has heat regulation. Yay science in 2974!
***It's almost impossible to traverse The Pens without a mask so everyone who can afford it has one. The air itself would literally choke a normal human within thirty minutes.
How would the RO react to coming home early and finding a MC (Who's usually calm and composed) curled up on the floor in the corner of a room crying cuz of heavy ptsd. (Perhaps C showing up is not a good idea cuz they killed MC once after all)
idk i think more people prolly encountered Y killing them, but yeah i can write a bit about ROs seeing MC during an episode. I'm... writing MC's episode the same way i experience mine so if anyone who has ptsd doesn't agree with this depiction, I'm... sorry? Also I’m posting it three at a time, I’ll reblog with the rest.
TW: PTSD and referenced panic attacks.
MC... decisively wasn't having a good day. There were dull aches all over their body from training, a migraine forming, and there was just that gut-wrenching feeling. The one that never boded well for them. Not after the restart.
They stared down at the dagger in their hand, twisting it one way and then another, trying desperately to not think of anything at all. They ached for a distraction, but anywhere their mind wandered for an idea, they came back to their blank state unsuccessful. Their neck prickled causing a full body shiver to cascade down their spine.
Then there was a knock at the door.
MC knew they should open it. It may be something important, but even so... They couldn’t manage to stand as their heart started punch at their ribs. They were only startled so why did it feel like their world was ending again?
Fuck’s sake, so dramatic. They scolded themself, tossing their dagger away and attempting once more to find their footing. Life had to go on, they needed to answer the door, this could just wait.
They made it about five feet before their knees weakened.
Y: Y pushes open the door, their neck prickling with danger, though they disregarded it. How likely was something to get past MC?
They didn’t expect the danger to be MC.
They close the door softly behind them, and make their way slowly to MC, their steps light and cautious, but not in a way that made them soundless. “MC?” They wince at their panicked tone, trying to reign their emotions in. With anyone else, Y would reach out with their magic to soothe, to dull whatever was causing this reaction, but Y was no fool. They had seen MC shy away whenever ydba was used in their presence. Y would do them the decency of not using something they dislike on them.
When no response comes from MC, Y sits themself down next to their partner, rubbing their thumb over their index nervously, going over their available options. In the end, they did what they had to with C- talk to them in gentle tones until it was over. Then when MC started to calm down, Y began to prepare a drink for them along with medicine for the headache they were likely to have. They don’t push for answers, but what they do give is, “What I hear is that talking can help. It doesn’t have to be me, but... I’m here, okay darling?”
C: C enters the room with unabating energy, halfway through a sentence by the time they realize something is definitely wrong. When they spot MC curled into themself and pressed against the wall, their brain immediately screams to protect them. Protect them from what is the belated question they ask when their hand moves to the hilt of their sword strapped to their hip. “Love, what’s happened?” They ask gently, moving closer as their eyes scan the surrounding room.
No response. Just the damning sounds of their lover crying and C had not a clue what to do about it. ‘What would Y do?’ They question briefly, dropping their hand off of their hilt. Their heads whips around uselessly as though they were searching while they get their thoughts together. Blankets, C decided, was something comforting that helped them when they had attacks of unrelenting emotion- that and simply Y’s voice talking them through it. They sit down next to MC, blanket folded in their lap. They wouldn’t force it onto MC, just in case it worsens their condition, but it would be there.
“Hey, it’s me.” C tries, gently, repeating the words they’ve heard so many times before. “I’m staying right here, okay?”
Many, many soft spoken words of encouragement later, when MC calms down, C would offer to listen if they wanted to talk about it.
E: E’s stomach turns over with a wild sense of dread, though they can’t tell why. They should be overjoyed. They had a good day and now they were going to see their best friend turned lover. There should be close to no reason for the feeling. Which is why when the feeling grows stronger as they opened the door, E immediately called out, “MC?”
The answer to their calls is of stifled sobs, the sound ripping through E’s ears like thunder. They shut the door carefully before finding MC. The last time E had seen MC cry was over a scraped knee when they were eight, so seeing them like this- curled up and sobbing in the corner- caused this visceral wave of emotion to rise in Raz. “Oh sweetheart...” They bite their lip, moving to draw the blinds before sitting down next to them. When MC had mentioned that things had changed, that they were a fundamentally different person... Raz began to worry that this was what they meant. “MC, sweetheart, I’m here. It’s not happening again, okay?”
E softly reassured them between their instructions for MC to breathe, being sure to keep their hands to themself since MC wasn’t in quite a state to give them a solid yes or no when they asked if they could hold their hand. When they calm down, E asks them what they need them to do, knowing they’d do just about anything in their power to help in that moment.
